Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Fates are cruel, and the gods don’t care, so Percy has no idea who he has to thank for the grace period they receive after the war. They don’t have to go back to school until they’re ready. New Rome will take care of the bureaucracy. 

Percy and Annabeth sleep. They wake up screaming. They watch camp rebuild, help where they can. But the looks. Their family give them looks , now.

They are really just serving time. 

“I want to see my mortal family,” Percy breathes into the space between them one night as they are lying there like abandoned corpses. 

“Dean and your dad? Or Sam?”

“Dean first, I think.” Percy told his oldest brother the first chance he got that he went undercover on a hunt, got hit with amnesia. He promised he’d come find him soon. 

“When are we going?” Annabeth asks. 

They need a direction. This can be that. 

Percy kindly asks his biggest brother to make him something that will get them places, so they can keep up with the Impala and get out of Dodge quickly if they need to. Much as that car was home not six months ago, he can all too clearly imagine getting trapped in conversations he doesn’t want to have in that passenger seat. They need to be able to leave. 

Tyson, in true Tyson fashion, pulls through in elegance and undeniable style. Percy’s shiny new sea-green motorcycle has tastefully placed celestial bronze studs running along it. There’s a matching trident symbol inlaid at the crest of the hood, and if you click it in, the bronze coating slides back to reveal a more prismic surface that they can use to make rainbows for IMs. It’s all very understated, which makes it look way too sophisticated for Percy to be driving it. The big guy’s even found him some brown leather saddle packs to attach with Mary Poppins-style charms so they can live out of them, pack whatever they want. There’s a compartment for backup weapons (which can come in handy, despite Riptide’s convenient nature) as well as snacks and gadgets, which Tyson’s fully stocked for them. And let’s not forget the beast itself, which is as powerful as it is agile, boasting unprecedented durability (Tyson knows his brother well), impressive speed, and reliable performance. 

Percy spends a week learning his way around the thing. Annabeth thought he’d look ridiculous on such a big bike, especially one so elegant, but somehow it suits him to a T. She supposes it was made for him. He rides like it, too. He’s fallen hard and fast for the beauty, and honestly, so has she. Maybe one day she’ll make her own.

They leave it outside of camp- the second Leo claps eyes on it they’re never getting it back, and that’s not mentioning the Stolls- and they do a round to say their goodbyes. They don’t have much, so packing hardly takes long enough to even call it that. It’s not like they won’t be back. 

Chiron isn’t surprised, not that they expected him to be. They need to get out. And Percy has a family to see again, batshit insane as they are. Still, the centaur can’t suppress a sigh with his understanding nod. 

“Then I wish you the best of luck, my children, and a world of rest. I want to see you happy more than anything. Promise me you’ll call every week or two?”

Percy pulls the centaur in as best he can for a stab at a hug despite the height difference, and Annabeth rushes forward to join in. 

“Of course, you silly man. We wouldn’t make it that long without hearing about how you and camp are,” she huffs, voice waveringly slightly. After all these years, it’s still hard to leave him. 

“And you better not leave a thing out,” Percy adds firmly. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Chiron chuckles wetly. Annabeth nearly dies of shock when she realises his eyes are misty. He doesn’t try to hide it at all as they pull back, staring at them with an endlessly fond, watery look. “My children. You cannot comprehend how proud I am of you.”

Well, now they’re all crying. With a jolt, Annabeth realises they must be the oldest demigods he’s trained in a very, very long time. 

They made it. 

“Pshh, shut up,” Percy says, voice cracking. It makes them all laugh again. 

After that they do their rounds, saying their farewells around camp, promising to call and be safe and all the rest, and they’re off.

Before they start driving, though, Percy makes a call.

Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Click.

“Dean.”

“Perce? That really you?”

Percy has to smile at his brother’s voice. He quit smoking a while back, but he seems to have kept the gravelly quality anyway, probably out of spite. 

“Yeah. Dad’s not picking up. I guess he’s on a hunt.”

“He- yeah, he is.”

“…I’m out of the crossfire. Got a deal for ya. You listening?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll meet up with you. Gimme your location now, this is a burner, I’ll throw it out after this call. I’ll meet you. But you can’t ask about this job I was on, yeah?”

“…You’re serious?”

“Duh.”

Percy grins as Dean rattled off a location like he can’t get it out fast enough. Gods, he’s missed his brother. 

“So I can’t ask at all about the job?” The undercover one?” Dean asks, finally processing Percy’s terms.

“Nope. It’s over now, it was a mess. Don’t really wanna talk about it. Not even to dad. I’ll come up with something…”

“Uh, about that, Percy…” 

Dean’s tone makes Percy’s eyebrows pull together in concern. He exchanges a wary look with Annabeth.

“What, what is it?”

“…Dad’s missing.”

Chapter Text

The meet point is in Denver. Being on the road like this, just the two of them, it’s like they’re off on a quest again. They weren’t about to ask for a loan from their suffering camp, still smouldering from the battle, so they can’t afford much more than they could back then, and that’s fine by them. 

Where they actually meet Dean is a stretch of road entirely like the hundreds of others they’ve driven through to get there. Pulled over on the edge of the pavement, overlooking the flattest, most boring field in existence, is a familiar impala. 

Dean doesn’t look back from where he’s sitting on the hood until Percy pulls over in front of the car. He obviously didn’t expect his brother to be on a motorcycle. He definitely didn’t expect him to come with company. 

He leaps off the hood, staring incredulously as Percy and his passenger pull their helmets off and shake out their hair, dismounting to say hello. Percy’s quick to pull Dean into a back-slapping hug, a great smile on his face. 

“Dude! What’s this, I leave you alone for a year and suddenly you’re slingin’ game? This had better be that Annabeth chick.”

“Winchester one,” Annabeth acknowledges with an incline of her head.

Percy takes his brother in. Same hooded green eyes set in the same soft face he’s tried to roughen with stubble. Absurdly plush lips and dark eyelashes offset by the slowly sharpening jawline. Dean still looks like a kid to Percy. But he’s not. Percy knows he’s not. Even if he acts like it.

Percy can see his brother scanning him in equal measure, eyes flitting over the split in his ear, the scars sprinkled over his face, the deep bags scooped under Percy’s eyes, the weight he’s still making back, the hard, tested muscle in his frame. Dean's brows come together, and for a moment Percy’s worried he’s gonna ask. 

“Are you taller than me?” is what he says, affronted. 

Percy laughs. Oh, that’s rich. The eldest brother, now the smallest. Last he checked Sammy was taller than both of them and still growing, so he’d be willing to bet on it. 

That’s what he gets for drinking nothing but energy drinks and beer for twenty six years, their middle brother  would say. 

“It’s good to see you, man,” is what Percy says, because he isn’t the middle brother. 

“Hell yeah, it is. I’ve missed you like hell. Clearly you haven’t missed me, though. Been too busy with your lady friend, huh?” Dean turns his beaming grin on Annabeth and saunters over, making a point of looking her up and down. Annabeth blinks at the audacity and Percy nearly chokes on a cackle. This should be good. “Miss Chase, have I heard things about you. ”

“Good, then you know you’re in dangerous territory right now.”

“Dean, I take no accountability for any broken limbs or severed extremities that result from you testing my girlfriend,” Percy promises bluntly. 

Dean frowns a little, obviously takes it as a joke, then drops his smile and looks rather disturbed as Annabeth doesn’t so much as twitch at the comment.

“...Right. Pleasure,” he sends her a bewildered and slightly scared smile. Then he leans around her for a look at the bike with a low whistle, and Percy knows they’ve lost him for a bit. 

While Dean has his alone time with the mechanical dream machine, Percy turns to his girlfriend. They share a silent conversation. Dean might think he’s heard things about Annabeth, but he doesn’t know the half. His curiosity sort of stopped at ‘hot, blonde, and badass’. Percy supposes he can thank his brother’s simple nature for the lack of prying into things of actual importance. Sam is much harder to keep things from.

“Where did you get this?” Dean breathes reverently, running a hand along the fuel tank. 

“No questions, remember?”

Dean groans. “You can’t do this to me, Perce. You cannot show me a piece of gass like this and not tell me where you got her!”

“I can. I am.”

Dean lets out a mournful whine. He hangs his head for a second, then glares up at Percy through narrowed eyes. 

“I’ll get you talkin’. But first, where you wanna go, sweetheart?”

This last part is once again directed at Annabeth, who raises her eyebrow and looks at Percy for an explanation. Percy’s equally lost, though. They both turn on Dean with a confused frown. 

“Go? Sam’s in California, right? Stanford?”

Dean’s brows contract and his smile dies at once. He shoots a look at Percy, then back at Annabeth. 

“Yeah, why, what does that- we're not going there, but we can drop you off close by if that's where you're headed.”

Annabeth scoffs and Percy shakes his head.

“She’s coming with, Dean,” he corrects. 

“What? No she’s not.”

“Dean-”

“No, she’s not! It’s a family matter, Percy, what the hell?!”

“Dean, this is non-negotiable. If you’re thinking she can’t handle herself, think again. She’ll be an enormous asset, even aside from keeping me sane. I trust her with our lives. I’m vouching for her 100%.”

“Percy-”

“And she knows.”

Dean freezes. 

“...What?”

“She knows.”

Dean’s slightly betrayed eyes whip to Annabeth, swirling with accusation and sharp assessment.

“You a hunter?”

“Not a traditional one,” comes her enigmatic reply.

Dean keeps his cool gaze on her for another intense moment. Then, finally, he turns on Percy. 

“If you don’t end up marrying this girl, there will be hell to pay,” he promises. “I’m not taking your side piece cross-country.”

“Trust me, Dean. She’s family.”

Dean’s eyes flash to Annabeth, as if waiting for her to react, or deny it. She only raises an imperious eyebrow. 

Dean grunts and gives one nod. Then it’s back to business.

Annabeth leads on the bike. Percy rides with Dean. They need to talk. Besides, Dean’s face when Percy throws her the keys without hesitation is priceless. 

“I’m guessing she’s got Dad’s last known location?” Dean asks pointlessly. He still thinks they’re headed straight there. 

“Yeah, but we’re making a stop first.”

“Obviously. It’s fifteen hours, boy’s gotta get a cheeseburger in ‘im at some point.”

“I mean Sammy.”

Immediately Dean’s posture goes rigid, his hands tensing ever so slightly on the wheel. He looks pointedly at the road ahead. 

“What about him?”

“We gotta go get him, Dean.”

“I got you now, don’t I? What the hell do we need him for?”

Percy knows this is a sore spot, though he doesn’t see the need for it to be. Percy was always worse with their dad’s unquestionable authority than Sam ever was, left far younger, too. Their dad, that is. He never left his brothers. In between the quests and the wars, he came to see them every chance he got. He called constantly, checked in, stayed up to date. When Sam admitted he was thinking of leaving like Percy did, Percy supported him. He tried to get Dean to see it the same way, but Dean just couldn’t. Not when Sam cut him off completely- which Percy never saw the point in, either. Still, he did what he could, telling Dean that Sam just needed some time to himself and Sam not to confuse his family for their chosen profession. 

“Dean. I haven’t spoken to you for the last six months. Haven’t spoken to anyone. I could’ve been dead. Why aren’t you mad at me?”

Dean seems caught off-guard at the question. His eyes flick sideways to Percy for a second. "You said it was amnesia. You said that, you were undercover, it’s not the same.”

“How could you’ve known when I was radio silent, though? If Sam called you up and told you he’d been undercover and had his memory scrambled, you would've been mad. If I was just throwing a tantrum for six months, you’d still be more mad at Sam for going to college, because you’re always harder on him than your baby brother. But he is your little brother, Dean. And it’s his dad too.”

“Why should he care? He walked out.”

“So did I.”

“Yeah, but you called!” Dean suddenly bursts out, voice raising. Here is the crux of it. “I didn’t get nothin’ from Sam, no note, no message, not a damn glance out the rearview! He left!”

“Ask him about it, then,” Percy suggests tiredly. “When we get there.”

Dean doesn’t say anything else. He takes up a broody silence at the expense of the road, which he burns holes in with his eyes. Percy busies himself going through the cassette collection in the glovebox. He can’t help but smile down at the tapes.

Sammy’s gonna pretend to hate these.

Chapter Text

The motel Dean finds them, like all the motels Dean finds them, is a shithole. Definite upgrade to the side of the road, though, which is pretty much what Percy and Annabeth have been working with to this point. Dean probably gets them separate rooms for less than polite reasons, if the crude eyebrow waggle is anything to go by, but they don’t argue because the last thing they need is to have a nightmare with someone else in the room. 

The next day when they hit the road, Percy puts one of Tyson’s gadgets to good use. He leans in through the passenger side door and slaps a big blue button on the dash. Then he sticks a grey one on beside it, being careful not to put it off centre or it would drive Sam nuts. Whatever Tyson did, they stick like he stuck them down with wet cement. There’s nothing Dean can do about it now. The only way they’re coming off is if Percy wants them off.

“What’s that? Percy, Percy, Percy, what are you doing to my baby?!” Dean demands with a begging tone. Percy smirks. As the youngest brother, he just gets whined at. Sam gets the yelling. 

“Chill. It’s a comms unit.”

“What?” Dean asks distractedly, checking for any damage. There is none, of course. Percy’s almost insulted.

“Goes straight to the headsets in our helmets. Blue one’s mine, grey one’s Annabeth’s. Press either one to open a line with the person you want to, or both to talk to both of us. It’s so we can talk on the road.”

Dean squints at the things. “Seriously? Wait, why do you need one, you’re in here.”

“I’ll probably be on the bike sometimes. We can try it out on the road today.”

Before he’s even finished speaking, the grey button lights up. 

“Comms check,” Annabeth’s voice pronounces clearly through the car speakers. Dean leaps back like the car came to life and spoke itself. 

“We read you, six. Confirm,” Percy returns without needing to press anything. The button’s still lit up, the line’s still open. 

“Loud and clear, three. It’s just Annabeth and Percy now, though,” she reminds him. 

Percy chuckles at himself. Since Leo made the cabin heads those comms, he’s just gotten used to the regular callsigns. They hardly need to identify themselves to his brother, though. His brother, who is looking at him like he just fell from the sky. 

Percy shoves his helmet over his head to avoid answering, instead pressing his own comms button as he does.

“Now all our lines are open. It’s a conference call!” he chirps jovially.

“Very good, Seaweed Brain. We’re all very impressed you found out how buttons work. Are we heading off, or not?”

-~o~-

Percy waits til they’re on the road properly before he opens the conversation. He’s fairly certain Dean won’t have figured the comms out enough to avoid it yet. 

“So, brother dearest,” he starts once he’s opened both channels, “how’s the middlest one been since I went AWOL?”

There’s the sound of fumbling, a curse, and then the channel switches off. Percy rolls his eyes and opens it again. 

“If the light’s on, it’s working. You don’t have to click it again.” 

“I know that!” comes the defensive retort. Percy chuckles.

“Stop avoiding the question. How’s Sammy? Did he finish exams?” 

“Exams, what exams? Exams are for school."

Percy takes in a sharp breath. 

“Not funny, Dean.”

“Who’s laughing?”

“He left to go to law school, I know he got in, he was doing great last I heard. Are you telling me you haven’t checked in on him?” Percy shoots incredulously.

“Law school? What the hell does he want with law school?”

“To be a lawyer, probably,” Percy snarks, but he knows Sam’s secretly aiming higher. He wants to change the system from the inside. He has the brains for it, too. He’ll do it.

“He made it clear he wanted nothin’ to do with us. So no, Percy, I haven’t checked in on him.” 

Percy scoffs and shakes his head. He’s away for six months, and his brothers crumble. Actually, no- Sam’s been away for two whole years. It never entered Percy’s head that in all that time, Dean never kept tabs on him. He knew they weren’t speaking, but to not even know about law school…

“Well here’s what you missed. Our little Einstein’s hit Stanford like a hurricane, the brainiac that he is, and done everything we always knew he could do. Got a girlfriend, lovely girl. Friends. And he’s happy.”

Dean has nothing to say to that. Percy gives him the ride over to let it sink in. 

It’s dark when they get there. Percy argues for letting the guy sleep, but Dean says if Percy wants to wait he’ll go in alone, so he takes the hint and gets a move on. Annabeth waits by the bike. 

Percy shoots no less than three looks back as he goes, but Dean’s exactly where he left him, every time. Suspicious. 

Sam’s apartment still has an absurd amount of stairs. They’re still stupid slippery, even though it hasn’t rained, in like, a week. And it still smells like weed. Expensive weed. The place is high end, but near the university, so all the rich kids live here. Jess’ family is loaded, so that tracks. Percy still wonders how she convinced Sam to live somewhere with only one exit and no proper alarm system. He would’ve thought it would kept Sam from sleeping, but he obviously kicked that habit. Percy doesn’t know whether or not to be glad about that.

He finally makes it up to Sam’s floor. His knuckles are two centimetres from the door when he freezes. 

There’s a scuffle going on inside. Muffled bumps and thuds as people(?) throw each other around. A monster? They tend to stay away from the kind of things hunters deal with, which is half the reason he’s happy going back to the family business, but they’re not on a hunt yet. It could be anything.

Percy doesn’t even bother with a lockpick, slicing the lock clean through with Riptide instead, staying silent. He slips through the crack in the door like dark liquid and moves. 

He shoots down one long hallway in absolute silence before he recognises the pulses in the next room. 

Percy heaves a long-suffering sigh as he straightens. His head drops into his hand so he can pinch the bridge of his nose. Then he sets his unimpressed face on the scuffle and flicks the light on. 

Winchester one and Winchester two both snap their heads up to look at him from where they’re tussling on the floor. Sam’s eyes widen. 

“Percy?” he breathes. Percy gives him a smile, then rolls his head condescendingly at Dean. Sammy follows his gaze and gets yet another shock. “Dean?”

Using his surprise, Dean finally throws his younger brother off of himself and gets to his feet, brushing his beat-to-shit leather jacket off like it’s brand name couture.

“You were supposed to wait in the car,” Percy says flatly. 

“I wanted to see if I could beat you in. And I did!”

“That’s because I was gonna knock. On the door. Like a person.”

Percy doesn’t get to say anything else, too busy being body-slammed into a hug by a man the size of a moose. Gods, he’s gotten massive! He’s got to be most of a head taller than Dean, at least! Still all muscle, by the feels of him, too.

Percy wraps his arms around his brother and revels in the contact. Now that he’s hugged both his brothers, he remembers what home feels like. Sam’s stopped using that fancy aftershave, he notes- Jess must’ve finally got to him. Hasn't changed his shampoo, though. He smells like cinnamon and apples, like that one cereal Percy can never remember the name of. Man, he used to love that stuff.

Sam pulls back, and Percy finally gets a good look at him. He’s grown his hair out, so it falls all bouncy around his face. Sammy never gets bed hair, it’s baffling. There’s a new mole on his chin. He wears the softness Dean hides proudly, as he always did. Just a big teddy bear. He’s still got those big brown doe eyes- Percy’s never seen their like on anyone except Tyson, which he’ll admit may have played a part in endearing the big guy to him. And his expression- no one does ‘startled rabbit’ quite like Sam Winchester.

“Is that really you?” he rumbles, voice low with sleep and somehow simultaneously high with surprise. Percy lets it wash over him. He always loved his second brother’s voice. It’s like velvet. It makes Percy feel safe. 

“Sam?” comes a voice down the hall. Another moment and Jess shuffles into view from the other doorway. She’s just as Percy remembers her, curly blonde hair loose. Is she wearing lipgloss? Why would she have worn lipgloss to bed? Is it even lipgloss, or is it one of those moisturiser things girls wear that taste weird? Does Sam think it tastes weird? Does he have an opinion at all? How-

“Percy?” she gasps, and he blinks back to attention. Right. Reunion. 

He turns from Sam’s arms right into Jess’, and she hugs him back immediately. She has to stand on her tiptoes to do it properly. “Oh my god. Oh my god, I thought you- Sam said he hadn’t- you just stopped answering-”

“I know. ‘M sorry. I didn’t want to, it’s a long story. How are you?”

“How are we?” she echoes incredulously as he pulls back. Her features pull into something approaching horror. “What happened to you?!”

Percy flinches. He forgot. He’s so stupid, how did he forget he looks like a patchwork quilt now? Civilians probably puke at the sight of him, he should’ve known Jess would be freaked.

“Anyone gonna introduce me, or…?”

To Sam it probably just sounds like typical Dean rudeness, but Percy thanks the gods for his biggest brother then. Bless him and his no-questions-asked loyalty. 

“Uh- uh, yeah, um,” Sam clears his throat and goes over to stand with his girlfriend, putting his arm around her and planting his feet. “Jess, this is Dean. Dean, this my girlfriend, Jessica.”

“Wait, your brother Dean?” Jess looks between the three of them. “Is this like a reunion, or something?”

Percy shrugs. “Annabeth’s outside, so it probably counts.”

“Annabeth?” Sam goggles. “The Annabeth?” He looks between his brothers, his brows coming together slightly at the implications of the circumstances that brought them all to him in the middle of the night. “...What’s going on?”

“Well, Jessica,” Dean starts, licking over the name in a way he probably thinks is seductive, eyeing her less than modest sleepwear, “We gotta borrow your boyfriend here to talk about some private family business, but, uh… nice meetin’ you.”

Jess gives him a tight-lipped smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. Percy considers throwing Dean out the window. 

“No,” Sam says, and Percy wonders why he thought they could make it fifteen minutes without a standoff. “No, whatever you wanna say, you can say it in front of her.”

“Jesus, what is it with you guys and your chicks?” Dean grouses. Percy shares a dry look with Jess, like, ‘charming, isn’t he?’ Dean turns around to pout at the window. “Percy, you talk to ‘im.”

“I was coming to see you first chance I got now I’m back. I met up with Dean first, and apparently you guys haven’t talked in like, two years? What the fuck? Like, okay, I knew you weren’t talking, but two years, guys, get it together. But then he says he doesn’t even know you’re at law school! And I'm like-”

“-Dad’s missing,” Dean interrupts. Clearly he still doesn’t have the patience for Percy’s rambles.

“So he’s working overtime on a miller time shift, he’ll stumble back in sooner or later,” Sam replies shortly, but he doesn’t sound sure. His eyes flick to his little brother. Percy can only give him a grimace.

“Dad’s on a hunting trip,” Dean amends pointedly, training his unwavering gaze on Sam. “And he hasn’t been home in a few days.” 

Sam’s jaw slackens imperceptibly. Percy gives him an apologetic shrug. 

“...Jess, will you excuse us.”

“Percy, don’t get me wrong, I’m glad to see you, I was really worried, but you can’t just break into my house in the middle of the night and expect me to hit the road with you.”

“Woah, hey, you don’t have to,” Percy promises, taking the steps two at a time just to rub Dean’s baby legs in his face. “I just thought you should know. Dean and you don’t tell each other shit, and that’s B.S, he’s your dad, you should know.”

“Hey, hey, we came all this way to get him, he’s comin’ with,” Dean argues. “Didn’t you hear me? Dad’s missing. M-I-S-S-”

“Yeah, we get it, you can spell!”

“Show-off,” Percy grumbles. That’s what he gets for the stairs thing.

“Remember the poltergeist in Amherst? Or the Devil’s Gates in Clifton? He was missing then too. He’s always missing, and he’s always fine,” Sam reminds them. 

“And he no doubt is,” Percy placates, “We just wanted you along because we love you. We’re your brothers! I’ve been away too long for you guys to be fighting. C’mon. You haven’t missed the drives even a little?”

Sam’s mouth twitches up at the corner. Then he shoots a suspicious glare at Dean. 

“As long as this one doesn’t try to get me back into the game. I know that’s what he’s doing- I know that’s what you’re doing, Dean!”

“What’s the alternative, huh, what’re you gonna do, just live some normal, apple-pie life? Is that it?”

“No. Not normal. Safe,” Sam returns seriously. 

Percy gives him a nod full of respect and understanding. He gets that. Gods, does he get that. 

“No one’s trying to take you away from that, Sammy,” he promises with matching gravity. “I just wanna see my brothers again.”

“Well…” Sam casts around for an alternative. He really doesn’t want to look Dean in the eye. “Can’t we do that over a beer?”

“M-I, S-S-”

“They still fighting?” Annabeth calls over from the car park. 

“Yup!” Percy calls back brightly over the railing while the wonder twins bicker. Honestly, it’s the middle of the night, how do they find the energy?

He hits Dean in the shoulder mid-rant. “Hey, jackass, you gonna tell us what he was hunting?”

Dean pops the trunk- the actual trunk, the hunting compartment. Crucifixes swing down from the roof. Straw dolls make dry noises against rosary beads and poultice bags. The arsenal of guns, knives, and other nasties gleam in the light of the building's Exit sign. It’s just like Percy remembers it. Annabeth’s keen eyes fly over the contents, filing them away, categorising them, no doubt listing theories for their various uses. Percy gave her the theoretical rundown, but she’s never seen the stuff they use herself. This will be a good opportunity for her to put names to faces- er, weapons.

“Alright, let’s see, where the hell did I put that thing…” Dean mumbles to himself, shuffling through the contents just like Dad used to. Percy won’t be surprised to hear he’s taken over for the old man soon. ‘Course, John's not exactly looking to retire. Percy wonders if they’ll ever find his body. It occurs to me that that might be what they’re doing. 

“So when Dad left, why didn’t you go with him?” Sam interrupts Percy’s wandering thoughts. 

“I was workin’ my own gig, this voodoo thing, down in New Orleans.”

Sam raises his eyebrows. “Dad let you go on a hunting trip by yourself?”

“I’m twenty-six, dude," Dean replies, sounding affronted. "Alright, here we go- dad was checking out this two-lane black top just outside of Jericho, California. ‘Bout a month ago, this guy, they found his car, but he vanished, completely MIA. Heh, kinda like you, Perce.”

“You wish I left you a car.”

“Maybe he was kidnapped,” Sam suggests. 

“Yeah, well, here’s another one in April,” Dean drops another printed article into the bed of the car, “Another one in December ‘04, ‘03, ‘98, ‘92, ten of them over the past twenty years. All men, all same five mile stretch of road. Started happenin’ more and more, so Dad went to go dig around. That was about three weeks ago. I haven’t heard from him since, which is bad enough,” -he gives Percy a pointed glare- “and then I get this voicemail yesterday.”

The phone Dean pulls out looks in good enough knick, but the message is garbled and staticky. It’s definitely John, though. 

“Dean…something big is star–ing to -appen, I think it’s—- …I need to try t– -figure out wh-t’s going o- –May need t- -eep looking. Be very careful, Dean. We’re all in danger.”

“...Well, that’s not ominous,” Percy chirps into the ensuing silence. 

“You know there’s EVP on that?” Sam points out.

“Not bad, Sammy. ‘S kinda like ridin’ a bike, innit? Alright, I slowed the message down, ran it through a gold wave, took out the hiss and this is what I got.”

This time, it’s a woman’s breathy voice that sounds through the phone. It’s much clearer than John’s voice. 

“I can never go home.”

Dean closes the trunk up as the rest of them mull over this. Then he spins and leans against it, crossing his arms and looking back at Sam. 

“Y’know, in two years, I’ve never bothered you, never asked you for a thing, except when Perce went ghost.”

Percy clicks his tongue. That’s not what it’s about. Why’s Dean gotta make it out like Sam owes him something?

Sam sighs. Looks away. Works his jaw. 

“...Alright, I’ll go. I’ll help you find him. But I have to get back first thing Monday.”

“Ooooh, what’s Monday?” Percy prods. 

“I have an interview.”

“What, a job interview? Skip it,” Dean says easily. 

“It’s a law school interview, and it’s my whole future on a plate.”

Percy’s eyes go wide as dinner plates. 

“WHAT! Dude, you didn’t say that! You should be studying, what the Styx are you doin’ here with us?! Go, go back inside and open a book or something! Did Jess know? Of course she did- why didn’t she stop us?!”

“Woah woah woah, he just said he was comin’ with!” Dean argues.

“Are you crazy?! He’s got an interview! We can do this, Dean, we can catch up with Sammy when he’s not cramming for the big leagues. Seriously, we’ll get this done right quick so we can come back and you can tell us all about how it went!”

“...Really?” Sam asks with an hesitant smile, like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

“Yes, really! Sammy, I don’t want you distracted with a big interview coming up. Especially if it’s that important,” Percy emphasises, squeezing his brother’s shoulder. “Me and Dean have got this!”

“Dean and I,” Annabeth corrects from behind them, causing Sam to lean around them both to wave. 

“Are you really Annabeth?”

Annabeth uncrosses her arms and gives him a quizzical look. 

“I really am, why?”

Sam scoffs. “I’ve heard so much about you you feel more like a creature of myth than a person,” he admits. Percy bites the inside of his cheek at his wording. 

“Do I want to know?” she asks, giving her boyfriend the side-eye. Sam’s quick to back-track.

“Oh, no no no, it’s all good. All good things. Percy hasn't shut up about you since he was twelve. Sometimes it’s like he kept in touch with us just to tell us what amazing new thing Annabeth did or said this week. Couldn’t get him to tell us a word of what he was up to, but it was absolutely imperative that we knew what Annabeth said to his bully this time.”

Annabeth grins like a shark and turns on Percy to lord this over him, but he’s already pointing accusingly at her. 

“Oh, no, don’t even try, I know Chiron kicked you out of the big house for exactly the same thing once a week for like two years.”

She rolls her eyes, but she’s still smiling. She gives Sam a handshake. He looks down at their joined hands, caught off guard, but Percy’s not sure if its at the gesture or the strength of her grip. Could be either. 

It looks like it’ll just be Percy, Dean, and Annabeth on this one. Sam looks tired, so Percy holds himself back from asking the thousand questions he has for his brother about how he’s doing. He doesn’t know what interview Sam’s cramming for, but if it’s gonna make or break his academic career, Percy won’t hear a word of him devoting his time to anything else until it’s over. He knows how hard school is. Although maybe not for Sammy. He always was the Einstein to their Igor.

Annabeth tosses Percy his helmet and he gives Sam one last hug. Dean huffs unhappily and ducks into the car, making a scene the whole way. 

Sam pulls back, but his gaze isn’t on Percy. It’s trained past him, past Annabeth, on the bike. 

“Is… is that a motorcycle?”

Chapter Text

While Percy chows down on the breakfast of champions (burritos and gummy bears from the gas station) he does his best to work the phone Dean hands him. It would be hard enough without Motorhead blaring in the background. Dean won’t let him turn it off, even to use the comms, so he settles for cranking it down when he has to talk. Like now.

He spins the dial with mild relish and jabs the grey button, ignoring the annoyed look his brother gives him.

“No mention of dad in the hospital or morgue, so there’s that,” he informs them. 

“Cops ahead,” Annabeth warns, “I’m coming back around.”

The police are covering the full perimeter of the turnoff, right onto the bridge the mystery gang are here for. Annabeth quietly pulls back and parks far enough behind them that she’s out of sight. 

Right there and then, Dean pulls a container full of fake IDs out of the glove box. FBI, CIA, Police, you name it, baby’s got it. The quality is less reliable, but beggars can’t be choosers.

“Let me guess, they’re all for men,” Percy sighs. 

“I look like a chick to you?” Dean challenges.

“Fill me in?”

“Dean and I are gonna poke around. All the fake IDs we have are for men, though. We’ll have to make you some, Annie.”

“Just in case. Statistically, though, people are more likely to take note of female agents than male ones.”

Percy’s pretty sure people are more likely to take note of guys with frankenstein faces, but he’ll let her have it. 

“I’d take note of ya,” Dean assures her plaintively. “I like this chick. Pragmatic,” he tells Percy as he throws himself out of the car and starts walking. Percy scoffs and moves to follow. 

The officers on the scene are helpfully loud with their discussion as they approach, and Percy takes note of every word. There’s no sign of struggle, no footprints, no fingerprints. Vic’s name is Troy, and apparently he’s dating one of the officer’s daughters. Amy. 

“You fellas had another one just like this last month, didn’t ya?” Dean interrupts, stalking around and trying to look official. The one with the hat straightens.

“Who are you?”

Dean flashes his badge a little too quickly. “Federal Marshalls.” 

“You two are a little young for Marshalls, aren’t you?”

Dean chuckles like it’s a joke, then steps past him. “Thanks, that’s awfully kind of ya. You did have another one just like this, correct?”

“Yeah, that’s right. Not a mile up the road. There’ve been others before that.”

Percy scratches the back of his neck, as if in apology. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I think I heard you mention to your partner that you knew the victim? I’m sorry.”

“Town like this, everybody knows everybody,” the badge replies with an appreciative nod.

“Any connection between the victims, besides that they’re all men?” Dean calls from where he’s circling the scene. 

“No, not so far as we can tell.”

“So what’s the theory?” Percy asks. 

“Honestly? We don’t know. Serial murder, kidnapping ring?”

“Well, that is exactly the kind of crack police work I’d expect out of you guys,” Dean snarks. Percy steps on his foot. 

“Don’t be rude,” he admonishes his brother. “I apologize, my partner can be disagreeable. It runs in his family. Thank you for your time, officer,” Percy grimaces apologetically at the guy who’s just trying to do his job. Then he walks off. If Dean doesn’t wanna come, he can stay behind. 

As they’re going, Dean cuffs him around the head. Percy shoots him a warning glare. Well, not a real one. He wouldn’t do that to family. 

“Dude, not in front of the five ‘O!”

“Why’d you step on my foot?”

“Why you gotta talk to people like that?”

“C’mon, they don’t really know what’s goin’ on,” Dean reminds him, ducking around to stand in Percy’s path, forcing him to stop. “We’re all alone on this, if we’re gonna find dad, we gotta get to the bottom of this thing ourselves.”

Percy’s face screws up in confusion. “How is that at all related to what I said?”

“Don’t go gettin’ chummy with the cops, okay, they’re not gonna be helpful to us.”

“They don’t have to be to warrant human decency, you ass,” Percy says, and he blows a raspberry for good measure. 

Some official looking guy with a shiny badge and shinier shades glares at them as they go, asking in a gravelly voice if he can help them. They give him a polite dismissal and go on their way, but Percy hopes Dean’s not gonna lean on the fake badges for much longer. He has a feeling they won’t fool that guy.

As they go, said guy takes a big sniff, like there's something stuck in his nose. Percy walks faster.  

They find Amy putting up missing posters downtown, just like her father said. They debate for a bit who should go- she might open up more to someone of the same gender, but then again, a random girl she’s never met asking after her boyfriend is pretty suspect and would likely put her hackles up. Percy isn’t super into the idea of a strange man going up to a barely-out-of-high-school-age girl when she’s out on her own, either. In the end, they send Annabeth over with her hair up in a bun, her collar flattened down properly, and the translating glasses she made with Daedalus’ laptop to help her read. With her grey streak sitting front and centre falling out of her bun and her intelligent, experienced eyes, she really does look old enough to be the missing guy’s aunt. She has scars too, but most of them aren’t on her face, and her skin is lighter so they stand out less. In short, she’s less likely to send folks packing with a glance than Percy is. Prettier, too. Percy finds himself rather distracted through the debrief.

She parks round the corner and walks around to Amy while Percy and Dean subtly watch from the car across the street.

“You sure she’s good for this, dude?” Dean asks.

That’s the stupidest question Percy’s ever heard. Sure, Dean doesn’t know Annabeth, but come on. If you’ve even been in the same room as her you should know better than to doubt her ability. Percy makes sure to give him a look that says all that. 

“Alright, sorry,” Dean grumbles, turning to once again pout out the window. “Guess I’ll just go fuck myself then. So much for bros before hoes.”

After talking to Amy for a minute, Annabeth walks her into a diner close by.

“Hey hey, woah, where’s she going?” Dean demands.

“To solve it, probably,” Percy returns easily. “C’mon, I’m dyin’ for a cheeseburger. And for some reason a milkshake.”

Despite Dean’s scepticism (seriously, when will the man learn?), Percy gets his cheeseburger, and Dean gets one too. And pie. Because who is he to say no to pie when it’s just on the menu like that?

Then Dean wants to go after Annabeth. Percy can’t see why. She’s got it covered. If she needs backup, she’ll ask for it. Eventually he just sits on Dean to keep him from going after her (she doesn’t like to be interrupted and Percy rather likes his moron brother in one piece, thanks), and sure enough, half an hour later she turns up with the case cracked and a raised eyebrow.

In 1981, Constance Welch, age 23, jumped off Sylvania Bridge and drowned in the river. An hour prior to her body being found, she’d looked away from her children for a minute and come back to find them drowned in the bathtub, or so reports say. They were a little old to have drowned in the bathtub without supervision, though, so it’s more likely that Constance killed them and then herself out of guilt. She was survived by her husband, Joseph Welch. There’s a local ghost story about her appearing on the bridge as a hitchhiker and killing the drivers that pick her up, all of which are male.

Percy hands over the fries he saved for her and gets off his brother without batting an eye. Dean, on the other hand, looks like he’s been socked in the jaw. 

“How the hell did you get that from one conversation?! Amy knew all that?!” he gapes. Annabeth frowns at him like he’s an especially stupid worm. 

“Of course not. Her friend mentioned the legend, which gave me enough information to search the database at the local records library. Checked the hotels too- cheapest one’s a real no-questions-asked joint. If your dad stayed in the area he’ll have gotten a room there, or in one of the three other places I scouted. Can I-” she addresses Percy, who’s already handing back his shake for her to dip her fries in. “-Thanks.”

Dean grumbles something about her making that up and starts the car. 

By the time they get back to the bridge, it’s dark out. The cops have cleared off, leaving the place as spooky and atmospheric as it probably is on any given night. The water tumbling quickly over itself under the bridge is an angry, cold sound, and it eats up anything else that might have something to say, leaving the air frighteningly quiet. Farbeit for that to stop Dean, though.

“So this is where Constance took the swan dive,” he says loftily, leaning on the rail to look over the rapids. Percy rolls his eyes. His brother, ever the sensitive soul. 

“Pretty place to do it,” he acknowledges less brashly. 

“What?” Dean scoffs. “It’s a line of uneven tar over a fuckin’ river. Can’t even see the shore for the mist.”

“Exactly.”

“You can almost pretend it doesn’t exist,” Annabeth hums, stepping up beside her boyfriend, eyes scanning the muted view. See, she gets it.

“Okay, Evanescence. Come on, let’s have a look around. Sigils, remains, evidence, whatever, there might be something here.”

“No need,” Percy says distractedly, brushing past his brother to take two steps toward something behind him. Someone, actually.

Her nightdress gleams silver as the railing, flying wildly in a wind that isn’t blowing. Her face is shrouded by a thick mane of dark, wavy hair, but Percy can make out the glitter of eyes full of unshed tears. She’s barefoot. Percy worries that she must be cold before he remembers that she’s dead. Do the dead feel cold? The ones he’s met didn’t seem to, but he never asked. It might be different for Greek ghosts, anyway. Wait, not all of them were Greek. Did they get cold, then? That would suck, retaining the ability to feel cold for all your eternal afterlife just ‘cause you’re not Greek.

While Percy’s been wondering about this, Constance has been working up her nerve. He stops thinking when she jumps. His body reacts on autopilot, throwing himself into a sprint as if he can stop her, feeling for her body in the water. 

He hits the railing and nearly goes over, but just as the river told him when he asked, there’s no one really there. Dean slams into the barrier a second after him.

“Where’d she go?” he asks. 

“We’re hunting a ghost lady, Dean, don’t expect her to stick around.”

”Isn’t that what they do?”

Percy’s reply is cut off by the stutter of a very familiar engine. Both of them snap back to look at their car, now staring them down with accusing headlights. Annabeth looks between them and it. 

Percy knows Dean never leaves his keys in the car. Never. Sure enough, he watches his brother’s hand go to his pocket. Judging by the jingling, they’re still in there.

“What the…”

“There’s no one in there,” Annabeth confirms from her vantage point.

“We found Constance!” Percy cries optimistically. Always look on the bright side, right?

As if in response, the Impala jolts into life, growling at them as she barrels straight down the really very narrow bridge with intent to hit them right between the eyes. 

Percy starts moving, Dean a hair’s breadth behind him. Their feet pound against the pavement, the sound lost under the din of the car’s wrath. The railing’s secured for a good ten feet before it opens up, right where Constance jumped. If they make it, Percy can throw them over the side and into the friendly river. 

Five more feet.

The roar is deafening. There’s no time to look behind, he has no idea if they’ll make it.

Three more feet.

Come on, come on!

The moment they reach the open portion, Percy body checks his brother over the side. 

He means to go into the drink with Dean, he really does. His muscles just respond without his permission. It’s not quite survival instinct, because the water’s home base, nowhere’s safer- but rather that he’d be going down on someone else’s terms. In this instance, a 1967 Chevy Impala’s. Why would he do that if he doesn’t have to?

So yeah, Percy’s arms automatically shoot out to catch him on the side of the bridge while Dean plummets into the cold, muddy water.

Dean’s fine, obviously, so Percy takes his time admiring the view of his brother soldier-crawling out of the muck, plastered head to toe with dirty river sludge. It’s a good look on him. 

“How are ya, Dean?” he calls down, trying not to sound like he’s laughing too hard. After all, if he didn’t have Percy for a brother, he’d be dead. Best to look a little concerned.

It’s hard to tell from here, but Percy thinks Dean gives him a sarcastic smile and an a-ok sign. 

“I’m super,” he hisses. 

Annabeth leans over the railing casually beside where Percy’s sitting to enjoy the show too.

-~o~-

Annabeth’s right, of course. ‘Burt Aframian’ (read: Daddy Winchester) apparently booked up a room for a whole month at the first place she scouted, and he sure as Styx made use of the place. 

The walls are papered, floor to ceiling, with evidence, documents, articles, and  notes. John always was an old-school kind of guy, and Percy’s not surprised to find that he still uses string to tie his leads together. Things like sheets and half-eaten takeout are strewn around thoughtlessly, forgotten, while the many thick salt rings in the room are maintained religiously.

Dean gives the burger a sniff, which Percy just wasn’t game to do.

“Ugh. I don’t think he’s been here for a couple days at least.”

“Salt, cats-eye shells…” Annabeth notes, leaning down to investigate a pile of those exact things.

“He was worried. Trying to keep something from coming in,” Percy concludes. He steps up behind his brother where he’s stopped by a certain cluster of papers spanning the larger wall.

“Who ya got there?” he asks.

“Centennial Highway victims,” Dean replies, squinting over the faces of the missing. “I don't get it. I mean, different men, different jobs, ages, ethnicities. There's always a connection, right? What do these guys have in common?”

“...A sin,” Annabeth announces from across the room. Percy turns to listen. Dean frowns and follows suit. She’s studying the wall directly across from them, the more shadowed part that Percy walked right past. Too many words. “A common failing,” she clarifies for their benefit. “Your dad figured it out. Welch is a woman in white.”

Dean turns back to the missing poster wall. 

“You sly dogs,” he smirks. Then he sobers abruptly. Percy almost forgot how fast Dean could move. “All right, so if we're dealing with a woman in white, Dad would have found the corpse and destroyed it.”

“She might have another weakness,” Percy chips in.

“Well, Dad would want to make sure. He'd dig her up. Does it say where she's buried?”

“No,” Annabeth reports. 

“Dad’s first stop would be the husband, right? Joseph Welch?” Percy offers.

“If he's still alive,” Annabeth adds cheerfully.

Dean nods decisively and moves back into the room, headed for the bathroom. 

“All right. Why don't you, uh, see if you can find an address, I'm gonna get cleaned up.”

“Yeah, you need it,” Percy snorts. 

He doesn’t hear Dean’s reply, distracted by a faded picture he’s just caught tucked into the dirty mirror frame. It’s so old it almost looks sepia-toned on account of a mixture of shit camera quality and wear. It’s sunny enough in the picture that it doesn’t matter much, though. It’s still easy to make out a younger John Winchester, sat on the hood of the Impala in proper hunting gear like he’s off to shoot rabbits or something. He’s got Sammy on one lap, all bundled up in cream-coloured wool and flannel, squinting against the light. Dean stands out in his trucker hat and his mullet- Dean had a freaking mullet- dressed in all black like the rebel he still thinks he is. This was, like, a week before he snuck out and got his ears pierced. Dad was not happy about that little stunt. 

And in the middle, sharing John and Dean’s lap, is little Percy. He can’t be more than five years old there, drowning in a coat that’s clearly Dean’s, making a stupid face at the camera. He’s a little blurry around the arms where he couldn’t sit still for the photo.

Annabeth comes up behind him to have a look. She tilts her head into his shoulder after a second, narrowing her eyes like the picture’s offended her.

“...Is that a mullet?”

Percy dissolves into high-pitched giggles, stomping out his laughing fit into the motel floor. 

-~o~-

That night, Dean heads off from the motel with a credit card under the name Hector Aframian to buy them all dinner (read: avoid the phone call Percy’s about to make to Sam). He barely makes it five steps before he spots an entourage of familiar cops questioning the motel owner. In fact, he takes note of them just in time to watch said motel owner point his way. Snitch.

One rapid-fire call later, Percy and Annabeth have been tipped off, so Dean’s not too bummed about being shoved into a panda car in cuffs. Honestly, he might even get some info out of it.

It’s weird how the guy that’s picked him- the same one from the bridge- ignores Dean completely while his goons take him down. Instead he stalks right into the motel room that America’s very own Bonnie and Clyde have hopefully evacuated by now, nostrils flaring like he can smell them. It’s like Dean isn’t even there. 

When he comes back with empty hands, though, he turns his unsettling thousand-yard stare on Dean. He looks like he’s trying to burn a hole straight through his sunglasses. What’s with those, anyway? It’s the middle of the night. 

It would be just Dean’s luck to get stuck with the Terminator for a tail. Or maybe Smiles over there is possessed by a troll. It would explain the ugly. 

Not the hatred rolling off of him in waves, though. As many jokes as he cracks, Dean can’t explain that. 

The dawn breaks while they’re processing him. Then they take their time sending rookie cop after rookie cop in to interrogate him. His favourite is the poor guy that tries to appeal to his Christian goodness. Dean eats him alive, and it almost makes up for the cheeseburger he never got. 

They’re at him all day. Seriously, it’s like the whole precinct’s doing rotation. This must be a dead boring town.

Dean’s almost forgotten about Sunglasses Creep when he finally walks in, shades still on and body still not cooperating. Dean wonders how someone can stay on the force with an injury like that, but as he watches the guy jerk through his movements around the table, he takes it back. No injury or condition Dean’s ever heard of could make a person move like that. Sort of stuttery and unpracticed. It’s… wrong.

He slowly jitters around the table in that creepy way, like a shark circling its prey. He doesn’t say a word. The only sound in the whole room is the heavy shuffle-skip of his feet, and a weird clicking, like claws on hardwood. Dean would look around for the source, but he really doesn’t want to take his eyes off his keeper. He feels it would be a fatal mistake. 

When he can’t stand the choking silence for one second more, Dean blurts out: 

“Oh, c’mon, shades, what is this, Rambo? What’s with the lenses? Those prescription, or do you just watch too many movies?”

All the guy does is stare. There isn’t a single muscle in his ill-fitting body that twitches. 

“I’m not sure you realise just how much trouble you’re in,” he rumbles, and the sound seems to travel right through the floor, up into Dean’s nervous system, shaking his bones. He swallows. 

“We talkin’ like… misdemeanour kinda trouble, or, ah, squeal-like-a-pig , trouble?”

“I’ve seen your walls,” Shades growls. That’s the only word for the sound that comes out of his throat. “I know what you’re tracking. It’s almost cute that you think that will keep the half-breeds safe.”

Dean frowns, completely lost. Half-breeds? He’d think it was a racist thing, but Annabeth’s tan couldn’t be mistaken for dark skin, not standing next to Percy the Hawaiian poster child, and he definitely said half-breeds.

“I have to admit, it’s a good plan,” the creep continues. “With the stench of the exceptions you chase around like a dog clogging up my nose, I couldn’t be sure it was him on the bridge, even though the other was no doubt close by. And even a peek into this-” he pulls a familiar leather-bound journal out of his jacket- “would send most of my like packing.”

Dean’s so busy staring at the journal he doesn’t even see the guy move. He’s just suddenly right up in Dean’s face, teeth bared like a dog’s. Saliva coats his gums so thickly that they almost look black. 

“But you listen to me, Dean Winchester, and listen well. I have their scent now, and nothing, not in your heaven nor my hell, is gonna keep me from ripping their skulls from their spines and stripping each of their bones with my teeth. I only need one of them, the other always follows. So tell me: WHERE. IS. JACKSON?”

Neither of them really process the door jingling open until someone leans into the room on the door handle and speaks. 

“We just got a 9-1-1, shots fi- uhhh…”

The manic freak of an officer whips to glare at the poor guy who’s interrupted. Officer Whitman, Dean remembers. For a second Dean thinks Mr. Batshit’s going to fly at him, but instead the feral snarl slips from his face. Whitman stares, eyes cutting between the two of them. 

“...What were you doing?” he asks. 

Dean opens his mouth to say ‘what is your vetting process even like’, but Freakshow steamrolls over him, straightening his sunglasses, cuffing Dean to the table, and getting up to follow his coworker out.

“Nothin’, this guy’s a hard nut to crack. I’m right behind ya.”

He stalks out, the claw-ish clicking all the louder as he goes, without so much as a backwards glance toward Dean.

Leaving him with his cuffs, a paperclip, and no guards whatsoever. Also a few questions, some of which pertain to his own sanity. 

What in the fuck was that?

-~o~-

It takes Dean just way too long to find what must be the only payphone in the whole town. It’s by the park, of all places. Why the park? 

He always makes a point to carry change with him. Sammy thinks it’s stupid. Well, who’s stupid now? Dean wonders if Percy carries change with him. If not, he’ll have to start. Dean doesn’t want his little brother getting caught out. 

Dean’s pretty chuffed with himself for all this forward thinking, right up until he moves to punch in a number and realises he doesn’t have one. Percy never gave him his number.

Fuck.

“FUCK!” he yells, and he kicks the stupid payphone for good measure. Dumb fuckin’ things, anyway. How could he not have Percy’s number?! 

“You wanna get in, or are you having too much fun over there?” 

Dean whips around and processes his Impala (not unexpected, baby always comes first) and then his brother grinning at him from the driver’s seat.

“Perce!” Dean huffs. It comes out a little too relieved. Percy’s eyebrows come together a little in concern, his smile dying. “How’d you know where to find me?”

“Figured you’d look for a payphone to call someone for a ride. Isn’t that what you do? You use phones?”

Dean doesn’t snark back that everyone uses phones. He doesn’t even say anything about Percy driving, just opens the door and all but falls into the passenger seat. That’s what really tips him off that something’s wrong. 

“Did something happen?”

Dean runs a hand down his face as Percy peels off the curb, scanning his brother for injuries or an explanation for his weirdness.

“Where’s your girl?”

“She has a name. You know, when Dad said ‘don’t be gay’- well first of all, he was wrong, but second of all, he didn’t mean ‘take it out on every woman ever’. And we have a meet spot. Stop avoiding the question.”

Dean grumbles something about how his little brother never used to be this bossy, which Percy graciously ignores. He’s actually starting to get worried. 

“You ever heard the name Jackson?” Dean asks offhandedly.

Percy nearly swerves into a tree. 

Has he heard–? Uh, yeah. He’s only heard the name Jackson on the end of practically every threat known to man and some besides since he was twelve. It seems the monsters get more and more creative every year. It used to just be ‘Die, Perseus Jackson’ , but now they’re getting fancy with the specific details of how they want to make him die. And they’ve always called him that. Once he got to camp, he was only ever addressed by his mother’s maiden name out of respect for the woman that made one of the most powerful gods break his word. Even Chiron called him that. 

Percy was just glad to have some piece of his mother to claim. He’d only ever been a Winchester before- he’d never known his mother’s name. And Percy figured it could only keep his adopted family safer, not being connected to him in any immediately obvious (traceable) way. So for the last six years, he’s been Percy Jackson. Hardly any people from his world even know he has a mortal family to return to, much less another name.

But he has returned to them. And out here, he is a Winchester. Percy Winchester. There is no reason Dean should have ever heard the name Jackson. Not unless someone from Percy Jackson’s world gave it to him. 

Percy curses internally. Not even a week in, and Dean’s met a monster. 

“Where’d you hear the name?” Percy asks instead of responding. Dean, ever trusting when it comes to family, doesn’t even blink at the deflection. 

“The guy from the bridge, with the shades, he was there when they arrested me. Went after you at the motel. Came back pissed with a capital P. And then he came into interrogation and said some really weird stuff. Made no sense. Like, he was goin’ on about not being able to smell him on the bridge over the stench of ‘exceptions’, and his ‘like’ being repelled by our cases. Something about half-breeds. Then he asked me where ‘Jackson’ was. And it clearly wasn’t to return a cassette tape, if you get what I mean.” Dean pauses for a few heavy seconds. “...It was proper scary stuff. He was… like an animal.”

The fact that Dean’s saying it says enough. Being a hunter, Dean’s not easy to shake, and Dean being Dean, it’s even harder to get him to admit it. 

Percy stays quiet, not wanting to interrupt his admission in case he startles and clams up. Any information Dean has while it’s still fresh in his mind could be vital. 

The silence sticks in the air like glue. One second. Two. Three. Four. 

Finally, Dean licks his lips. 

“Percy… he had Dad’s journal.”

Percy turns to find Dean’s pulled just that out of his jacket, but he’s not even looking at it. His gaze is trained through the front windshield, somewhere distant. He looks troubled. 

Percy’s face sets and he looks out the front windshield too. John Winchester never left a place without that book, not willingly. Percy always saw it as a bit of a liability, keeping all your records and facts in one place, but the man was impossible to budge on certain things, and this was one of them. 

The monster has obviously been stationed here for a while. Even with the Mist, it would take time for it to work its way up to being recognised as a senior police officer. So… Dad might’ve met it. Even if he did, though, it doesn’t necessarily mean he figured out what it was. And the monster would have no reason to connect him to Perseus Jackson.

Percy wishes he could make himself sound more sure of that in his own head.

Chapter Text

Maybe Percy should tell him. 

It’s always gonna be easier without Dad around, anyway. Maybe this is his chance. He doesn’t want to lie to his brother- in fact, he would’ve already told him if it weren’t for them having to chase that sour old man across the freaking country (again). Percy figures Dean needs him to have his back right now, and he can’t do that if Dean doesn’t trust him. Percy hates to think it, but that’s a very real possibility should he tell his brother the truth. After all, what’s a demigod if not a monster? But maybe this is exactly the time to do it. Percy feels cornered telling Dad anything. The man is so damn good at turning Percy’s oldest brother against him it’s almost not worth attempting to open his mouth when more than one of them is around. Percy’s not afraid to have it out with the guy himself, but not with Dean around. Dad throws Dean around like a chess piece sometimes, and Percy’s not about to give him the chance. If he wants an opponent, Percy will give him that, but the game will be between the two of them, not either of his brothers. 

Percy looks over at the oldest one in the passenger seat, his brain crunching through the situation. Which means he gets a perfect view of what happens next.

Dean disappears. 

He is there, staring out the windscreen, eyes as distant as they are frazzled.

And then he isn’t.

“Take me home.”

Percy’s eyes snap to the rearview mirror while his body stills. His muscles coil like a snake before strike. 

Constance is visually no more than a shadow, but there is a depth to her that makes her a physically tangible presence, and the threat of that alone does not escape her prey. She is only darkness and a few small patches of pale skin- thick lashes and one black eye wholly devoid of soul. 

“Where is Dean?” Percy asks in a deceptively calm tone. 

“Take me home.”

She wants to do it the hard way, then? Fine.

“No.”

Percy hears the car doors lock. He tries them just in case. No luck. He gives the door a few proper slams with his shoulder for good measure. He really doesn’t want to smash the windows. He’ll take Constance over an angry Dean any day. Besides, he’s pretty sure those things are bulletproof.

The gas pedal slams down. Constance remains in the backseat, those hollow eyes burning scorch marks into the back of his skull. There’s no anger, no sadness. There is nothing. 

The speed they’re going is equally calm, and though Percy doesn’t relax by any stretch, he is intrigued. Particularly when baby pulls right up to the front of a house decaying like a sad old memory, sunken into itself like rotten fruit. If his mental map is correct… this must be her old house. 

“All things end, Constance,” Percy says gently but firmly to the dead girl in the backseat. “Let it end.”

She flickers, and when she comes back into focus, the empty is gone. Instead the worst kind of life moulds her features into real, true grief. The stuff of hauntings. The eyes that had just been twin pits in a mindless face now glitter with the rubble of tragedy, drowned in a flood of tears that have every right to be hot but run cold. 

“I can never go home,” she says, and it sounds like heartbreak. 

“You have to,” he tells her. 

Suddenly, there is no woman in the back. Percy looks beside him to find the thing using her body in the passenger seat, all emotion wiped from her like it never existed. It doesn’t care about him. It doesn’t care about her. It makes Percy’s battle-honed alarm bells go absolutely nuts. Constance is still there, but she is only the grief that feeds this horrible, deathless thing. It is the real danger.

She moves like an old film reel, in jilted, crackly movements. Too fast, not right. In half a second she’s climbed into Percy’s lap, sending the seat back and him with it. She’s heavy. Constance can’t be a hundred and forty pounds soaking wet, but she is heavy with twenty-four years of hate and fear and guilt and the thing inside her eating it all up. As someone who’s held the sky, Percy feels qualified to say so. 

She rocks her body into him in a rhythm designed to pull him out like a riptide. Percy keeps his eyes open, fighting the instinct to squeeze them shut against the weight threatening to buckle the seat beneath them. Aside from it just being bad combat etiquette, he feels he owes Constance more than that. Well, maybe he doesn’t. But someone should. 

“Hold me,” she begs so quietly into the air between them. Her face hangs over his, inches away, her hair falling over them both like a thick black curtain on all sides.

“You can’t kill me, Constance, not like this,” Percy grunts through the strain, working hard just to breathe. “I’m not unfaithful.”

Her hands are cold as they slide over his jaw, down his neck. She makes no sign that she notices the uneven texture of the burn mark there as she applies pressure on and off, on and off. Percy doubts she even sees him at all. 

She flickers again, missing a few frames in her stop animation, leaving her lips lined up with his ear. 

“You will be,” she promises lowly.

What! That’s cheating! That doesn’t- no! 

The next time she flickers, her lips seal Percy’s. 

He does not make it easy for her. He doesn’t want to hurt her, because the poor girl’s still in there somewhere, but he is very much not about it. So he compromises: he doesn’t bite. He bucks. Not yes-straddle-me-harder bucks. More of the extremely-angry-bronco variety. 

It has two effects, both of them good for Percy. First of all, it makes it real hard to make out with him without breaking her ghost teeth (something Percy recognises he can’t debate the nature of right now, but definitely should come back to); Second of all, it confuses the shit out of her. She obviously wasn’t expecting him to be so strong. Or discerning. 

Constance finally decides she’s had enough of him and pulls back. She looks right into his eyes as she flickers into a more rotten version of herself, like she wants him to see. It’s rather petty, if you ask Percy. And if he were any other guy, it would’ve worked, but he’s seen a lot worse than a rapidly decaying stop-animation corpse in his lap. She’s pissed about that too, if her disappearing into thin air is any indication. 

Percy isn’t stupid enough to think that means she’s gone. The weight lifts from him, and his limbs appear unrestrained. He stays braced for her next attack. 

It comes burning through his chest in five concentrated centres. Judging by spacing, she must’ve plunged her fingers into him right around where his heart is. Each of them is punctured deliberately through the spaces between his ribs. Percy gasps at the intrusion, grunts through the pain, but it’s nothing next to the flare-bright panic of the knowledge that if she just managed to find the right angle and follow through, she could crush his beating heart in her hand. 

He is beyond holding back now. Percy is just about to plunge the car keys into her skull when six bullets rip through the car in quick succession. 

Constance flickers, as if bothered by the interruption. It seems to be the light and noise that do it more than the actual shots. Whatever it is, it gives Percy enough breathing room to reorient himself and grasp the world beyond his pain. 

He floors it.
Percy thinks he hears Dean call his name right as the tyres hit the porch and tear right through the rotten old timber like it’s paper maché. Baby hardly slows down, barreling through rafters and floorboards, smashing all the front-facing windows and driving right into the dining room table. The house might as well be a piñata for all the fight it puts up. Splinters fly and glass rains. 

With a final bump, the car thumps to a stop.

This time he hears his brother’s concerned call much clearer, but more immediate is Annabeth’s order. 

“Report!”

“Pain, no wound, I’m fine,” Percy shoots back. He’s glad he asked her to meet him outside the house rather than inside, but just in case- “Report!”

“Both unharmed,” she barks. Dean appears in the window, gun drawn. “Where is she?”

“I don’t know,” Percy gasps, leaning heavily on his brother as he lets himself be half-dragged out of the stupid car. Dean must not have been listening to their status reports, because he’s scanning Percy for injuries that Percy just confirmed he didn’t have. His shirt has five stylish new holes in it now, but whatever she did to his actual body must’ve been mental. There’s no blood, no wounds, and the pain is wearing off, leaving him with just the aches from the crash. 

Percy’s hardly straightened before he’s being slammed by a massive dresser intent on cutting him in two, but ultimately only restricting his movement and knocking the wind right out of him. And it looks like Dean’s pinned too. Cheap shot. 

Percy gulps in some air and gets to work trying to move the damned thing. It doesn’t look like it should be hard, especially not with Dean’s help, but obviously Constance is cheating again, because it doesn’t even budge. He stops bothering after he’s determined this. Instead he looks up to take stock of the situation. 

Constance is staring them down at the base of the stairs, flickering between a grieving woman and an empty shell. Annabeth has her knife out, but looks hesitant to get involved, unsure if her involvement would help or hinder. Percy follows her gaze to see what’s stopped her and finds Constance wavering. 

The sound of dripping water cuts through the charged air, and even Dean snaps to attention. It’s the staircase. Water splashes down the sideboards, turning the old wood a bright, reflective black. It would look like blood if it didn’t move so fast. Down the stairs it floods, pooling across the floor, hounding Constance’s shadow.

Two silhouettes stand ankle-deep in the torrent at the top of the stairs, looking condemningly down. Children. Constance, as if drawn by magnetic force, moves to mirror them at the bottom. Percy can’t see her face, but she sways as if in a strong gale. 

The little boy and his sister entwine their hands in the same jittery manner Constance herself moves. And when they speak, it is with the same echoey, haunting quality that plagues her speech.

“You’ve come home to us, mommy.”

Constance sways again, and this time she turns, helpless against the current of her own sin. Her children are there to greet her. They fly at her in what might be a hug, but ends up looking like a capture. The second they touch her she screams as if their skin is acid against hers. She snaps her head back and howls, and her body howls with her, flickering, flashing, teeth and jaws and bone and sinew overlapping like an overexposed photo eating itself. There is flesh, so much of it, far more than could make up a human, contorting, melting, splashing up the walls and ceiling. More screaming, more flashing, until Percy can’t hear and can’t see and can’t tell what’s going on at all. He turns Dean away from the flashbang as he instinctively hides his own face. 

When he turns back, it is to the last of the receding screams, and the retreating tide of water seeping down through the cracks in the floorboards as if it had never been there at all. 

Well. That was eventful.

Percy finally, finally, gets to catch his breath. And then, as a bonus, he gets to be freed from the dresser pinning him to the car. He and Dean start to move it, but Annabeth beats them to it, pretty much doing it herself. And even in his rather harried state, Percy can appreciate the face of bewilderment and mild horror that pulls out of Dean. 

“That’s why she could never go home,” Annabeth concludes. “She couldn’t face her children in the place where she drowned them.”

“That’s so sad,” Percy hums. 

“She tried to kill you,” Dean reminds him.

“And rape me. But even that was sad. She’d totally forgotten the point of her suffering. In the end there was no sense of justice, only mania. She wasn’t punishing anyone but herself.”

Annabeth steps closer on impulse at that, checking him over once again with her eyes, noting the charred holes in his shirt. She slips her arm around his waist a little posessively. It’s comforting. Percy knows it wasn’t really Constance’s fault, but he sort of felt a little poisoned by her unwelcome touch. Things are all right again now, though- Annabeth has cured him with her very welcome one. And he knows she will continue to until the poison abates. She’s just good like that. 

“Hey Percy,” Dean calls. Percy turns to where his brother’s investigating the Impala and his stomach drops. Oh no.

Dean turns to him with a warning glare that Percy knows he doesn’t mean, but he kind of does.

“If you hurt my car? I’ll kill you.”

“That’s cool,” Percy says. Suddenly, he recalls his earlier question. “Hey, do you think ghosts have teeth?”

Chapter Text

Dad’s left them some coordinates in the journal, the same old ex-marine crap he always uses when he wants to be found. Blackwater Ridge, Colorado. Which means he knew what he was doing, leaving his precious hunting bible around for Dean to find. Percy won’t lie: he’s pissed. He gets enough of that from his other dad. Leaving clues around and no information, sending him on a dangerous goose-chase across the country with no reason given except ‘because I’m important and I said so’- it’s too close to what the gods do. If he were Sammy, he wouldn’t give this farce of a quest the time of day. In fact, he wouldn’t himself if he didn’t know for sure that Dean was dead set on chasing it. He’s not about to let his brother go alone. And when they do find dad, Percy’s gonna make damn sure he knows exactly what he did and what’ll happen to him if he does it again. 

Dean says if they shag ass they can make it to Blackwater Ridge by morning, but Percy wants to head back and see Sam before his big interview. That always helped Percy on the morning of a big scary exam, having breakfast with a friend or two to remind him that they believe in him. Maybe they should make Sam a poster. Do people do that for interviews? Ehh, they probably don’t have time. Percy should stock up on sparkle glue for dire situations like these.

Percy falls asleep on the way back and has a dream. 

The worst thing about demigod dreams is that you don’t know when they’re visions and when they’re plain old nightmares. Percy recognizes memories, but a lot of his nightmares are still hypotheticals. Things that could happen. Things that sometimes do. 

In this one, he sees something take Jess’ body from her. 

He sees Sam settle back into his bed with his eyes closed, content, only for something dark to drip onto his forehead. Once. Twice. He sees Sam open his eyes. He sees the horror that fills them like a dark flood.

He sees fire. 

Percy wakes up to Dean shaking him. 

“Hey man, we’re here, as requested. What’s the bet brain boy forgot breakfast, huh? No doubt he’s up by now, though. So I’m gonna hit a Dunkin’ Donuts or somethin’ and bring us back some grub. Annabeth’s gone to find a park. You head up first, give Sammy a reason to remember why I’m his favourite brother. We’ll be up soon.”

On another day, Percy might shoot back a joke about Dean being everyone’s favourite. He might call Dean out and tell him he can’t avoid Sammy forever. He might warn the guy not to give his girlfriend the shovel talk if he values his dignity. But Percy has just had a dream, and he doesn’t know if it was a vision or a nightmare. He never knows. 

So instead, he throws himself out of the car without a word and moves quick and quiet up the stairs. He takes them three at a time until Sam’s landing comes into view.

Smoke is pouring out of the window. 

Percy flies up the stairs, mind going blank. As he gets closer, he can hear a voice screaming. Shit, that’s Sammy. But he can’t hear Jess. Gods, please…

Percy kicks the door in and races inside, calling his brother’s name. He follows the light and heat to the bedroom, eyes taking in exits and threats but only in passing, mind scrambling instead to get to Sam. Rushing in like this isn’t wise, but he’s past wise. Hades won’t take his little brother from him. Not yet. 

The apartment is dark, serene, all the chaos confined to the bedroom like the flames dare not pass through the bounds of the doorway. The bedroom itself is like a portal right into the centre of a firestorm, and it’s through those flames that Percy sprints to reach Sam. He’s on his back on the bed, covering his face like he’s being burned from above, but all the fire around him stays far back. Percy can’t make out any injuries, but he’s screaming. 

Percy’s eyes snap up to the ceiling, expecting a monster or source of the fire, some explanation, and instead he sees Jess. 

She’s contorted and laid flat against the ceiling, her feet and hands at odd angles around her. Her hair and nightgown have forgotten gravity, adhering instead to the ceiling as if it were the floor. Her dress is completely blood-soaked. Her golden curls are splayed out from her face almost deliberately, melting right into the wash of flames emanating… from her. The flames are coming from her.

Her face is as empty as Constance’s was. Jess is not there anymore. 

Sam screams for her, and Percy throws himself back into action, grabbing his brother and wrenching him to his feet. Sam is huge and out of his mind, flailing, fighting, but Percy has not survived this long for nothing. It takes a great deal of strength and control to get his brother out of the apartment, but he does. 

Sam’s struggling gets weaker the farther from the apartment they get. He blathers Jess’ name over and over, makes unintelligible noises, and eventually devolves into sobs. Percy pulls him out of sight of the place, upwind, so the smell of smoke doesn’t burn like the fire. 

First, he gives his brother a hug. 

Then he goes through the checks. He checks Sam’s circulation, airway, and breathing. Then he tells him to call the fire department while Percy runs back inside to evacuate the place. As soon as they left, the fire followed, so it’s imperative that everyone gets out before they’re cut off. He starts at the bottom and works his way up. 

Everyone gets out, no injuries. They do not find Jess’ body. 

Sam is a stony mask by the time Dean and Annabeth show up, half a minute behind the fire department. He dodges them all, gravitating towards the Impala at the back of the crowd. 

No one’s looking, but it’s still not like Sam to just pop the trunk with civilians around. That’s what he does, though. He checks the shotguns, like Dean doesn’t keep every single one loaded at all times. It’s methodical. He does it until his hands stop shaking and his jaw is so tight it looks like it’s wired shut. 

Percy knows better than to say anything. Knows better than to give him one of the looks he left camp to avoid. Annabeth does too, keeping guard instead. 

Sam looks at his brothers in turn, flanking him on either side. He nods once. 

“We’ve got work to do.”

Chapter Text

A week. That’s how long it takes them to confirm that whatever killed Jess left nothing behind. 

In that week, Percy and Annabeth fight off two minor monsters, both harpies, and manage not to tip off Sam or Dean. 

Sam does not cry again. He doesn’t even break once. The only thing he gives them is that he doesn’t want to go back to school. Percy can only pray that he changes his mind when he’s less crippled with grief. Sammy deserves every education the world sees fit to offer him- better ones than they got from Dad.

Speaking of which- Percy hates to admit it, but it seems they have a reason to go after him after all. He no doubt has more information than he’s shared with them, and the timing of this thing with Jess means it’s probably connected. It’s the same thing that happened to Mary, and Percy’s mom, Sally. The same thing Dad’s been chasing ever since. Maybe he got somewhere. 

The only lead they have is Blackwater Ridge, so that’s where they go. 

They don’t use the comms. It’s a silent trip. Percy thought it’d be damn near impossible to get Sam and Dean to share the car, but that was before the fire. No one even considers protesting, so Percy and Annabeth lead on the bike, and Sam sleeps in the passenger seat of Impala while Dean drives. They can only hope Dean’s making progress with him, but somehow, Percy doubts it. The detached, logical side of him points out that this trauma will bring them closer together, and will likely make getting his brothers to make up much easier. It also points out that Sam is currently compromised with grief, and is therefore an unreliable factor. A liability. They will all need to be very aware of  and make up for that until a time when he isn’t, should it arrive. None of that is Sam’s fault, and none of it reflects badly on him- it’s just how it is. In battle, these are the factors that make a difference, and as much as Percy hates the clinical nature of taking these notes on the people he loves, they could save lives. 

Blackwater Ridge is… nothing. It’s woods with a sign, pretty much. There’s a little outpost cabin, but that’s it. Seems a place for campers, and no one else. 

In said cabin, though, there’s a lot to learn. Blackwater Ridge is cut off by two canyons. Rough terrain, dense forest, and abandoned silver and gold mines all over the place. Annabeth purports that it was likely a boom town- one of the many in which a gold vein was found and totally overmined, bringing in people from all over hoping to strike rich and leaving empty-handed. Those sorts of places were usually big hotspots for thefts, which, at one point being punishable by death, made them rife with hangings and unquiet spirits. 

Sam raises his eyebrows, impressed. Now that he thinks about it, he hasn’t gotten to know her much yet. He was so excited to, but given recent events…

“You a hunter?” he asks. “Percy never mentioned.”

“What’d you say when I asked that- ‘not a traditional one?’” Dean recalls. 

“Dude, check out the size of this freakin’ bear,” Percy calls, examining the photos on the mantle. Dean’s interested enough to come and have a look. Sam isn’t so easily distracted.

“Not a traditional one? What’s that mean?” he asks. 

Annabeth considers him through whip-sharp eyes the colour of ominous thunderclouds across the map. Sam is almost sorry he asked. He swallows and reminds himself that he’s a big boy, and he is not scared of his little brother’s girlfriend. 

“I wouldn’t call it hunting. I only kill what gets in my way.”

Sam nods and quickly goes back to studying the map. Okay, he amends. Maybe he’s a little scared of her.

“A dozen or more grizzlies in the area,” Percy reports, turning back to them. “Besides the bug guy, over here. I have the strangest inclination to call him Frank.”

Annabeth snorts. 

“You ain’t plannin’ on goin’ out near Blackwater Ridge, by any chance?”

They all turn. The twangy accent belongs to an old park ranger. He’s got a cup of coffee in his hands and a badge on his jacket. He looks interesting, like a grizzled old veteran from a tv show Percy would probably watch if he ever got access to a screen. 

“Oh, no sir, we’re environmental studies majors from UC Boulder. Just workin’ on a paper,” Sam lies smoothly. Percy’s impressed. Of course, Dean just has to ruin it.

“Recycle, man.”

Percy gives him a look. He knows he can’t lie, so he keeps his trap shut. Why can’t Dean do that?

“Bull,” the old geezer calls. Percy sighs. Dean licks his teeth. Sam shuffles guiltily. “You’re friends with that Haley girl, right?”

“Yes,” Annabeth admits, doing a great job of playing sheepish. “We are.”

Ranger- uh, Wisconsin? Wikison… Wakison? Something like that, according to his badge- turns away a little and shakes his head at the floor before returning his firm gaze to them. 

“Well I will tell you exactly what I told her. Her brother filled out a backcountry permit saying he wouldn’t be back from Blackwater until the twenty-fourth. So it’s not exactly a missing persons now, is it? You tell that girl to quit worryin’. I’m sure her brother’s just fine.”

“We will,” Dean assures him. Before the ranger clomps back off to wherever he came from, Dean calls out again. “Boy, that Haley girl’s quite the pistol, huh?”

“That is putting it mildly,” Wackjob agrees. 

“You know what would help, is if I could show her a copy of that permit, so she could see her brother’s return date.”

And alright, Percy will give him that. It maybe doesn’t warrant quite the amount of smug chuckling Dean gets out of it, but it was pretty slick. Sam is less impressed.

“What, are you cruisin’ for a hookup or somethin’?” 

Dean falters in the road. Percy frowns inquisitively at Sam. 

“What do you mean?” the elder asks.

“The coordinates point to Blackwater Ridge, so what are we waiting for? Let’s just go find Dad. I mean, why even talk to this girl?”

Dean's brows come together as Percy's slacken. They both resist the urge to exchange a look with each other. It’s not an absurd suggestion, but it’s absurd to be coming from Mr.Cautious. Dean’s always the one who wants to jump the gun, Sam’s the one to lower it and ask questions first. Is this how grief is gonna manifest for Sam? Recklessness? 

“I don’t know, maybe we should know what we’re walking into before we walk into it?” Dean asks facetiously. 

“What?” Sam demands at the looks his brothers are giving him. Percy steamrolls over whatever Dean’s gonna say, seeing the fight coming a mile away. 

“Wise girl, why don’t you and Dean check out the lead, I’m taking Sam.”

“Wh- w- hey-!” Sam protests as Percy moves to lead him off to the bike. 

“No, let me take him,” Annabeth replies. The two elder brothers turn to look at her with varying degrees of confusion on their faces. Percy just exchanges a silent conversation with her. It’s short. Then he nods and mutely herds Dean back into the car. 

“No, no, we finally have a lead, I’m not going with you for therapy or whatever, we’re wasting time!” Sam protests. 

Annabeth squares her shoulders and stands directly facing him with all of her body. She forces his eyes to meet her intense stare, refusing to drop it until she has what she wants from him. She leaves no room for his impatience.

“Listen, Sam. We’re a team now. That means you have to trust me.”

He almost rushes into an answer, but something in her posture stops him.

She is asking him if he will have her back. If when the time comes, she can put her life in his hands. If she can be confident in his ability to return the favour.

“But you don’t,” she continues, “And right now, I don’t trust you.”

Sam blinks. He almost feels stupid for accusing her of taking him to therapy to talk out his feelings. She doesn’t sugarcoat shit.

“Come on,” she orders, and does a full right heel turn towards the motorbike without looking back. 

Sam doesn’t doubt for a second that she will leave him here if he doesn’t hurry up, so without really thinking about it, he does. 

Sam tries to be as delicate as possible on the bike. He’s sitting behind Annabeth, and there’s not much room for a guy his size. How Percy made it look natural is beyond him. He supposes Annabeth is his girl, though. Sam, however, is all too aware of their proximity, and he doesn’t want to cross any boundaries. He does his best to get seated and shoves Percy’s helmet on. Annabeth turns around slowly, and even through the helmet Sam can tell she’s raising an eyebrow. She reaches up by his jaw and clicks a button on his guard. The comms.

“You’re gonna wanna hold on,” she advises. 

“I am holding on,” he promises. 

“You’re gonna wanna hold on tighter.”

Sam shifts uncomfortably and grips her waist as respectfully as he can. Annabeth tilts her head in a very Dean move, clearly laughing at him, and turns back to the front. 

Sam quickly learns what ‘tighter’ means. It means hold on for dear life or you will fly off, moose man. She doesn’t go easy on him, either. He can hear her laughing over the comms as he imitates a koala in self-defence. 

She finally comes to a stop in a field. There’s nothing around as far as the eye can see. If Sam thought Blackwater Ridge was remote, he had no idea what remote was. He follows her lead and dismounts, looking around in case he’s missed something, but he hasn’t. 

“Okay,” he scoffs, “What are we doing here?”

Annabeth efficiently sweeps her helmet-mussed hair into a ponytail, marching a good distance away from the bike and gesturing for Sam to do the same. 

“We’re gonna spar,” she says. 

“...What, like… like fight?”

“That’s the idea.”

Sam sniffs. “And why are we doing that instead of making progress on the case?”

“Because you’re compromised,” she explains, immediately pinning him with that ice-grey stare again, like she’s neatly deconstructing his entire self and filing the information away to use at her discretion. From what Percy’s told him, Sam would bet that’s exactly what she’s doing. “You’re reckless. Impulsive. That’s no way to go into battle. You need an outlet, or you're liable to get one of us killed. So we’re going to spar. You will not hold back. Only thing off the table is permanent injury. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Sam stares at her incredulously. “You… you want me to punch my feelings out on you?”

“If that’s how you want to think of it. It benefits me too, though. Think of it as a get-to-know-you exercise. I want to know who you are, Sam.”

Sam shakes his head and laughs, astonished, his mind reeling at the absurdity of this. There is no way she’s serious. 

“Look, sorry to disappoint, but I’m fine. I don’t need to punch out my grief on my brother’s girlfriend. No offence,” he adds, and then wonders why he did. This is such a weird situation. 

Annabeth studies him for another moment, not put off in the slightest by his reticence. Her hair blows across her face in the wind. Her eyes reflect the sky- clear blue. 

Faster than Sam’s eyes react, her hand flashes out, jabbing him with weaponized fingers right over his heart. He grunts and stumbles back, gaping. 

“Ow!” he coughs, looking back up at her in shock, curled into himself a bit. Annabeth doesn’t even twitch with remorse, flat expression unimpressed. They just stare at each other for another few seconds. What does she want from him? He's not gonna hit her.

She jabs out again, hitting him just under the ribs in a way that digs in. Even watching her closely, he barely sees her move. And she hits hard. 

Still, she looks expectantly at him, unmoving. The message is clear: what are you gonna do about it?

This time when she strikes out, Sam deflects her hand. Without wasting a second she follows up with an elbow to the shoulder, right in the soft spot, as if she'd predicted that before he did it. 

Now kind of pissed because that really hurt, she’s got a mean falcon punch on her, Sam attacks her properly this time. He throws himself low like a footballer, using his size to his advantage. She reacts in half a heartbeat, getting even lower, throwing her weight at his ankles at a pre-calibrated angle to optimally use his momentum against him. Sam essentially ends up rolling over her in a discombobulated mess of moose limbs, ending up sprawled on his back on the floor. 

Right, that’s it. 

He flips himself up quickly and gets serious. She meets him in the middle, catching the elbow he throws at her and using it to get at his ribs again, hitting him twice in the already bruised area.At the same time she trips him with her ankle- or she tries to, but he quickly shifts his weight to his other side and spins, swapping their positions. She throws a jab at his face that he blocks, and she has to move fast to dodge the knee he tries to send into her stomach. She catches his foot as it’s raised and holds it up high, unbalancing him and sending him hopping back until she takes pity and throws him down. 

Five more introductions to the ground later, Sam discovers the game. She’s not letting him rely on his power and instincts. If he keeps charging in, he’ll end up back here every time. But when he stands back, she gives him space. Not to recover, he realises. To think. 

You’re reckless. Impulsive. That’s no way to go into battle. 

She wants him to think before rushing in. 

Sam almost laughs into the grass before he shoots back up with a new game plan. His brother sure can pick ‘em.

-~o~-

Sam’s predictable. He’s obviously been trained extensively in hand-to-hand combat as well as several forms of martial arts, but he lacks finesse. It’s sloppy, relying too much on his natural size and power. Part of it’s due to emotional stress, but Annabeth can tell it’s equally the fault of complacency over years of remaining unchallenged. Sam’s kept up his fitness, though, and his reflexes are good for a mortal's. As they continue, these strengths sharpen, his body remembering years of conditioning that have dulled from disuse. With encouragement, his attacks start to coagulate into a real style. He’s smart, using common misconceptions like ‘big equals slow’ against his opponent, and altering the formula when it doesn’t work. Sam never makes the same mistake twice- not in the same context, at least. He’s quick to correct himself. He clearly takes everything he can from the fight, his mind working just that much more quickly than his body. But he isn’t afraid of his own size, either. Annabeth gets the impression that Sam is prone to overthinking, but this burst of emotion is a good cure for that. In his destructive grief, he’s forgotten to worry about Annabeth being a woman, being his brother’s girlfriend, being all but a stranger, and just fought her. 

He gets frustrated. More ferocious. Then he corrects himself back into caution. Then his frustration mounts again, and it’s rinse and repeat. Even at his angriest, when he’s hardly pulling punches that would break bones if they hit, he’s no match for her. She channels him through his waves and gets a feel for him as a person in the process. They really will have to work on that predictability, but he shows promise.

There comes a point after Annabeth flips Sam into the ground for the nth time when he just lies there on his back, huffing, puffing, and of all things, laughing. Annabeth tamps down the reflex to force him back up again. This isn’t really training, not yet. She smiles. Sam’s head rolls to face her, hair falling messy over the grass. 

“Why didn’t you stop me?”

She knows what he means. There were times in that melee that Sam had properly lost himself- forgotten who he was fighting. Had she been anyone else, he likely would’ve seriously injured her. 

“I can take it,” she promises him, as if she hasn’t just well and truly proven that. 

“Yeah, obviously,” he chuckles, “but you shouldn’t have had to. I’m sorry, Annabeth.”

She shakes her head and helps him up, still somehow surprising him with her strength. “We’re family, Sam. We help each other. No sorrys.”

Jess does- er, used to do, that- call her friends family. Really, if you spent more than a week or two with her, you were family. She had a big, undamaged heart. Family, to Sam, was a different beast altogether. Its face changed depending on the day. No matter what day it was, though, he could never hold anyone other than his brothers or his father (and sometimes his mother) accountable for the label. So a strange blend of emotions bubbles up in him at the association of this steely girl with 'family'. A lot of it's confusion at the fact that they're not all necessarily negative. For one, he doesn't inherently disagree like he would whenever Jess suggested that her family was his. And for two, he doesn't feel as strong an urge to save Annabeth from that fate as he'd expect.

“Tell me you use some of those moves on Percy,” he begs instead of answering.

“He keeps giving me reasons to."

Sam laughs. 

-~o~-

What Dean and Percy don’t get from Haley (who’s planning on going after her missing brother, by the way), they quickly learn from public records. Percy’s still nervous of the computer, and he doesn’t know how to work it anyway, so Dean does that part. Apparently there’s a new missing persons case in Blackwater Ridge every twenty-three years, like clockwork. They’re mostly put down to grizzlies. Dean also manages to catch something moving outside the latest victim’s tent from the last video he sent his sister by slowing it down frame by frame. It’s only in three of them. A fraction of a second, and it’s barely a shadow. Whatever it is, it can move.

Dean hits Percy in the shoulder. 

“See? Told you somethin’ was goin’ on.” Like Percy was the one who argued? He’s pretty sure Dean just likes hitting things.

The cherry on top, though, is that they have a survivor. He was just a kid, barely crawled out of the woods alive. It was back in ‘59, so he’ll be old now, but it’s not exactly something you forget. And they have an address.

“Let’s make another house call,” Dean says, once again hitting Percy on the shoulder for no damn reason as he heads back to the car. 

Wilson Shaw is old, alright, with a beer belly tucked under a greasy wife beater and the worst smoker’s rasp Percy’s ever heard out of a mortal man. Percy takes a moment to be grateful that he only crawled out of Tartarus with lungs that don’t take in air like they used to, and not a voice like a cheese grater. Then again, if he's survived to this point, he might just be around long enough for that to change.

Around a cigarette, Shaw repeats the well-rehearsed story the rangers fed him all those years ago and ever since: it was a grizzly. Right up until Dean asks him if he’s sure about that. The long moment’s hesitation at the question says enough. 

“The other people that went missing that year. Those bear attacks too?” Dean asks, stepping closer. Shaw’s curled into himself in the corner, sucking his cigarette like it’s a lifeline. He looks like an abused, cornered thing, so Dean stops. “What about all the people that went missing this year? Same thing? If we knew what we were dealing with, we might be able to stop it.”

Shaw turns to face him a little, still stooped over, but not running away anymore. He takes the cig from his mouth and lowers himself into a chair. 

“I seriously doubt that,” he rumbles. “Anyway, I don’t see what difference it would make. You wouldn’t believe me. No one ever did.”

Percy slips past Dean and approaches the old man. Not like one would a skittish animal- Shaw isn’t that. Percy looks him in the eye and gives him his full attention, sitting down on a bucket in front of him. It’s respect- a thing of far greater value than the pity everyone's so eager to give victims of any kind. Pity makes victims. Respect acknowledges survivors. 

“Mr. Shaw,” Percy starts gently. “No one ever believed me either.”

The old man looks smaller now, shadowed in the moonlight with creases beyond his years. His eyes are large and watery, and his lip quivers. He doesn’t look away from Percy, as if searching for any sign he might be pulling his leg. 

“What did you see?” Percy asks plainly. 

“...Nothing,” Shaw finally admits, blinking once, twice. “It moved too fast to see. It hid too well. I heard it though. A roar… like no man or animal I ever heard.”

“It came at night?” Percy encourages. Shaw nods. “Outside your tent?”

“It got inside our cabin. I was sleepin’ in front of the fireplace when it came in. It didn’t smash a window or break the door. It unlocked it. Do you know of a bear that could do somethin’ like that? I didn’t even wake up ‘til I heard m’ parents screamin’.”

“It killed them?”

“Dragged ‘em off into th’ night… why it left me alive, I been askin’ m’self that ever since.” Shaw looks up at Percy once more. He follows the tracks of Percy’s scars with his eyes, one after the other. “I… didn’t get it quite as bad as you, but…” He pulls the collar of his flannel and the strap of his wife beater aside to bare his shoulder. Four long, thick strips of scar tissue rise from the mottled skin there like mountain ranges. For them to be this large now- they must’ve nearly cleaved him in two as a kid. Percy notes the claw pattern. 

“There’s somethin’ evil in those woods,” Shaw promises them. “It was some sortuva demon.”

-~o~-

“Yeah, it’s not a demon,” Percy says pointlessly once they’ve left. 

“No shit. Could be a Skinwalker. Maybe a Black Dog,” Dean suggests.

“Either way, we can’t let that Haley girl go out there.”

“Oh yeah, what are we gonna tell her, that she can’t go into the woods ‘cause of the big scary monster? Her brother’s missing, Perce. She’s not just gonna sit this one out. No, we go with her, we protect her, and we keep our eyes peeled for our fuzzy predator friend.”

“A plan worthy of Athena,” Percy sighs sarcastically. Dean frowns.

“What?”

“Nothin’. You think they’ll let us all tag along? We’re not exactly a party of one.”

Dean eyes his brother. “Yeah, well, I don’t like the idea of splittin’ up. They’re gonna have to get over it. C’mon, let’s go see what your girlfriend did with Sammy.”

Percy perks up as he remembers why they’re only two men strong at the moment. 

“Hey, maybe we won’t have to worry about being too big a group after all,” he muses. 

“What? Why not? They just went to talk about their feelings, right? There’s no way your girl’s cried him out so bad he’s out of commission.”

“Uhh… Wise Girl’s therapy is a little more… hands on, than that.”

Sure enough, when they meet back up, Sam gets off the motorcycle rather tenderly and removes Percy’s helmet to reveal an impressive shiner blooming across his cheek and the first real smile he’s had since Jess. 

“The hell happened to you?!” Dean demands. 

“I got some sense knocked into me,” he replies, pointing to his face. “Here’s the proof.”

“Nothin’ like a good old heart-to-heart with Wise Girl,” Percy claims proudly, slinging an arm around his younger-older brother. “It was the elbow move, right?”

“Right in the jaw,” Sam confirms. Percy clicks his tongue sympathetically. 

Dean catches them up on what they missed, still cutting nervous glances between Sam and Annabeth. Then they split up again, one team getting grub and the other finding a motel in ‘town’ (which, aside from the locals, is essentially a gas station, a café, and a shack with a hand-painted vacancy sign).

Annabeth also thinks bringing the civilians is ‘a plan worthy of a Winchester’, which is to say, not great. Dean argues and she’s ready to argue back until Percy catches her eye and they have another one of their silent conversations. Dean and Sam exchange a look while they do it, like, ‘that’s freaky, right? It’s not just me?’ And when it’s over, they go right back to talking, like they hadn’t just been silent for five minutes in the middle of a conversation.

After they’ve sufficiently debated the situation and thrown their fries around at each other like it makes them more right, Percy and Annabeth retreat to their own room. Sam cleans their garbage off the table while Dean leans back into his bed, hands behind his head, and makes the understatement of the year.

“Well they’re a trip.”

Sam snorts. “Like Percy is and Annabeth is, or like Percy and Annabeth are?”

“Yes.”

Sam hums in agreement. “You’re tellin’ me.”

Dean snickers, admiring his brother’s partially purple face. “Still can’t believe you let a chick beat you.”

Sam turns around with raised eyebrows and his second smile (progress!) since Jess.

“I didn’t let her do anything, dude. She wiped the floor with me. You wouldn’t last half a minute.”

“She must've hit you harder than we thought, because you're out of your mind if you think I couldn't beat my baby brother's girlfriend in a fistfight." 

Sam almost snickers at that, but his gaze turns thoughtful. After a couple of seconds’ reflection, he shakes his head, mystified. 

“She wasn’t just trained. She was experienced. Like… you can’t teach that kind of ability. It felt like I was fighting Rambo.”

“...She definitely hit you too hard,” Dean laughs.

“Waddya think?” Percy asks his girlfriend in the room across the hall. 

“Could be a cyclops,” she shrugs. “Or a skinwalker, like Dean suggested. Can I see the book?”

Percy hands over John’s journal. If there are any answers, they’ll be in there, and she’ll find them. 

“Do you want a smoke?” Percy asks. Annabeth hums a yes and he digs a pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of his discarded jeans, tossing one to her once he’s pulled out his own. It’s a necessary evil. They quickly discovered that since Tartarus, breathing in fresh air is sort of like exposing a raw wound. Their lungs have been introduced to conditions beyond the mortal world, and they now don’t recognize clean oxygen, shrinking back from it like an infected weed that’s learned somehow to fear the sun. They hate it. They try to do it as little as possible, but every now and then they need to reintroduce hell into their damaged systems.

At least Percy’s lighter is cool. It’s very blue.

There’s no use arguing about the mortals Dean’s adamant they bring along. They both agree it’s a bad idea, but until they have an alternative, they might as well keep looking. Annabeth keeps the book, dissecting every page with her translating glasses set to Ancient Greek. Percy combs through his mental library of both Greek mythology and folklore to see if he can narrow it down. Every now and then he throws out an idea for Annabeth to shoot down without looking up. They share the ashtray. They share the silence.

They don’t exchange much more than grunts for the next few hours. Percy gets ready for bed and gets Annabeth some pyjamas out too. He’s just about to drag her from the book when she speaks up.

“Percy, I think it might be a wendigo.” 

He stops. “They’re usually in the Minnesota woods or northern Michigan. I've never heard of one this far west. But it’s possible.”

There’s nothing really to say that this couldn’t be a wendigo. Stories of ‘the consuming evil’ originate from Native American tribes scattered around the country-  people well acquainted with (and rightly fearful of) the kind of conditions that it takes to make one. That’s not to say they don’t exist in other places. 

If it is a wendigo, they really can’t take the mortals out with them. Percy wouldn’t even want his brothers in the woods with one of those. 

He throws Annabeth her pyjamas without a word. She grabs them and gets up, finally putting the book away, taking her glasses off, and moving to the bathroom. On the way she steals his cigarette and takes the last drag. 

When she comes back, Percy’s sitting on the bed, boots back on his feet and face set. He looks up at her briefly, but there’s nothing to be said. She hops into the bed, snuggling into the thin sheets and watching him do up his laces. 

He straightens and turns to look at her for a bit. She looks back. They just look at each other. Then he leans over and kisses her forehead, drawing his hand over the side of her face, pulling her hair out of the way to see her better. She shuffles her face around to kiss his palm. 

They say nothing to each other before Percy grabs his jacket and slips out the door in silence. 

Annabeth resigns herself to lying in bed until he gets back and gives the all clear. When he does, they should make a plan for what they’re gonna tell the others. They won’t be able to lie to Sam and Dean for much longer. But that's priority number two. Priority number one is neutralizing the threat. Once Percy has done that, they’ll address the issue of his brothers. Because as scary as it is to think of telling monster hunters what they are, Annabeth knows they’d do it a thousand times before putting Sam and/or Dean in danger. 

-~o~-

Percy is careful leaving the motel. Avoiding regular people is one thing; Avoiding his brothers, probably wide awake in the room just across the hall, is another. He makes no noise as he picks his way down the hall, avoiding windows and security cameras until he makes it to the woods. 

Annabeth not asking to come relieves him as much as it worries him. He’s worried about why he wants to do this alone as much as he’s worried about why she wants to let him. And he’s worried about her, lying alone in their room, probably asking herself the very same questions. 

Tartarus tested more than their strength. It tested their humanity. Neither of them crawled out the same, but only one of them considered alternatives before they did what they had to to survive. Percy just… acted. And he would do it again. They both fought through hell, but Percy fought it back.

That is what it takes to make a wendigo. Someone whose humanity is tested does not hesitate. They do what they have to to survive. That base creature is inside of Percy as well. Percy did what he had to to survive, and it left him what he is now. All of this can be said of Annabeth as well, but he will take the burden of accountability for them both as long as he can. She deserves humanity, even if it's been stolen from her. Percy, though… well, humanity never did much for him in the first place. 

So it’s Percy that stalks into the woods that night, hunting a fellow monster. And it’s Percy that comes home quietly, keeping silent as much for his brothers as his girlfriend, despite knowing there’s no chance she’s asleep. 

Annabeth is waiting at the door, unarmed. She could smell it was just him. Percy clicks the door closed behind him while she does the routine visual scan for injuries. 

“I took the jacket off, but I couldn’t save the clothes,” he rumbles sheepishly, holding out the jacket in question, careful to only touch it with his hands. He must have washed them in a river while he was out so he wouldn’t cover the jacket in the blood staining the rest of him. He's removed his boots as well so as not to leave tracks.

Annabeth is momentarily filled with unequivocal love for him. Percy probably could’ve taken care of the blood, if he’d really wanted to, but he knows how much she hates him using that power. Him not bringing it up now, it’s leaving the door wide open for her. If she doesn’t acknowledge it, he won’t, and he won’t mention it, and they’ll do it the hard way. 

To be quite honest, Annabeth’s not sure he could do it again, up on the surface, but it’s unlike her not to test her theories. She won’t test this one, though. She never wants to see him try it again. 

“Into the shower,” she hums, jutting her chin in the direction of the bathroom. She throws the jacket over the back of the lone chair in the room and follows Percy in, taking the blood-stained clothes from him piece by piece as he strips them off. She throws them into the sink. They’ll take care of them later. They’ll probably have to burn them. 

They leave the light off, working in only the soft glow from the lamp by the bed. It’s no light at all, really. Not enough for a human to work in, at least. 

“Anything new?” she asks, despite the fact that there hasn’t been for a while now. He shakes his head, turning into the showerhead as she runs the cold tap. 

“Do you think we might’ve stopped changing?” he asks after a long period of silence. Annabeth's hands slow their scrubbing in his hair.

“I don’t know,” she says. Every time she thought they’d maybe changed as much as they were going to, something else changed. 

It was little things at first. They could see better in the dark, smell things at the same time as Grover did. People started commenting that Percy had gotten his colour back when Annabeth only saw his skin as ghostly white, tingeing greeny-blueish under certain lights… and then under all of them. Annabeth’s nails fell off and were replaced by claws that ripped violently through her nail beds. Percy’s eyes darkened until they were black like a wolf’s, the pupils thinning into slits. His skin turned rough like a shark’s while hers softened into something… feathery. His mouth became a black-gummed bear trap of razor-sharp serrated teeth, and new ones broke through the old. Her hair became more of a mane, falling thick and wild around her powerful frame. Something like a collar of- feathers? Fur? Feathery fur? -Grew around her neck and down the centre of her chest. By the time Annabeth's feet were well and truly talons, they were resigned to their fate. And that was only the beginning.

They resolved to confide in Nico about these changes and found that the creature everyone pointed them to was not human either. Just as no one blinked at the scales crusting Percy’s cheeks or the new, alien alignment of Annabeth’s jaw, no one was any the wiser as to what Nico really was. 

Just like them, he was unlike any creature, monster, or god that had ever walked the earth. He was, and they are, something entirely other. He confirmed their fears that it was impossible to undo. He assured them that there are few eyes that could see and fewer minds that could handle seeing them as they truly are- how they saw him, now that they'd been forged in the same furnace. The Mist filled in the cavernous gaps between their natural and true forms for mortals as well as demigods. buy

The only reason Percy and Annabeth- and Nico, for that matter- even lived long enough to crawl through Tartarus' flames was their godly parentage. Nothing human could survive that place. But at the time, they were only half human. That part of them had to evolve or die. Annabeth’s still not sure which they chose, but it’s painfully clear that that part is gone now. They left humanity in hell. 

Before Tartarus, Percy was itching for any excuse to race home and see his brothers. He was nervous to tell them about his parentage, but excited to share his world with them. He knew they’d understand. They’re his brothers. They’d understand. 

Annabeth can’t imagine how he’s feeling now. He’ll be mad at himself for letting it happen, scared of himself and what he is. Wondering if they’d be right to hate him, hunt him, kill him. Afraid that they will. Hating himself for lying. Terrified to tell the truth. And above all, he’ll be ashamed of letting them down. 

All she can do is be here. They will always, always have each other… even if that’s all they have. 

Annabeth makes sure to run her clawed hands over the new things- the rough skin, the dark scales rupturing the surface around his eyes, the ragged fin-like ears growing wild like coral- as much as the old things. She doesn’t want him to think, if she pays attention to his lesser changed parts, that it’s because she doesn’t like the rest of him. She never wants him to think she’s afraid of or repulsed by any part of him. She knows how much it means to her when he ruffles her feathers and kisses her not-quite-hair like she’s still beautiful. To him, she is.

That’s really all that matters. 

Chapter Text

In the morning, Percy and Annabeth duck into Sam and Dean’s room just as they’re putting their boots on. Annabeth raises an eyebrow at brother number one’s outfit: leather jacket, worn to shit jeans, the works. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be a ranger?” she inquires. 

“Well, good morning to you too, sweetheart,” Dean grins brightly. “I don’t do shorts. And besides, you can’t improve perfection.”

She watches him shove a packet of peanut m&ms into his duffel bag doubtfully. Percy snorts. 

“Morning, guys,” Sam says to make up for his brother. After a moment he frowns. “Why do you smell like cigarette smoke?”

Percy almost laughs. Leave it to the world’s biggest Boy Scout to sniff out a pack of cigs, but not a metric ton of monster blood. He worked so hard to get Dean off the things, it’s probably an ingrained response by now. 

“Dude, you should smell our room,” Percy says with feeling. He adds a few gagging noises for effect. 

“Dean always picks the nicest places,” Sam hums. 

“Only the best for my little brothers,” Dean snarks. He throws an awkward wave in Annabeth’s direction as an afterthought. “And, er, you.”

“Thanks,” she returns dryly. 

“Can we go and get breakfast already? I’m starving,” Percy begs. 

So off they go for some grub before the big hike. There’s a locally run café across the street that obviously caters to the drifters that blow through. It does not sell pie; Dean checked. 

Right as they’re about to enter though, Annabeth stops. She puts a hand on Percy’s arm and he stops too. 

“Smell that?” she asks him quietly. 

He barely appears to give a sniff, but his mouth opens slightly to scent the air. She sees in his face the moment he catches it. 

“The same guy from before. The sheriff,” he says.

“Remember the scent,” she advises. “We find out what he is, it’ll make it easier to identify the next one.”

“Hey, what is it now? I thought you were hungry,” Dean calls, backtracking to where they’re rooted in place. Sam’s still holding the door open for them all up ahead, frowning as he realises they’ve stopped. 

“Annabeth saw that sheriff from the town. Sunglasses dude. He was a sheriff, right?”

“Fuck knows, dude. Are you serious? You’re sure it was him?”

“Positive,” she confirms. “Alright, new plan. Sam and Dean, you head the case. Percy and I will take Officer Shades.”

“What? What if he’s a monster?”

“Oh, he’s definitely a monster,” Percy assures him. 

“We’re capable. There’s no need to fight a battle on two fronts. You take the mor- civilians, and we’ll make sure you don’t have to worry about another enemy,” Annabeth says reasonably. 

Dean looks hesitant, but Sam, who’s caught up with them at this point, nods. He pulls a still protesting Dean into the café, and the two demigods get down to business. Dean is Sam’s problem now. 

-~o~-

Percy and Annabeth track the guy for a good hour and a half before he seeks refuge in the woods. The fool. 

Percy supposes they are the hunters now. He doesn’t hate it. Why accept what comes to you if you can minimise the risk with preventative measures beforehand? Take the initiative, meet the bad guys on your own terms? They might not be top of the food chain, but they’re high enough that no one wants to test that theory. For Fate’s sake, the monster that tracked them with intent to kill from Cali to Colorado took one good look at them in person and did a one eighty. He’s been running for his miserable life ever since, cursing himself for chasing things far beyond the likes of him. Exactly the same way every monster they’ve met since Tartarus has. It’s a little hurtful. 

Their quarry’s getting desperate now. It’s got to be past noon, not that any of them have a good grasp on the passing of time in the thralls of the chase. It’s just the scent of fear and pumping blood, the movement of muscles, the stirring of air against the tortured leaves. 

They have him now. And he knows it. 

In an effort to give solid root to unknowable things, and by extension bound them, the fearful like this pathetic excuse for a monster gave them a name. They gave them many. The Unbound. The Revenants. The Deathless. The Drenched. The Devoid. Percy particularly liked ‘the Lacuna’ when Annabeth explained what it meant. But one always stood out from all of those. 

“You are more than yourself, Aianspetos!” the creature snarls through the trees in the old tongue. Its fear pours through its vitriol like it’s a strainer. A cornered animal lashing out in a last bid to survive. Keep screaming, Percy thinks cruelly. It did nothing for me, and it will do nothing for you. “I knew you when you were whole, and I know your weakness is not solely yours! I wonder if a fatal flaw can follow you where you’ve tread… let’s find out, shall we?” 

Fatal flaw… Sam and Dean. 

Percy throws himself forward without hesitation, bounding forward on all fours (or more, he’s not counting). He thinks of nothing but the blood of his quarry, the smell, the taste, the fragility of every bone in the sorry body he’s about to rip apart. 

-~o~-

“What was that?” Haley breathes. 

“Not Latin,” Sam frowns. “That wasn’t Latin.”

He and Dean exchange a look. If speaks. And not Latin- not even Cree. That throws all of their theories out the window. Sam was certain it was a wendigo.

There is a great breaking of underbrush in the distance, coming this way fast. It’s after them. 

“Shit!”

“Get behind me!” Roy barks bravely, grabbing Ben back by the scrawny arm. Haley stumbles back in fear. Sam and Dean leap between them and the approaching horror, utterly unprepared but determined to die first.

Then, just as suddenly as it began, the violent trampling stops, replaced by the sound of wild animals ripping into each other.

For a terrifying few minutes, that’s all. It continues, the savage noises carrying through the brush and echoing across the ruined camp. 

Sam thinks there could be nothing worse than those sounds, but he’s wrong. When all the sound stops, it’s worse. The air falls dead on the ground. Silence swallows the forest whole. 

For a count of forty, they all stand in terrified stillness, waiting. Praying. 

There is nothing. 

“We need a circle,” Dean states with finality. 

“Anasazi symbols? It’s not a wendigo, Dean. It spoke.” 

“We’ll do the works, cover our bases. It’s something, Sam, and we’re sitting ducks out here. C’mon.”

“Excuse me,” Haley interjects. Her voice is shaking, but it’s undercut by the same fiery determination that’s coated all of her words thus far. “Care to let us in on your little pow-wow here? Do you know who that was?”

“It was a fucking nutjob,” Roy supplies helpfully. 

“We need to settle in, protect ourselves,” Dean says quietly instead of arguing. That fact alone makes everyone comply without question.

Night falls quickly. George of the jungle (Dean thinks someone called him Roy before, which, yeah, of course his name is Roy ) makes up the fire, leaving the brothers free to draw the appropriate sigils into the dirt surrounding their little encampment. Haley asks about them, and Dean gives her the short version, trying not to show just how woefully short on information they are. They came out here to hunt… well, it looked like a wendigo until an hour or so ago. They’ve been totally blindsided, and Dean doesn’t like it. 

Sam’s poring through Dad’s book again. Dean takes a seat next to him on his log. Seriously, there’s only so much one man can read.

“You wanna tell me what’s goin’ on in that freaky head of yours?”

Sam looks up into the forest and shakes his head, eyes distant. 

“The more I think about it... it has to be a wendigo. It must’ve been mimicking-”

“Why would it mimic an animal scrap, though? That’s more likely to scare things away than lure them in.”

“That’s what’s been bothering me,” Sam agrees. “That, and the language. When it spoke, you remember what it sounded like? What do you think that was?”

Dean casts his mind back. Honestly, he wasn't listening too close, having been more concerned with the threat of imminent death at the time. He shrugs. Sammy steamrolls ahead.

“It sounded old. Like, ancient. When we were kids I used to study the old languages just in case they came up in hunts-”

“I know, you nerd.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t know what that one was, but it was definitely not modern. The wendigo, or whatever this is, definitely didn’t pick it up from a tourist,” he concludes. 

“You don’t think there could be multiple things out there?” Dean asks. “That can’t be right. I mean, what are the chances? And there were no signs of anything else, no evidence of a territorial battle, nothin’.”

“I know,” Sam sighs. His jaw works. “...I’m worried about Percy and Annabeth. And this stuff about Dad-”

“Hey, hey, one thing at a time there, Sammy. Don’t worry about them. We left them in town, they’re as safe as they can be. And we will find Dad.”

Sam nods, but he doesn’t seem convinced. Dean gives up on his brother for the night. He’s impossible when he gets like this. Before he gets too far away, though, Sam speaks up again. 

“I have to find Jess’ killer.”

Dean turns back immediately and crouches down in front of his brother, forcing him to meet his eyes. 

“We will. I promise you that.”

“We’re out here splitting up to find clues like the goddamn mystery gang. We’re doing exactly what I swore I’d never do again, for- for Jess. Dad’s sending us on this stupid fucking goose chase and not telling us anything, and I don’t have time for that, Dean. I gotta kill this thing. It’s all I can think about.”

“I know. But this is gonna take a while, you understand that, right? I wish I could give him to you on a silver platter right now, Sammy, but this son of a bitch ain’t gonna be easy. We gotta be smart about it. We gotta work for it. And this is the hard part: we gotta be patient. He will get what is coming to him, but it won’t be today, and it won’t be tomorrow, and it won’t be the next day. You gotta accept that.”

Sam looks back at him with glistening eyes and a lip threatening to quiver. It breaks Dean’s heart. 

“How do you do it?” he asks sadly. “How does Dad do it?”

“Well, for one, them,” Dean replies. Sam looks over at the siblings cuddled up by the fire without needing anymore context. “I mean, I figure our family’s so screwed to hell, maybe we can help some others. Makes things a little bit more bearable.”

Dean looks down as Sam considers this, casting around for any more answers that might ease his brother’s hurting. They sit in the thoughtful crackling of the fire together for a moment before he comes up with something. 

“I’ll tell you what else helps,” he says. Sam turns his broken gaze back on Dean. “Killing as many evil sons of bitches as I possibly can.”

That almost pulls a smile out of him. See, Dean knew if he said something unquestionably Dean enough Sammy would remember why he has to be Sam again.

The moment is broken by the howl of a wolf. Their wolf. Percy was always better at those calls than his brothers. It helped them keep track of each other in the woods without being too obtrusive. Sam does a killer bird call- or, he used to. Dean… does his best. 

Immediately the whole camp is up in arms. Roy leaps to his feet, gun readied. The Collins siblings shoot up in place, heads whipping around wildly. 

“That sounded close!” Haley hisses. 

“Don’t worry,” Dean assures her, crossing to make sure Roy doesn’t shoot his baby brother while Sam puts his hands around his mouth and twitters his little call. That answers that, then. He can still do it.

“Heyoooo,” comes a voice from just behind the treeline. “We cool, or is this guy gonna shoot us?”

Dean takes a moment to wonder at Percy’s eyesight if he can see that through the dark from so far off. Then he’s back on guard. 

“What’d I get you for your fifteenth birthday?” he calls instead of answering. You can never be too careful. 

“A six-pack of beer and a condom,” comes the reply. “What’s the best AC/DC song?”

“Trick question, they're all the best.”

Assured that it's Dean, Percy and Annabeth step into the clearing, careful not to break the sigils. They look none the worse for wear. They move easy in the dark and seem completely at ease in the dense, rough woods that have seasoned hikers running for mommy. Annabeth’s hair is swept up in a ponytail out of her face. Her eyes reflect the firelight in a devastating way. Percy almost melts into the darkness like a deep sea predator, hard to follow and harder to identify. When he grins, though, his teeth glint, and that’s definitely his smile.

“Dude, what the hell are you doing out here? I thought you were tailing the sheriff!” Dean admonishes, stomping over.

“Who the hell is this?!” Roy demands before he even finishes. Dean’s tempted to ignore him, but Haley and Ben look fairly perturbed as well, so he puts his interrogation aside for later. 

“Our brother, Percy, and that’s Annabeth,” he introduces. Percy throws a hand up.

“‘Sup.”

“You’re brothers?” Roy repeats doubtfully. His eyes rake over Percy’s dark skin and full head of black hair, and then flick pointedly to Sam and Dean’s pale complexions and brown locks. He snorts. “What’d the mailman look like?”

“There’s this awesome new thing called adoption, look it up,” Dean suggests coldly. He always gets rather touchy at the insinuation that Percy is anything less than their brother. It's the quickest way to piss him off. Roy sends him a sarcastic grin that’s more like a baring of teeth.

“Fantastic, the family’s all here.”

“Yeah, why is that?” Sam interrupts, pulling them back on topic.

“We chased the sheriff into the woods, but your friend got him first. We think it’s a wendigo,” Percy explains seriously. Sam shifts on his feet and exchanges a look with Dean.

“That’s what we thought too, but then we heard the altercation.”

Annabeth hums. “That was the end of our target. We figured it would be safer to find you than to head back at this point, tracked you here.” She sends an acknowledging nod to the now very alarmed backpackers, like this is an everyday occurrence. 

“That was the sheriff? You’re sure? Sammy said it was speakin’ in tongues,” Dean huffs, settling down by the fire with the rest of them. 

“Ancient Greek, I think,” Percy provides, then clamps his jaw shut like he’s sorry he spoke. Annabeth sweeps a hand over his hair and a strange sort of sand rains down, like golden dandruff. No smell of sulphur, though. Sam narrows his eyes. 

“Jesus, you’re all nerds,” Dean bemoans.

“You’re all wackjobs,” Roy corrects under his breath. 

“No one likes a sceptic, Roy,” Dean shoots back. 

Haley shakes her head, brow knitted in confusion. “Wait, so… you’re looking for your dad, like we’re looking for Tommy. And you think one of these things took him?”

“Dunno,” Dean replies, ignoring the creepily in-synch eyebrow arch Percy and Annabeth send him at how much she knows. He likes the girl, alright, he wasn't gonna lie to her when she asked. “He was hunting something like it, and he hasn’t come back.”

“Hunting?” she echoes incredulously. “He hunts  these things?”

"We all do," Sam admits.

“When they’re not hunting us,” Percy mumbles under his breath. She whips around to stare at him with wide eyes, tracing the clefts claws have left in his skin, the burns, the scars, the ruination. She feels her cynicism fail her.

“It’s possible they took each other out,” Annabeth postulates. “We haven’t heard anything since. The wendigo would usually be using its mimicking cries to draw out its prey, right?”

“Would certainly make our lives easier if they knocked each other off,” Dean grunts. 

“I almost want to rule it out based on that alone,” Sam huffs.

“If it's not dead, it could be wounded. It just took-” Percy shoots Haley and Ben a sideways look and backtracks. “Er, it looks like it maybe might’ve fed recently, or at least gained some stocks for winter. Two people went missing, so it would want to keep at least one as rations. If our sheriff wounded it, it wouldn’t be worth the risk of going after new prey. It might have just cut its losses and gone off to lick its wounds. It’s not like there’s a shortage of campers coming in here. If I were the wendigo, I wouldn’t want to compromise my food source, and I definitely wouldn’t want to go after a strong pack that’s likely to fight back if I already have stocks for the season.”

Sometime through the discussions, Roy’s rolled his eyes and stomped off to watch the perimeter. Sam and Dean keep him in their peripherals in case he steps outside the circle or breaks the symbols. Ben scrubs his face anxiously.

“This is insane,” he mutters. 

Haley looks straight into Dean’s eyes and knows it’s the truth. It’s a horrible realisation, but she cannot lie to herself. She just knows Dean is not the kind of man capable of making something like this up. And why would he? No, the air surrounding all the brothers- and the blonde girl too, come to think of it- is the grave silence of experienced veterans discussing battle plans. There is too much weight to it for them to be any less than that.

God. That’s terrifying. 

-~o~-

Percy, Annabeth, Roy and Ben are the only ones who gets any sleep that night. Ironic, given Ben’s insomnia, but Haley’s glad of it. That boy needs every wink of sleep he can catch, and she can watch out for the both of them. She always has. 

The knowledge that things she can’t understand are out there has changed the world. The silence nibbles at her with razor-sharp teeth, slowly swallowing more and more of her until she feels as thin and frail as a dead twig. 

It’s especially easy to feel that way in the presence of Dean. He’s stayed up on watch, refreshing the symbols every now and then. He moves with a surety of himself that she's starting to suspect is rightly earned. He knows what’s out there better than her, and yet there’s no fear in his keen eyes as they scan the underbrush. 

Eventually he comes to sit by her on the other side of the log, facing the woods. His weight makes it more stable, and she automatically feels a little less like she might blow away in a strong wind.

They sit there in each other’s company for a few minutes. Haley draws strength from him. Lord knows she needs it.

“I don’t…” she begins quietly. “...I mean, these types of things, they aren’t supposed to be real.”

“I wish I could tell you different,” Dean rumbles back, hushed so as not to wake the others or disturb the air. His voice is deep and gravelly, like sandpaper. Like a grizzled old cowboy from the movies. The firelight flickers over his back, but facing away from it like he is, the rest of him is just solid shadow. 

“How do we know it’s not out there watching us?” she asks. 

“We don’t. But we’re safe in here.”

She stares at the unfathomable man beside her, at a loss. He’s so matter-of-fact about it. Any words of comfort he utters are clearly only for her benefit. He's used to this.

She can't imagine how it must be, running around and lying about who you are, being laughed at by people like Roy, drawing symbols in the dirt and memorising codes so you’re sure it’s really your brother you’re talking to. You would never feel safe. She wonders how many ‘hunts’ it took for him to earn that surety. Has he ever even caught anything? Does he ever worry he’s just gone crazy, chasing ghosts in the woods with a gun? How does one get used to that?

“How do you know about this stuff?” is the question she voices.

He looks over and the light finally reaches across his face just a little, giving her a view of long, thick eyelashes framing a clear eye. She wonders what colour it is in the sun. 

“Kinda runs in the family,” he admits with a tiny quirk of his mouth. It strikes her as bittersweet. 

Without meaning to, her eyes drift to the third brother, Percy. The blonde girl, Annabeth, is curled up small on top of him, none of her body touching the ground, almost deliberately. He holds her close, protective even in sleep. The firelight casts over his scar tissue in fractals, making him look like a gruesome imitation of a stained-glass window. His jacket is draped over them both like a blanket, but enough skin shows that Haley can make out more echoes of violence all over both of their bodies. Dean hasn’t taken off his leather jacket once, despite how uncomfortable it must have been to hike in. Neither has Sam. Is that why?

“Will you tell me about your dad?” she asks.

He freezes, caught off guard. He looks at her, then away, then back again. Has she hit a sensitive topic? 

“Uh, he’s,” Dean starts awkwardly, knitting his eyebrow. He clears his throat and frowns into the woods like he really has to think about it. His hands make a few aborted motions that only seem to frustrate him further, judging by the exasperated grunts. “He can be a right son of a bitch,” he settles on. “In fact, I’d say it’s one of his greatest talents. The other one is huntin’. Say what you want about ‘im- and they do-” he gestures vaguely at his brothers’ sleeping forms. “He’s damn good at what he does. And he taught us to be good at it too. And seein’ as we’re still alive and a whole bunch of nasties out there ain’t, I’d say he did alright with us.”

“You’ve killed these things before? A wen- one of those?”

“Sweetheart, we’ve been killin’ all kinds since we were six. Wendigos are nasty bastards, though. You usually come at ‘em with backup, prepared gear. We’re flying off the seat of our pants here. But we’ve gotten outta worse before. You’re as safe as you’re gonna get with us. That thing ain’t gettin’ anywhere near you or your brother unless it goes through us.”

Haley’s head reels with the declaration. She takes the information about them killing monsters from age six and compartmentalises it for later, because that’s just way too much right now. They’re trapped in the woods with this thing with no backup, no tools, and no information. Really, the notion that Dean and his brothers could stand in between her and that monster and make any difference at all should be laughable, but it isn’t. She feels, very seriously, that it would make all the difference. 

“And for the record,” he continues, “I think there’s a real chance your brother might still be alive.”

Haley’s breath catches. She hasn’t yet accepted the fact that there’s a real chance he isn’t. 

She meets his eyes, silently imploring him to continue, if only so she doesn’t have to think about it yet. He takes the cue.

“Wendigo is a Cree Indian word. Means ‘devouring death’, or ‘consuming death’, or somethin’. They’re hundreds of years old. Each one was once a man- sometimes an Indian, or sometimes a frontiersman, a miner or a hunter.”

“How’s a man turn into a… wendigo?” She chances the pronunciation. He gives her an approving nod.

“Well, it’s always the same. Over some harsh winter the guy finds himself starving, cut off from supplies or help. He becomes a cannibal to survive, eating other members of his tribe or camp.”

“Like the Donner party,” she hums, mostly because Ben would if he were listening. He’s told her the story a thousand times. He loves history. He’d probably find this folklore stuff fascinating if he wasn’t in very real danger at the moment. Now it’s a little too real. 

“Mhm. Lotta cultures believe eating the flesh of something gives a person its power, like an exchange. Like, uh, Kirby. You eat enough of it, over years you become this less-than-human thing. You’re always hungry.”

Haley’s stomach sinks. “So if that’s true, how can Tommy still be alive?”

Dean looks down and licks his lips. 

“You’re not gonna like it.”

“Tell me.”

“More than anything the wendigo knows how to last long winters without food. It hibernates for years at a time. And when it’s awake, it keeps its victims alive. It, uh, stores them, so it can feed whenever it wants. If your brother’s alive, it’s keeping him somewhere dark, hidden, and safe. In the morning, we’ll track it back there.”

“And then how do we stop it?”

Dean laughs a little. “Well, guns are useless. So are knives. Basically,” he reaches around the log and grabs an empty bottle she didn’t notice and a rag. “We gotta torch the sucker.”

-~o~-

When the sun's well and truly up in the sky, they set off. Percy leads with his nose, subtly slashing random trees at intervals and pointing them out to everyone like, ‘look, it went this way!’ Honestly, with this much blood, someone’s dead, but it might not be the guy they’re looking for. There were two people missing, so who’s to say?

The scent leads right into an old abandoned mine (Percy takes his girlfriend to the nicest places) which they fall through the floor of like fifteen seconds in. It’s sheer luck that they end up exactly where Tommy’s hanging. Haley and Ben seem to think he’s dead, though, so Percy speaks up.

“He’s alive. Needs some TLC, though.”

As if on cue, Tommy snuffles awake. Percy misses the curious look Sam shoots his way. 

They’re about to leave when Dean calls out. 

“Sam, Percy.”

The two brothers head back to see what’s up. He’s poking around the very back of the cave. It’s near pitch black back here, though that only bothers two of them. As they near, though, it becomes apparent Dean just wants to talk away from the group.

“I don’t like this. It’s too easy. Where’s the wendigo?”

Gosh, can’t think. 

“Out hunting?” Percy suggests weakly.

“You said last night, it doesn’t need to yet. It should be here, licking its wounds, but we would’ve heard it by now, or it would’ve heard us. You’re sure it killed the sheriff?”

“Positive.”

“Guys,” Annabeth calls from the front entrance, reminding them they have three heavily traumatized mortals to worry about, one of which is injured. Percy takes the out and herds them onwards.

He’s really proud of himself for all this deception. Okay, it doesn't exactly hold up, morally speaking, but that's not why he's proud. He’s rubbish at this sort of stuff, and look at him! They’re gonna get out of this with no one suspecting anything. It’s a clear field out of the woods, and then they’ll be back on the road and halfway to forgetting the whole thing.

‘Course not. This is Percy we’re talking about.

And since Percy has luck beyond even the domain of the divines, they manage to stumble across what remains of the wendigo's body on the way back. The whole damn forest, and they find the body.

Percy misses when he could blame God for this kind of stuff.

“What…” Sam breathes, drawing pale. It was not a clean kill by any stretch of the imagination. It's carnage.

“Something killed it,” Dean croaks, covering his mouth and nose with his sleeve. “Something killed it hard."

“The sheriff,” Percy offers, and once again, it’s not his best work. In his defence, he's not prepared. What are the chances of them coming across this by accident?

“Like hell,” Dean grouses. “Look at this thing, it’s- it’s in pieces. It's fucking soup. There’s no way it could’ve killed your sheriff after this was done to it.”

“The sheriff is the only other thing on the same playing field in these woods,” Annabeth reminds them, brooking no objections. “It must’ve done this, but contracted severe enough wounds in the process to die of after the fact. Look, there’s the blood trail.”

She points, and sure enough, there’s the blood trail, leading right off to the nearby river Percy washed his hands and boots in- and boy, is he glad of it now. 

Sam tilts his head like a golden retriever presented with a TV remote. “The water…?” 

“Maybe it was a water based monster. We never did find out what he was,” Percy points out. 

“We met him on land, though,” Dean argues. 

“Well, feel free to stay and go diving for corpses. I’m going to get these guys to a hospital,” Annabeth says with finality, executing a pointed about turn and marching off to do that. Percy sends his brothers a shrug and follows suit.

He wonders if lying to them is always gonna feel this bad. Then he wonders if he really has a choice. 

Chapter Text

They load Tommy into an ambulance at the station and feed the police a story about a nine-hundred pound bear. Dean gets a kiss on the cheek for their troubles. 

He can’t stop thinking about the wendigo. It was torn to absolute shit. The only reason they could tell what it was was the colour of the flayed skin, like charcoal, and the jagged points of the broken teeth scattered around.

There was no sign of a fire. 

But that had to be what did it. The fuckers are immortal . Even ripping into one like that (which, how? ) wouldn’t do it, not unless you had something to burn it with. Wendigos are what’s left of men who refused to freeze to death in conditions where they should have. Their bodies have adapted to the inhumane until they are one with it. The only thing you can do for something like that is to reintroduce heat to its stunted system.

Percy claps Dean on the shoulder and moves off to his bike. Dean watches him go for a moment. He doesn’t look back. While his littlest brother’s caught up in a conversation with Sam, Dean pops the trunk without really thinking about it.

One, two, three. They’re all there. All of his flare guns sit just where they’re supposed to be.

So it couldn’t have been Percy, right? 

Yeah, no. He saw the body. Nothing human could’ve done that. And Dean knows no one more human than his littlest brother. What is he thinking, anyway? Maybe Percy is hiding something, but it ain’t this. Dean’s being stupid. 

-~o~-

“So has Percy told you anything yet?”

Dean gives the comms buttons a cursory look to make sure they’re off, then glances over at Sammy in the passenger seat, more than a little lost. 

“What, about what, where’d that come from?”

Sam scoffs like Dean’s being obtuse again. 

“About where he’s been.”

Dean rolls his eyes a little and settles his gaze back on the road. 

“No, and I’m not askin’.”

“Dean-”

“No, Sam, that was his condition. He made me promise not to ask. Man’s entitled to that. He’ll talk if he wants to.”

“He’s our brother, Dean.”

“Exactly, Sam, so of all people we should grant him that courtesy.”

“You’re telling me you’re not the least bit concerned? He looks like he’s been put through a blender-”

“Alright, that’s enough!” Dean barks sharply. Sam’s jaw snaps shut. Wise. “Do you not think I see that? Do you not think I care? Because let me tell you something, letting our baby brother handle himself is the hardest thing I have ever had to do, but goddamnit, it is the right thing to do. Percy’s asked us to leave it, so we’re gonna sit back, shut up, and leave it . And we’re gonna have his back now. We’re gonna make sure he’s covered. He has us now. You understand me?”

Sam swallows. He takes a beat to let it sink in. When he speaks, his voice is a little hoarse. 

“Yeah. Okay.”

They stop at a diner for a meal and for Dean to comb through some newspapers looking for a case. Sam and Annabeth discuss Stanford. They stick to the education side of the topic, keeping it so far removed from the personal that it’s almost easy to forget that side of it ever existed. Sam appreciates it from Annabeth, so in turn he lets a little bit of honesty slip through, telling her about his friend who took interior design and the time she called the professor a government-funded hater. Dean resolutely pretends not to be listening in and dutifully sucks up every crumb from his brother’s life that he missed.  

“Can I get you anything else?” the waitress asks sweetly, leaning against the table so her hair sweeps Dean’s arm and her already low-cut shirt becomes a formality more than anything.

“Could I get a refill?” Percy replies, all of this going completely over his head. It’s really rather amazing how perceptive he can be when it comes to what others don’t say, and then how mind-blowingly thick he is as soon as it comes to the flirtations of the shallow. It doesn’t even occur to him that some folks are interested in people they don’t know. It’s not uncommon for demigods to experience a kind of culture shock, having grown up in a sheltered community of about a hundred other traumatised teens run by a centaur who was old in the fourteenth century, but even then, Percy’s worse than most- the gestures and insinuations of the sane world often elude him. 

It’s just typical that he catches it when the waitress takes one look at his face and visibly recoils in a mix of disgust and fear. The smile he sends her is rigid. Annabeth straight up scowls- that should give her something to fear. She whirls around without a word and all but runs away, tripping a little as she goes. 

“Sorry Dean, I shoulda put concealer on,” Percy grimaces. 

“I’m sorry someone so hot’s gotta be such a bitch,” Dean replies protectively, glaring after the girl’s retreating form. 

“Yeah, well, I should be wearing it anyway. Keep a low profile and all that.”

“Even with makeup, you have some pretty distinct features,” Annabeth hums. “Sam and Dean might be our best bet at blending in, no thanks to those badges.”

Dean spreads his arms out to either side. 

“What’s wrong with my badges?”

“Dude, they suck,” Sam informs him. 

“I’ll make us some better ones next time we stop,” Annabeth promises.

“Yeah, how we lookin’ on the job hunt?” Percy jerks his head at the newspaper in which Dean’s circled an article, like, eight times.

“Lake Manitoc, Wisconsin. Last week Sophie Carlton, eighteen, walks into the lake, doesn't walk out. Authorities dragged the water; nothing. Sophie Carlton is the third Lake Manitoc drowning this year. None of the other bodies were found either. They had a funeral two days ago."

“A funeral?” Sam repeats.

“It would’ve been an empty coffin. For closure,” Annabeth provides. Dean hums a confirmation.

“Closure? What closure?” Sam huffs bitterly. “People don't just disappear. Other people just stop looking for them.”

Dean lays the paper down and looks at his brother squarely.

“Something you want to say to us?”

Sam looks away and shakes his head a little. 

“No, just… don’t want to forget the endgame. Find Dad.”

“I think this is worth doing, though,” Percy says. “Think like your prey, you catch it. This is what Dad would be doing- following the trail. And it’s what he’d expect us to do. If he’s leading us somewhere, whether that’s to him or some other bullshit checkpoint, this is the way to go.”

Dean shrugs in agreement, though he doesn’t like how Percy put it. Sam sighs in acceptance. 

“Alright,” he nods. “Lake Manitoc. How far?”

-~o~-

When they get there, Percy does take the time to put foundation on- or, he takes the time to let Annabeth do it for him. All the years he’s used it covering bruises, and he’s still garbage at it. Plus, bending down to look into the bike mirrors is a bitch on his back.

Sam and Percy question the victim's brother, Will Carlton. He’s a solidly built, soft-faced man with mouse brown hair and gently sloping eyes. He’s adamant that his sister didn’t drown. She was a varsity swimmer who practically grew up in that lake, so that makes sense. He saw no splashing, no signs of distress, and no shadows in the water- not that that would be easy. Looking out over the lake, the surface is like liquid obsidian. In fact, the clearing and woods surrounding the shore are… cold, in a way that surpasses temperature. The air is crisp in a deficient way, the slightest sound cutting across it like the edge of a blade. Things are muted, warm browns turned to pallid whites and greys, making them all look like corpses. It reminds Percy of the fields of Asphodel, but somehow without the crowds, this place is sadder. It feels like a ghost itself. 

The father won’t speak to them. He just sits on the dock overlooking that cold sheet of water, unmoving. Will asks them to leave him be. 

“There’s nothing in the water,” Percy informs Annabeth under his breath as Sam settles Percy’s helmet on and Dean hops back into the car.

“Okay, so it must be-”

“No, Annabeth. There’s nothing in the water. No fish. No plants. Nothing.”

There must be something in his voice that gives away just how much that disturbs him, because she doesn’t say anything else. 

When they reach the police station, Percy stops his brother from going in. Annabeth’s given them an FBI cover story- they can’t all be Wildlife Services- and it takes a little more than a leather jacket and a pretty smile to pull that kind of rank on people who are used to being in charge. Dean’s experienced, don’t get him wrong, but somehow, he still kinda sucks. 

“Hey, let me take point on this one.”

Dean frowns. “What? Why?”

Percy can’t raise his eyebrow like Annabeth can- he’s tried, a lot- but he gives his brother a dry look. 

“Because last time you got us pegged in a day. Let me take point.”

Before Dean can argue, Percy turns on his heel and marches into the station with military presence, taking his biggest strides so Dean won’t catch up in time to do anything about it. In fact, the sheriff’s letting him into the bullpen by the time Dean’s stubby little legs sound behind him- partially owing to the fact that Dean picked up the wrong badge and had to go back.

“I hope you don’t mind me saying so, son- uhm, officer, but you look awful young to be a federal agent,” the sheriff- Devins- comments. 

Percy gives him half an indulgent smile; the kind you give someone you don’t really have time for. 

“I get that a lot. The civvies probably don’t help, but this case, as you can imagine, is not one we’re inclined to draw attention to.” 

“Well, alright. Now tell me, what does the FBI care about an accidental drowning?”

“I can’t share all the details, but Sophie Carlton is the latest case in a much larger string sharing peculiar circumstances, all made to look like accidental drownings. I’m here mostly to confirm that this is related to our case. If it isn’t, I’ll be out of your hair in a day or two. If it is, well- there’ll be a lot of paperwork, our bureaus will need to collaborate, and worst of all, I’ll have to put a suit on. But we’re not there yet.”

“Well, I’m afraid you might’ve come a long way for nothing- please, sit,” he encourages, gesturing to the chairs opposite his desk. They acquiesce. “Will Carlton was traumatised. The mind plays tricks. Still, we dragged that entire lake- we even ran a sonar sweep. There is nothing down there.”

“That’s your third missing body this year,” Dean says.

“I know. These are people from my town. These are people I care about.”

“I know.”

“If it is related to our case, we might have some information that could shed some light on the situation,” Percy assures him. “There are also members of the Wildlife Service in town, just to confirm it’s not an animal. Whatever the case, we’ll get to the bottom of it.”

“Won’t be a problem much longer, anyway,” Devins huffs, leaning back in his chair. He looks tired. A man worn down. 

“It’ll take six months for the lake to drain. That’s enough time for another body to drop,” Percy says. “We’d rather waste our time double checking.”

Dean is, of course, not carrying the team very well. It’s a good thing Percy’s been undercover under much higher stakes, because the way Dean’s head is whipping dumbly between them like a very drunk man at a ping-pong match is not encouraging.

“That dam’s been falling apart for years. It was always gonna happen, but I really had hoped we’d get the funding to cover it,” Devins sighs sadly. 

The knock at the door has Percy shifting to keep the newcomer in view with the rest of them. It’s a woman- long wavy brown hair and a flowy skirt. 

“Sorry, am I interrupting? I can come back later.”

“Gentlemen,” Devins says as he stands, prompting them all to rise as well. “This is my daughter.”

Percy gives her a nod, but Dean turns that beaming smile on and swaggers over to shake her hand.

“Pleasure to meet you. I’m Dean.”

“Andrea Barr,” she returns with a half-amused, half exasperated huff. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“They’re, um, officers. They’re here about the lake.” Devins explains.

“Officers?” she repeats, obviously catching the vagueness of the term. In fairness, Percy did just say the case was need-to-know. 

A little boy with wavy red hair, full oval cheeks and big droopy eyes like a basset hound’s pokes shyly out from behind her, looking over them all as if assessing the situation. 

“Well, hey there,” Dean tries. The kid lopes off. It’s weird seeing a kid that age lope. He seems too old for his body. His mother follows him without a word.

“His name is Lucas,” the sheriff says, almost daring them to say something about it. 

“Is he alright?” Percy asks, because he has to.

“My grandson has been through a lot. We all have.”

Somehow, after all that, Dean manages to beg his way into getting directions to a reasonably priced motel two blocks away, and then into getting poor Andrea to walk them there. Percy has no idea why the sheriff lets that slide, nevermind Andrea. The woman’s too nice. She does call Dean out on it at the last moment, though. 

“There it is… like I said, two blocks. Must be hard, with your sense of direction- never being able to find your way to a decent pick-up line.”

Percy snorts. 

“What’re you sniggering at? And how the hell’d you know about the dam?” Dean demands, finally having the opening to interrogate his brother for that whole scene. Seriously, dude just walked in like he owned the place giving off ‘you answer to me’ vibes like nobody’s business. And then he knows all this shit about a dam, like what the fuck!

“They’ve opened the spillway, I caught it on the way over. It’s literally all over town, Dean, this place is going bust and the lake’s going kaput. Puts our loch ness monster on a bit of a time crunch, doesn’t it? This is why I lead.”

Dean gapes after his baby brother as he strides into the motel. The competent little prick!

In the meantime, Sam and Annabeth- who’ve already got them rooms, by the way- have been investigating. When they get in it’s just Sam, but Annabeth slips back in a few minutes later from a ‘gas station run’, shaking yellow dust out of her hair. Sam’s looked through all the cases of a like to theirs in recent years, one of which turns out to have been Christopher Barr, Andrea’s husband. Apparently Lucas was on the lake with him. He was out there for two hours after the fact before officials found him clinging to what was left of their boat. 

“You say you met the kid?” Annabeth says. “Maybe we have an eyewitness after all.”

“No wonder he was so freaked out. Watching one of your parents die isn’t something you just get over,” Dean intones. 

Percy and Sam exchange a silent look. Clearly Dean doesn’t realise how that sounds coming from him, but the rest of them caught it loud and clear. 

They find Andrea and Lucas at the park right where they said they’d be, and yeah, Percy knows how weird that sounds. It is weird.

“I’m here with my son,” she says instead of ‘beat it, creeps.’ See? Too nice. 

“Oh, mind if I say hi?” Dean asks, and heads over to the kid without waiting for an answer.

Percy sighs and takes a seat beside the poor woman.

“Tell your friend this whole Jerry Macguire thing’s not gonna work on me,” she requests. 

“I’ve tried, trust me,” he assures her, earning a laugh. “Honestly, he’s not above it. But between you and me, I… don’t know if that’s what this is about.”

Andrea looks over to her son and the man talking to him. They both sit there and watch Dean keep trying, despite Lucas giving no sign of even hearing him. The kid doesn’t so much as look up from his drawing. So a while in, Dean sits down and starts drawing too, still talking as he does. 

“Don’t tell him I told you this,” Percy hums, “But not that deep down, Dean’s one of the best men I’ve ever met. And it’s weird, you know, it’s like he tries to be anything else. But you see it when he talks to kids- especially ones who’ve gotten bum raps. He gets it.”

“He couldn’t,” Andrea says, seemingly before she can stop herself. She doesn’t take it back, though. Percy turns to look at her square in the eye, deadly serious but in no way aggressive about it.

“He does.”

“He has no idea what Lucas has been through.”

“Of course not, no one does. No one is Lucas except Lucas. And no one is Dean except Dean. What I said is, he gets it.”

Andrea stares at him for a little while, hair swaying in the breeze. Percy shifts in place. 

“...But seriously, don’t tell him I said that.”

Dean trudges back to them eventually, leaving his drawing with Lucas. Andrea has her arms around herself in a casual and probably thoughtless attempt to comfort herself. She still holds herself braced, though, strong and unapologetic. It’s notable on such a small frame as hers. 

“Lucas hasn't said a word, not even to me. Not since his dad's accident.”

“Yeah, we heard. Sorry,” Dean says. Andrea nods.

“The doctors say it’s some kind of post-traumatic stress…” she says, almost as if in lieu of saying anything else. 

Yeah, well, doctors say a lot of shit. Doctors like to think they know. But they’re not Lucas, and they don’t get it. They’re just there to pretend to have answers. And for what? Who cares what it is in scientific terms? You could waste years of time and fortunes of cash trying to find someone to tell you who you are, or you could get out there and be it. Ain’t no one else gonna do it for you. 

And that’s all very objective. That’s just how it is. Dean’s not projecting onto a traumatised kid who watched one parent die and now has trouble speaking- no no, not at all. 

“-moved in with my dad. He helps out a lot,” Andrea is saying. “It's just...when I think about what Lucas went through, what he saw…”

A pause.

“Kids are strong. You'd be surprised what they can deal with,” Dean says. 

“You know, he used to have such life,” Andrea confides in them. “He was hard to keep up with, to tell you the truth. Now he just sits there. Drawing those pictures, playing with those army men. I just wish—”

She trails off as her gloomy little boy lumbers up to them like he weighs a lot more than Dean’s sure he does. He doesn’t lift his eyelids, nor his head, staring sullenly through the ground as he hands Dean a drawing without a word. 

It’s a house, drawn very distinctively, with attention to details Dean wouldn’t expect kids to think of. It’s a child’s drawing, alright, but only in the same way that Lucas is a child. 

“Thanks… thanks, Lucas,” he hums sincerely, stopping himself from ruffling the kid’s hair at the last minute. 

Lucas turns and heads mournfully back the way he came, eyes still looking distantly through the dirt as he treads it. 

-~o~-

Percy does not get an opportunity to sneak off for a dip in the haunted lake before Will Carlton drowns. In the sink. 

“What the hell? So you're right, this isn't a creature. We're dealing with something else,” Dean concludes. Sam clicks his tongue, brow furrowed.

“Yeah, but what?” 

“I don't know. Water wraith, maybe? Some kind of demon? I mean, something that controls water.”

“Not necessarily,” Annabeth pipes up. “Well, yes, it controls the water, but so far it’s only demonstrated control over water from the same source: the lake. It might be something connected to the location or some incident from the past rather than the lake itself.”

“I’d call that likely,” Percy agrees. “I mean, the thing’s obviously got a motive, picking off very specific people. Everyone dead has been directly related to Bill Carlton. Even Andrea’s man, he was Carlton’s godson or something, right? A vendetta isn’t a water wraith’s M.O.”

“You think it’s a spirit,” Sam says with an air of realisation, brow unknitting. Dean blinks and nods like it all makes sense now. 

“And it’s on a time limit,” Annabeth reminds them. “The dam.”

“It only has six months to do what it has to do,” Sam finishes. “And if it can get through the pipes, it can get to anyone, almost anywhere.”

Dean rises from his seat at the edge of the bed only to plop down in a seat in the corner. 

“This is gonna happen again. Soon.”

“One way to find out,” Percy announces, slapping his thighs and rising from his own seat. “Who wants to give good ol’ Bill the works?”

In the end it’s Percy and Sam that pay the old man a visit while Dean and Annabeth take another crack at the son, Lucas. Obviously the kid knows something. The picture he drew for Dean is a clear depiction of the Carlton house, which Annabeth was quick to point out as soon as she saw the drawing. 

It’s worrying for a number of reasons. Seeing visions is never good, no matter who you are. With Lucas being so young, Percy’s first thought was of demigod dreams, but- and Percy hates that he can tell this- Lucas doesn’t smell like a demigod.

Isn’t that a mind twist? Smelling demigods. That’s a horrible thing monsters could do that made them even scarier, even farther from anything approaching human. It was the kind of thing that made them easier to kill.

Percy can’t be sure that if he were anyone else, he wouldn’t kill him. Why wouldn’t he? He’s a monster now, isn’t he? If you swung enough celestial bronze through him, he’d probably turn to dust.

Bill Carlton is exactly where they left him, staring mournfully across the lake with shattered eyes. Grief, sure. Or guilt.

Sam leads.

“Mr Carlton? We’d like to ask you a couple questions, if you don’t mind. We’re from the-”

“I don’t care who you’re with,” the old man steamrolls over him. His voice warbles and breaks, only partially with disuse. “I’ve answered enough questions today.”

“Your son said he saw something in that lake,” Sam tries again. “What about you? You ever see anything out there? …Mr. Carlton, Sophie’s drowning, Will’s death- we think there might be a connection to you or your family-”

“My children are gone,” he rasps, watery and broken. He looks up at them for the first time, and Percy swears he hears his neck creak. “It’s… It’s worse than dying.”

Percy feels something in the lake, then. It’s a lot worse than a whirlpool, or any disturbance, really- absolutely nothing happens on a tangible level. But there is such a mighty shift in countenance on the lake’s part that he almost stumbles back. It’s like a silent scream of mourning, of outrage. The lake cries out at Bill Carlton’s grief. Not enough. Not enough.

Percy drops into a crouch right in front of Bill, blocking his view of the lake, forcing the coward to look him in the eyes. 

“What did you do to that lake?”

“N- I- I-”

“Percy, what-”

“You hurt someone. You drowned someone.”

“I didn’t mean to!”

“Who?”

“It wasn’t my fault! I w-was jus-”

“WHO?!”

“PETER SWEENEY!”

Bill dissolves into helpless sobs, curling into himself as if to hide from the air chanting his guilt. Percy rises, expressionless. 

“Right, Sam, go and look for any records, history, eyewitness accounts, find out what happened. I’ll call the others and get Carlton out of range of the lake.” 

When Sam doesn’t immediately react, Percy looks up at him. He looks like a startled rabbit unsure what it’s looking at. It’s not quite horror, but it stabs ugly through Percy's heart all the same.

In another moment, though, Sam goes, and Percy’s left with a sobbing man and a haunted lake. In fact, with Carlton so preoccupied crying, he wouldn’t even notice if Percy just stepped off the pier for a quick chat with the local drowned.

Percy shoots Sam’s retreating back a look and declares it safe. If he keeps the splashing to a minimum, his harrowed brother won’t hear. 

Right then. He takes half a step to the side and pencil-dives into the deep, watery grave of a boy still trying to crawl his way out.

It’s unnaturally black the moment his head submerges. It’s not cold, though. Above the surface, the chill radiates off of the water, but down here it’s pleasant. Percy’s not the one that’s earned the cold shoulder.

“Hey man,” he says into the merciless gloom, “You’re playing kinda mean.”

For a moment, there’s no response. Everything stays just as it is. Then comes the echoey, muted voice of a little boy. He sounds so much like your average child that he might as well be asking a Walmart employee to help him find his mom. 

“This is nothing. You should see what they did to me.”

“You wanna tell me about it?”

There’s a wavering in the water, like an uncertain current, and Percy gets a visual of the boy shifting from foot to foot. 

“You wouldn’t get it. You’ll think I’m being mean.”

“Nah, man, I get it. You’re just angry, right?”

“Yeah!” Peter agrees. “You would be too! Getting bullied all the time, getting laughed at like it’s funny. It’s not funny! I was scared all the time! But I’m not scared now. I never have to be scared again. They do. They’re scared all the time. It’s only fair.”

“Sure,” Percy agrees good-naturedly. “But I get the feeling that once you’ve got your revenge, you’re still gonna be angry. You’re not gonna be able to be anything but angry, and it’s gonna suck.”

There’s another pause. Maybe Peter can feel that this isn’t him. Maybe he just hadn’t considered it before. 

“You think I’ll be like this forever?” the poor boy whimpers in that way kids do moments before a full-blown melt down. “W-What do I do?”

“Chill, chill, it’s okay. I think I can help you.”

“You can?”

“Yeah. I mean, I’ll try. But I’m gonna have to ask you to do something you won’t like.”

“...What?”

Percy takes a deep breath. “You’re gonna have to leave Bill Carlton alone.” Immediately the currents whip up. “I know, I know, but when you died, you stopped being scared, right? If you kill him, he won’t be scared anymore. You leave him alive, he’ll be scared for the rest of his life. Way better revenge, right?”

The water calms as Peter considers this. Percy gives him time to think about it. He seems to decide it’s a pretty sweet deal. 

“Okay. But how will that help me not be angry?”

“It’s the first step, buddy. It’s gonna take some time, but you gotta remember who you are beyond the anger. Like, what makes you happy?”

“Happy… seeing Billy’s kids drown.”

“...Okay, how bout what made you happy? When you were alive.”

“...Sister Glenda. She was nice to me.” 

“Okay, that’s good. You should think about her. She wouldn’t want you to be angry. What else?”

“Riding my bike.”

“Awesome, that’s a good one. You gotta keep thinking about these things, and how they made you feel.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Okay. Can you go away so I can think about them now?”

“Sure thing, dude.”

Percy’s about to kick up to the surface himself- over the course of the conversation, the water’s gotten clearer and lighter, so he can see where he’s headed now- when the temperature warms just a little. It feels like Peter’s giving him a gap-toothed smile. 

“Thank you. I haven’t talked to anybody since they drowned me.”

Percy smiles back as he breaches the surface, his feet touching down dry on the wharf behind the still blubbering Carlton. It’s only then that he really processes what Peter said. 

They?

-~o~-

Percy’s call confirms what they’ve found out at the boy’s home by the church Lucas drew for them, so they meet up and head for the sheriff’s office for some answers. 

That might’ve been a mistake. It seems the sheriff has double checked their story and confirmed that they aren’t Wildlife Service or FBI.

“The only reason you're breathing free air is my forgiving nature. So, we have a couple of options here. I can arrest you for impersonating government officials and hold you for harassment. Or, we can chalk this all up to a bad day, you get into your car, you put this town in your rearview mirror, and you don't ever darken my doorstep again.”

They take door number two. 

Dean doesn’t feel right about it though, and neither does Percy, so sometime well past dark, instead of turning onto the interstate, they make a U-turn.

No surprise, Lucas and Andrea’s house is Dean’s first stop. No one has any better ideas, so they don’t argue, Sam providing the sceptical voice of reason all the way. As soon as they get there, though, it becomes immediately apparent that they were right to. 

Dean’s barely pressed the doorbell buzzer before Lucas is swinging the door open wide, hyperventilating, eyes desperate for help. He races back inside, the rest of them hot on his tail. 

There’s water flooding angrily out from under the bathroom door. It’s got Andrea, Percy can feel it. Dean kicks the door down and holds Lucas back. Percy shoots in plunges his arms into the overflowing bath. The water’s black. 

“LET HER GO, PETER!” he commands. And he pulls. 

The water flinches, scared. Confused. Its grip slackens, but not fully. That’s okay. That’s what Percy’s muscles are for. 

He rips Andrea from the bath with a powerful sucking noise, almost lost under her screaming gasps and wild splashing. But she’s out. Percy falls back onto the tiles, keeping his grip on Andrea until he’s sure she’s out of the woods. Then he’s quick to turn her on her side so she can more easily hack the foreign hatred out of her lungs. It has no right to her. Percy’s here now. It won’t have her.

Things move quickly after that. Annabeth finds the shell-shocked Andrea, who can barely speak, a robe from her bedroom. She doesn’t even seem to process the strangers present, more focussed on getting dry, like any droplets still left on her skin could decide to finish the job. Dean takes care of Lucas. Once the kid’s hugged the life out of his mom and made good and sure she’s not in any danger anymore, he needs a bit of comfort of his own. Enter Dean. Percy’s not sure what kind of magic he’s made of, but kids- especially traumatised kids- love the guy. Maybe ‘cause he’s more or less a five-year old with the body of a real-life superhero. In fairness, he does go around kicking in doors and rescuing people. 

Once Percy’s finally sitting Andrea down with a cup of tea, the sun is rising. The rest of them have fucked off somewhere, sensing she needs some space. He hopes at least one of them has the sense to be pouring through old photo albums or journals for any indication as to why Peter’s still gunning for Andrea- Andrea, who has no relation to Bill Carlton whatsoever. 

“Can you tell me?” Percy asks gently. 

“No. It doesn’t make any sense.” She looks around miserably, eyes filling despite her best efforts. Her shaking hands come up to hide her face. “I’m going crazy!”

“No you’re not,” he promises. “Tell me what happened. Everything.”

Andrea takes a big wet sniff, pulling her hands away and lacing them together. She twists them, rolls them against her face mindlessly, and looks anywhere but at him. Her eyes refuse to still, searching corners and walls and tabletops for answers that just aren’t there.

“I heard… I… I thought I- I heard… there was this voice.”

“What did it say?”

“It said… it said ‘come play with me’.”

Well, of course it did. That is some b-reel horror movie bullshit if ever Percy’s heard it. Is that it, then? Peter’s lonely? It’s a bit quick to go from vengeful murderer to bored little kid overnight. It could be a taunt, but why? What’s he got against Andrea?

“What’s happening to me?” she begs him.

Percy’s just about to respond with… something, when Dean saves him the trouble. He cuts right between them with that glint in his eye like he’s on the scent of something and plops a dusty old photo album onto the table. 

“You recognize the kids in these pictures?” he demands. 

“What? Oh, uhm… no, I-I mean… except that’s my dad, right there,” she points. “He must’ve been about twelve in these pictures.”

Dean licks his lips and his brow unknits like it’s all come together. He gives Percy a look. 

“Bill Carlton’s drowning? The connection wasn’t to him, it must’ve been to the sheriff.” 

“Bill… and the sheriff,” Percy voices, sitting back and feeling stupid. 

I haven’t talked to anyone since they drowned me. They . Not he . Percy only told Peter to leave Carlton alone. Vengeful spirit or not, Peter’s just a little kid, he would take that at face value. The sheriff was still fair game.

“What about Chris? My dad- w-what are you talking about?” Andrea demands.

“Guys,” Annabeth’s voice cuts through. They all turn to look at her and see what she’s drawing their attention to. Lucas stands before the door, looking vacantly out. He sways a little on the spot. Then, mechanically, he raises an arm and opens the door, slipping out. 

They all move to follow, Dean and Andrea taking point. Percy lags behind, observing. Dean’s a little too focussed on Lucas to notice, so it’s Sam that stops Andrea from jogging up to stop him. The boy marches on, and they follow like a patchwork parade. 

Finally, he comes to a stop right over a great mound of moss, the kind right out of a fairytale. His sneakers sink into it like it’s a cloud. It’s all very Disney. 

He looks deliberately at the ground, then up at Dean, communicating. 

“You and Lucas get back to the house, and stay there, okay?” Dean orders gently, hardly able to tear his gaze away from Lucas’ baleful one. 

Andrea takes the hint, and Lucas goes willingly. Annabeth heads back with them, but she stays outside so she can keep an eye on things on both ends. Sam and Dean get to work with shovels they pull from the back of the Impala, laying waste to that pretty little coven Lucas led them to. It’s not long before something clangs. 

As they pull up Peter’s bike, a new voice cuts through the clearing.

“Who are you?” 

The brothers look up and come face to face with the sheriff. His gaze is dark, his features sunken and guarded. Those nice shiny shoes of his sink into the dirt almost poetically. His hair is a washed-out grey in the natural light, and he looks very old and very young at once. He hasn’t the faintest inkling that Annabeth has her knife poised right at the back of his neck, ready to strike if need be. And the second his gun clicks, she does. 

The sheriff blinks. Sam and Dean blink as well. None of them saw much more than a flash, but Devins is now unarmed. Annabeth clicks the magazine out of the gun and tosses it to Percy without taking her eyes off of her enemy once. 

Devins stumbles back, trying to gain some distance and keep all of them in his sight. Thanks to Percy’s strategic position, it proves impossible. He looks about one more push from a breakdown. 

“How did you know that was there?” he growls at Sam and Dean, apparently picking a priority. He jabs a shaking finger at them and the damning red bike they’ve just unearthed like an unmarked grave. 

Percy scrubs his face once and steps in, having had about enough. “Right, have we missed anyone else?” He asks the sheriff far too casually. “Was the gang all there, you and the boys got together for a game of ‘drown the nerd’? 

“Stop it.”

“Is that what he begged? You’ll remember, that stuff never leaves you. What were his last words?”

“Stop!”

“Surely one of you remembers. Do you have a reunion, do you all get together and remember that time you killed a boy? Were there even enough of you to call it a party, or did you have to invite a couple cousins around for posterity-”

“STOP TALKING!”

“-So they could all gather round and watch big man Jake hold Peter under the water until he drowned-” 

“IT WAS JUST US!” Devins finally screams. A blobby tear escapes his watering eyes. “It was just us. It… it was always… just us.” He staggers on his feet, having to catch himself on a rock. He looks small. The clearing holds its breath for his confession. “We didn’t know what it was back then, but we… we were s-sweet on each other. Our parents didn’t like it and we- we took it out on Peter, but we didn’t mean- we never meant-”

Well, that’s not where Percy was expecting this to go. He doesn’t really care, either. There’s a texting term for this Sam taught him the other day: tmi. But then the man looks at his daughter, who’s stumbled into the clearing sometime throughout this dramatic affair, and Percy surmises that he’s confessing this for her benefit. It’s probably good to have context when you find out your dad killed a kid several decades ago.

“Doesn’t matter what you meant,” Dean grunts. “You killed Peter Sweeney thirty-five years ago. Now you got one seriously pissed off spirit.”

“It’ll take Andrea,” Sam adds. “It’s gonna take Lucas. It’s gonna drown ‘em, and it’s gonna drag their bodies God knows where, so you can feel the same pain Peter’s mom felt. And then, after that, it’s gonna take you.”

Percy tunes out as he notices Lucas wandering off toward the lake in that loping way of his. He glances back at the scene once and then quietly follows. 

There’s an army man bobbing out on the water. The light shifts in purposeful ways, meeting the swelling ripples as if to deliberately reflect off its glistening plastic surface. It’s an invitation. 

Lucas looks up at Percy as he comes to a standstill beside him. Percy looks back. He shoots one last glance back at the altercation. Everyone is successfully distracted, save Annabeth, who gives him the tiniest nod showing she’s understood where he’s going. 

Percy takes Lucas’ hand and together they walk into the water. 

Percy makes sure that none of the crushing pressure of an anger festered over thirty-five years gets within thirty-five yards of Lucas. Inside that bubble, the water is calm and familiar, as water should be. Outside the storm lashes and snarls in outrage. Percy will deal with that in a moment. 

He draws out a little air bubble for Lucas first, who watches on with wide eyes, almost forgetting not to gape. Once that’s safely over his head, Percy gives him a thumbs up. 

“Should be good to breathe now, bud.”

Lucas’ eyes go even wider somehow. He squeezes them tightly shut while he tests this theory, and then, finding it quite easy to breathe, he gasps aloud. It echoes against his bubble. Percy chuckles. 

“Don’t be scared,” he says, taking Lucas’ hand again. Then he turns to face the other kid who deserves better and calls out. “Peter. We need to talk, man.”

An angry howl responds, wave after wave beating against Percy’s safety bubble. 

“YOU SAID!” screams the water, the silt, the lake itself. “YOU SAID TO LET BILLY GO! I LET HIM GO!”

“That’s not all I said, though. You gotta be chill to move on. I’m not sensing much chill from you right now.”

Another incoherent screech bubbling the sand. “I DON’T WANNA CHILL! THEY KILLED ME!”

“I know, dude. But remember what I said about Bill? It’s the same deal. You kill him, you free him, like you were freed. You leave him alive? He’s gonna wake up and think of you every day for the rest of his miserable life.”

“I CAN STILL KILL HIS GRANDSON!”

“Dude, are you hearing yourself? Think about how your mom felt when you died. You’re really gonna do that to his mom? That would make you as bad as Billy and Jake.”

There is a silence for a bit as Peter considers this. The storm lessens very slightly. 

“Not if I kill her too before she has time to be sad.”

Percy blinks, unsure what to do with that. The kid makes a point. 

“Peter, look, just- come here. Properly. I want you to meet somebody.”

Again there’s a moment of debate, and Percy wonders if he’s fucked it. But then the storm turns down another notch and seemingly condenses. It all pulls together into a cold spot he can feel directly in front of them, just at the border of Percy’s safe zone. As a sign of good will, he pulls it back to a comforting five feet. Peter takes the invitation. He emerges from the blackness before them at the border, in a full form for the first time. It’s not nice. 

His eyes are wide and bulging, milky white like a zombie’s. His hair hangs hauntingly around his face like dead seaweed. Even underwater, his dead-white skin looks slimy, like it’s got a thin coating of algae over it. He glows a little in the gloom. There’s a tear in his shirt- it looks like it had a baseball team on it once. Despite all of this, though, his features are heartbreakingly young, his countenance even more so. He stands like an adamant little kid before his parents yelling that he had a nightmare. 

Percy waits for it, but Lucas exhibits no signs of fear. He’s a weird kid. Percy’s about to open his mouth to initiate a conversation when the last person expected to contribute pipes up.

“You’re the one who’s been giving me dreams.”

Lucas’ voice is a bit raspy from disuse, and Percy instinctively guides the water around him to soothe the damage if it can while he openly stares. 

“Yeah,” Billy retorts defensively, shifting in place. “What of it?”

It takes a while for Lucas to gather himself enough to continue, and it’s impressive he does at all. No wonder Dean gets on with the kid.

“They were really scary,” is what he says. 

“They were,” Peter agrees. 

“Don’t you… ever have any good dreams?”

“Not anymore,” Peter spits bitterly. 

“Well, you can share mine,” Lucas offers. 

Percy’s not sure who’s more surprised; him or Peter. Not only does Lucas seem the least bit frightened of the zombie lake monster who’s been haunting his dreams and trying to drown him and his family for the last thirty-five years, he’s now offering to share his good dreams like they’re trading cards. Just ‘come on into my headspace, wipe your feet on the mat, mi casa es tu casa’.

“Just to put things into perspective, Peter, this is the kid you’re trying to kill,” Percy reminds him. “What happened to you… it’s not his fault. He’s not mean like Bill and Jake were. In fact, I think you two would make pretty good friends.”

“You wanna be my friend?” Peter asks, more in incredulity than anything, but Lucas seems to take it as an invitation. 

“Okay. You already have my army man. We can play with those if you want.”

“Really? You want to play with me?”

“Of course. We’re friends.”

“Totally,” Percy agrees. “And friends don’t kill each other, right Peter?”

“N-no.”

“‘Course not. Now, Lucas, I’m pretty sure your mom’s gonna be getting worried about you up there by now. We’ll go back up, but only after Peter promises not to kill anyone.”

“Not even Jake?!” 

“Dude. Chill,” Percy reminds him. “Sister Gwenda.”

“Glenda.”

“Yeah. You gotta focus on what makes you happy, like playing with the army men and riding your bike. Now you got a friend, it should be easier. Lucas can come and visit you whenever he wants, isn’t that right, Lucas?” The kid bobs his head happily. “So do you promise?”

Peter takes to the count of four to decide, and in that time, the storm completely dies down. 

“I promise.”

“Pinky promise?” Lucas squeaks.

“Pinky promise!” Peter chirps with more certainty. He’s a fiery kid, for a water spirit. Maybe he’ll make Lucas less of a sad sack, too. 

“Awesome. See you ‘round, then, Pete,” Percy gives a short wave. Lucas gives a more energetic one.

“Bye bye!” 

Peter melts away like silt in a current. Percy’s starting to hear shouts from topside. He turns to look at Lucas head-on and brings a finger to his lips. As bad as he feels telling a recently revocalized mute kid to shush, it is rather imperative Lucas doesn’t share what he’s seen down here. The kid looks brighter than he has the whole time they’ve known him. In answer, he throws up a pinky finger, almost hitting Percy in the chin. Percy quickly hooks his own through it with a smile and a wink. Then without a second more wasted he grabs Lucas close and shoots them up onto the dock.

They bowl Dean right over, nearly sending him into the drink. Sam is barreling up behind him, ready to dive in as well. Annabeth’s holding a distraught Andrea back as Devins watches on, face drawn pale. 

Percy makes a big show of coughing, and Lucas probably actually does a bit. He curls into himself to hide his smile when he catches Annabeth’s knowing smirk. Andrea races forward and bundles her little boy up in her arms while Percy’s brothers help him up. 

“It’s good. He’s good, we’re fine,” Percy coughs, adding a miserable sniff for style points. Annabeth rolls her eyes behind Sam’s back. “I saw- I saw Peter down there. He looked sorta like Lucas. I guess he caught that too, ‘cause he seemed to realise what he was doing, came back to himself a bit- spat us right back out. We’re dry,” he finishes, injecting a tone of wonder into his voice. He figured he could get away with that much if he made the water look like it was retreating, so neither Lucas or he are even damp.  

“You and your son are probably safe now. You,” he nods to Devins, “-should leave the lake.” 

“You scared the shit out of us, dude,” Sam huffs. 

“Yeah, we didn’t even hear you get got,” Dean grunts unhappily, brow knitted tight in concern. Percy almost wants to laugh at him. The brothers of the son of the sea god, worried about him drowning in a perfectly normal lake with like, one mortal spirit in it. You can’t make this shit up.

-~o~-

In the next few days, Andrea and Lucas manage to take a moment from helping the good sheriff pack up his things to bring the mystery gang lunch. Apparently Lucas insisted on making the sandwiches himself. Percy doubts that. He rather suspects he made his mum say that, though, because the crafty little shit hands Sam the first plate and Annabeth the second so they’re the ones who have to go and put them in the car. Andrea ducks off as well to open the doors for them. Lucas could totally tell Percy caught it, too, ‘cause he smirked at him. Percy puts his tongue in his cheek, thoroughly impressed. 

“Nice car,” the little conman says. Dean nearly dies of shock with an aftershock of pride.

“There’s an army man stuck in the door handle,” Percy informs him. 

“What’s the best dream you ever had?” Lucas asks Dean, who blinks at the non-sequitur and then frowns at the question. 

“Uhh… I was at a Zeppelin concert. They wouldn’t let my pony in though, so I snuck it in through the side door, and in the middle of the best part of my favourite song, Led Zeppelin- THE Led Zeppelin- looks at me, points at my pony, and goes, “SICK RIDE, DUDE!””

“Awesome,” Lucas nods appreciatively. 

“Think I’m gonna dream about those sandwiches tonight,” Percy says. “They look fire. ”

“Yeah, thanks, Lucas!”

“You bet!”

“You take care of your mom, okay?” Dean requests, clapping the kid lightly on the arm. 

“You only got the one,” Percy agrees. “For now. I guess you could get another one, later. Not like as a replacement, but like, as well as… her.”

“Dude, we have got to get you on some meds,” Dean laughs.

Andrea returns with a smile, leaving Sam and Annabeth by the car and the bike respectively. Then, casual as anything, she kisses Dean. Percy leans around them and points at Dean’s back, raising an eyebrow at Annabeth, like, what’s that about? And how come I never got one after a quest? Annabeth shakes her head, equally bemused. 

“Thank you,” Andrea says earnestly, looking up into Dean’s eyes. Percy waits for his brother to nod, agree, say ‘you’re welcome’, but he just stares back dumbly for a bit. Long enough for him to exchange another look with Sam. Finally, Dean scratches his head bashfully and ducks away to the driver’s side, trying to cover it up with a “Sam, move your ass! We’re gonna run out of daylight before we hit the road.”

“He means goodbye,” Percy says redundantly. Sam gives Andrea a twinkling smile and heads around to the passenger side. Percy takes his cue to head over to the motorcycle. 

Andrea and Lucas watch them go. Dean blares the radio just for Lucas, and Percy revs the engine for no reason in good spirit. It does the job, making Lucas giggle. 

“Another case cracked, eh?” Annabeth’s voice crackles over the comms. 

“Gods, we’re good,” Percy shoots back. He feels her laugh against his back and grins. 

Honestly? He’s sort of missed the family business.

Chapter Text

Sam’s not sleeping. Percy can tell. It’s not surprising. Sam’s never had much interest in dating- much like Percy himself, he’s an all or nothing kind of guy. Percy’s pretty sure there’s a term for that, like a sexuality, but it doesn’t really matter. Sam’s Sam. The important thing to mine from it is that he really loved Jessica. He pretty much just lost his Annabeth. The worst part is, Percy can’t do a thing about it except be there for his brother. Gods know there would be nothing anyone could do for him. 

And at the same time, he’s wary of his big little brother. Sam has always been far too smart for his own good, and he catches things he shouldn’t. They’re hiding too much for that to be sustainable. Gods, Percy hates that he has to be careful with family. He hates this. 

Across the hall, Sam brings Dean breakfast at ass o’clock in the morning and gets a brotherly interrogation for his troubles. 

“Okay, yeah, I’m still… I still get nightmares about Jess. But it’s not just her. It’s the job.” Sam looks like he’s gonna say something else, but he stops himself, caught by some other train of thought with more momentum. His brows knit together as he breathes in tightly. “You think Percy’s different?” 

He says it rather than asks it. It’s not a question really. Dean answers anyway, but only in a tightening of his jaw and a reluctant flick of his eyes down to the carpet. 

“Back with Bill Carlton, when we went to ask him questions… I’ve never seen him like that, Dean. I was ready to back off, and you would’ve too. Percy…” he shakes his head a little, replaying the intensity of the moment. If it had just been then, maybe he would brush it off. But when they confronted the sheriff, he was every bit as unforgiving. 

“Stop it.”

“Is that what he begged? You’ll remember, that stuff never leaves you. What were his last words?”

“...Yeah, he’s different,” Dean finally admits in a sigh, patting his fist. “Something probably happened. But don’t… Sammy, don’t push it.”

“Don’t push it-? Dean-”

“No, listen. I… we’ll figure it out. He will figure it out. We do not press him on this. We’ll know what happened when we know, but don’t try to pull it out of him.”

Sam sighs and glares down at his boots. 

“I’m worried. No, I’m- I’m scared of how much he’s changed.”

“We don’t know how much he’s changed.”

“Exactly.”

They’re interrupted by a phone call, and suddenly they’re back on a case with more pressing (read: easier to confront) concerns. 

It’s an aeroplane case. Of course it is. Percy wants so badly to believe they won’t have to actually get on a flight for it- there’s no reason they should have to, after all- but knowing his luck, he can’t make himself. 

At least the guy who called it in is more friendly than the usual victims. Apparently Dean and John did a case for him a while back, so he’s cooperative and grateful without being weird about it. He gets them passenger manifests, a list of survivors, and all the technical information a troupe of uneducated assholes could want, though he can’t get them in to see the wreckage. That’s alright. Dean’s got a guy. Apparently he uses the shitty homemade badges for shits and giggles. 

Sam and Dean suit up all pretty and head in to pose as Homeland Security. Percy and Annabeth, having somewhat more memorable features and therefore less chance of being overlooked, stay behind and look through what they have. 

They manage to isolate the audio of the crash until it rasps a clear ‘no survivors’. How original. Percy throws out some theories and Annabeth looks into them, thinking out loud so he can shoot her ideas down as they come to her. This is only her first case after all. 

Percy thinks to himself that he kind of likes this. It’s sort of what they usually do, but without the threat of world-ending chaos. It’s silly, but once the war ended, so did the quest, and Percy… well, he might have been a little worried about not being a team anymore. Maybe they’ve been working together too long. Back-to-back fighting for your life and the lives of your loved ones is not a sustainable career. Nor is it particularly advised. But it’s what they know. 

Their first order of business is a visit to Max Jaffy, one of the seven survivors. If anyone saw anything weird, he did- or, that’s their guess given that he checked himself into a psychiatric hospital immediately after the crash. 

The hospital grounds are actually quite lovely, with rolling green fields and gardens enclosed by tall bushes. It’s like camp for kooks, Percy muses. Then he wonders how many people in places like this are perfectly sane, just capable of seeing through the Mist. If no one explained it all, you’d just think you were crazy. Or worse- what if it was all explained, and you still thought you were crazy? You wouldn’t know what to trust, plagued by visions of gods and demons that swore they were real. Like people who were unplugged from the Matrix too late and couldn’t accept reality. 

Well, now he’s made himself sad. Only Percy could get sad thinking of the Matrix. It was such a good movie. 

Max has a bad limp that he uses a cane for. He strikes Percy as mousy, but he doesn’t mince his words. Percy was starting to get worried with no one calling them on their bullshit, but Max absolutely does. 

“You checked yourself in here. Why is that, exactly?”

“I was a little stressed. I survived a plane crash,” he deadpans. 

“Take us through the time before the crash. Everything you found weird, and everything you didn’t,” Annabeth swoops in. 

Max aqcuiesces is short, to-the-point statements. He’d make a good soldier if it weren’t for the attitude. Maybe a better warrior on account of it. He’s definitely more Greek than Roman- uh, for a Californian. 

Eventually they get it out of him, the ‘delusion’ he had before the crash. 

“There was this man, this, uh… he had these eyes, these… black, eyes… and I saw him- I thought I saw him…”

“What?”

“He opened the emergency exit,” Max finally sighs. “But that’s- that’s impossible, right, I mean, I looked it up, there’s something like two tons of pressure on that thing.

“And this man- when did he first appear, and how? Did he flicker, or take a passenger’s place?” 

The man scoffs, cutting his eyes between the two of them. “What are you, nuts? No, he was a passenger. He was sitting right in front of me.”

George Phelps, seat 20C, was a dentist with a fear of flying. He was headed to a conference or an event or something, Percy wasn’t listening too hard. He left behind a wife and kids who obviously still love him. In short, not the kind of guy to get juiced up on PCP and rip open a plane door mid-flight. Annabeth says drugs couldn’t have made him capable of that kind of strength anyway. All signs point to possession, but that doesn’t quite feel right. A spirit can’t make something that much stronger than it is originally. No matter who’s driving it, a human body’s bones will shatter under that much force. Percy wants to guess that Phelps was something else living a quiet life undercover as a human, but his home smells overwhelmingly mortal. Things aren’t adding up at all until they reconvene with the wonder bros.

Sulfur. 

“A demon.”

“A Christian one?” Annabeth asks in surprise. Sam gives her a weird look. 

“This goes way beyond floatin’ over beds and barfin’ pea soup. It’s one thing to possess a person, but to use ‘em to take down a whole aeroplane?” Dean mumbles unhappily. 

“You ever seen anything like this?” Percy asks. He gets a simple head shake in return, and it’s so unlike Dean that Percy has to ask. “What?”

“I don’t know, man, this ain’t our normal gig. I mean, demons, they don’t want anything, just death and destruction for it’s own sake. This is big.” he pauses, ducking his head and scratching the back of it. He turns away a little and speaks under his breath. “I wish dad were here.”

Something rumbles out of Percy’s… throat? Chest? Before he can stop it. Percy doesn’t actually notice until Annabeth’s head snaps to him. His brothers don’t seem as clear on where it came from, but mildly perturbed nonetheless. It was far too low a sound for them to have heard, but they might’ve felt the vibrations. And besides those, there’s something in the human subconscious that instinctively reacts to a predator’s aggression. Percy catches each individual hair on Sam’s arm standing up. Dean’s breath stills abruptly. The air is dead silent, waiting for the pounce. 

“We don’t need him,” Percy says before anyone realises it really happened. His voice is deep enough to rumble on its own, and he can see it putting his brothers at ease, can see their hackles calming as they bury the animal parts of them under the familiar.

A phone rings across the thinning ice not all of them are aware they’re standing on. The usually unflappable Dean jumps a little. Sam flinches minutely. Neither of them register it as a symptom of fear, but Percy does. He bites the inside of his cheek and looks away. 

Dean answers the phone. The pilot of the original crash is dead. 

Chuck Lambert’s plane went down in Nazareth, and there are also traces of sulphur on this wreckage. This time they all go to see Jerry- would he be their employer? He’s not paying them. Benefactor? Probably closer, since he’s providing them with access. He’s the one who has to confirm the sulphur anyway, and sure enough, that’s what it is.

“All right, that's two plane crashes involving Chuck Lambert. This demon sounds like it was after him,” Dean states ever so sensitively. Apparently Chuck and Jerry were close. Sam’s a little more diplomatic, at least. 

“With all due respect to Chuck, if that's the case, that would be the good news.”

“What's the bad news?” Percy asks. Sam just gestures at Annabeth.

“Chuck's plane went down exactly forty minutes into flight,” she explains, “And get this: so did flight 2485.”

“Forty minutes?” Jerry echoes. “What does that mean?”

“It's biblical numerology. You know Noah's ark, it rained for forty days. The number means death,” Dean supplies. 

Annabeth nods. “I went back, and there have been six plane crashes over the last decade that all went down exactly forty minutes in.”

“Any survivors?”

“No-”

“-Not until now,” Sam takes over smoothly. “Flight 2485, for some reason. On the cockpit voice recorder, remember what the EVP said?”

"No survivors," Dean recalls. “...It's going after all the survivors. It's trying to finish the job.”

The next few hours are a thrilling saga of con calls to the various survivors of flight 2485, courtesy of Sam’s customer service voice. 

“-Really? Well, thank you for taking our survey, and if you do plan to fly, please don't forget your friends at United Britannia Airlines. Thanks.”

Percy waits till he hears the click of Sam hanging up to speak over the comms.

“Dude, you’re too good at that,” he shudders. Sam scoffs. 

“You make that sound like a bad thing.”

“It’s terrifying. Like my brother was replaced by an android who’s happy to serve.”

“Until it isn’t,” Annabeth provides ominously.

“Exactly! The robot uprising is coming, and every time I hear Sam use that voice I become less sure of what side he’s on.”

“I lost hope for him the second he said he wanted to go back to school,” Dean jokes. “Another good one lost to the educational system.”

“Sometimes I can still hear his voice.”

“If anyone’s interested, that was the last call,” Sam interrupts with a smile and an eye roll. 

“So our only wildcard is the flight attendant, Amanda Walker,” Dean hums.

“Right. Her sister Karen said her flight leaves Indianapolis at eight pm. It's her first night back on the job.”

“Eight pm? Tonight?”

“That sounds like just our luck,” Dean sighs. 

“Guys, this is a five hour drive. Even with Dean behind the wheel and you guys on the bike,” Sam reminds them. 

“Why don’t you call Amanda’s cellphone again, see if we can’t head her off at the pass?”

“I already left her three voice messages, she must’ve turned her cellphone off… God, we’re never gonna make it.”

“Oh, we’ll make it,” Dean vows. 

“Was that a challenge?” Annabeth croons over the comms, sounding less like a tease and more like a threat. 

“Eat our dust, losers!” Percy crows. 

That’s all the warning the older brothers get before the motorbike keeping steady pace with them rockets off at twice the speed of the Impala (which is already breaking quite a few traffic laws on its own). 

Dean chokes and Sam gapes. How is a hulking machine like Percy’s capable of speed like that? There’s no way it’s not modified. Where the hell did their brother even get that thing?!

“Oh no he didn’t,” Dean growls, and Sam puts the thinking aside in favour of gripping the dash for dear life as Dean gives ‘reckless driving’ a whole new context.

Percy and Annabeth arrive at the terminal with time to spare, but Amanda isn’t easy to find, and it slips through their fingers quickly. They tail four separate flight attendants before they find their girl, finally catching the tail end of her darting into the employee area, and then having to sneak their way in. They manage it, and suddenly they find themselves face to face with this poor clueless woman with no idea what to say to her.

“Are you Amanda Walker?” Seems as good an opener as any. 

“Yes,” she frowns warily, looking them over. “Sorry, who- what are you doing back here?”

“Uhm… We…”

“Miss Walker-”

Annabeth doesn’t get to prove her near miraculous ability to lie her way out of anything. Instead, a middle-aged man in a pilot’s uniform slams into her from the left, appearing almost out of nowhere in violent, merciless fashion. Before she can so much as scream, he grabs her in one of his meaty hands by the neck and slams her head against the patterned wall, leaving little dent in the advertisement. Now the woman’s smile is crooked, and Amanda’s out cold. Percy can still feel her blood moving though. She’s alive, and she doesn’t seem to be bleeding. 

“No survivors,” the pilot hisses through teeth clenched to crack, eyes flicking wildly from black to regular white as if reacting to something. “I will have her!”

Percy’s hardly taken a step forward before a group of flight attendants rounds the corner, chatting amicably amongst themselves. In a flash, the demon is gone, with Amanda in tow. Three guesses where it took her. 

“Shit,” Percy curses. 

Annabeth doesn’t bother. She darts after them on lightning-fast feet, hair flying behind her. 

“Find your brothers!” she throws over her shoulder. Then she’s gone. 

Percy hesitates. He doesn’t like her going after it alone. This is a different breed of foe, one she isn’t familiar with yet. But she knows that, and she’ll account for it. He trusts her. 

He spins on his heels and books it for the terminal entrance.

Chapter Text

“Hector Aframian. Calling Hector Aframian to gate thirteen. Hector Aframian to gate thirteen.”

Dean doesn’t even register it, so Sam’s the one to point it out. They shag ass and manage to track Percy down. He’s pacing around a pillar in front of the gate, scrubbing at the back of his head viciously, looking a little possessed. People are giving him nervous glances. It’s not a good look to have in an airport. 

“Perce. Hey, Perce, what’s going on? Where’s Annabeth?” Sam asks worriedly. His eyes rake his brother up and down, but he doesn’t seem hurt. The look in his eye sets Sam’s inner alarms off, though. 

“She went after it. Sh- we met the thing, it took Amanda. It’s using a caucasian male, mid forties, bald, about six foot. It dragged Amanda off, and Beth went after it. She’s not back. I don’t know where she is.”

“Shit,” Dean hissed, looking around as if he could spot the threat in the bustling crowd. 

“She hasn’t made contact,” Percy continues. “The plane’s about to leave.”

“...Alright. Time for plan B,” Sam says with finality. Percy drags his eyes back from where they’re boring holes into the gate to stare at him. “We’re getting on that plane.

Both of his brothers immediately start protesting over the top of each other. 

“That plane is about to leave. There are over a hundred passengers on board. If Annabeth’s not back by now, she’s probably followed the thing on board. We’re getting on that plane, we need to find that demon and exorcise it.”

Percy and Dean stare back at him with twin looks of distress. Percy swears. Then he swears again, with real feeling, and seems to hold himself back from punching something. Sam takes a startled step back. 

“What’s wrong?”

Dean looks at Percy. Percy looks at Dean. 

“I can’t…”

“I kind of have this problem, with…”

“...Flying?” Sam suggests.

“Yes!”

“It’s never really been an issue until now!”

“You’re joking, right?!”

“Do I look like I’m joking?!” they both snap at the same time, and it’s the undercurrent of genuine fear in their tones that brings Sam up short. It’s just not something he hears from his brothers. 

“I can’t get on that plane. Seriously, you don’t want me to,” Percy grits. 

“Alright, then… I’ll go.”

Again, the oldest and youngest brothers speak in tandem:

“What?”

“I’ll find Annabeth, we’ll handle this on our own.”

“What are you, nuts?!” Dean snaps. “That plane’s going to crash!”

“Look, we can do it together, I can go up myself, I’m not seeing a third option here!”

And he’s right. There really is nothing to be done. Sam’s never seen Percy as pale as he is now, realising it. Dean shifts from foot to foot and whines like a lost kid in need of a teddy bear to hug, but Percy looks like he’s just been told the end times are upon them. While Dean looks around and begs the air for any other option, Percy goes rigid as steel, face hardening into an unshakeable resolve that honestly kind of scares Sam. He says nothing while Dean tries to talk his way out of it. There’s a hard glint in his eye and his jaw sets, and suddenly he’s marching off like an executioner to the ticket guy without a word. Sam shoots a look at Dean and stumbles to follow, throwing instructions to get supplies from the trunk over his shoulder. He hears Dean whimper. 

Percy doesn’t say anything the entire time, despite Sam’s weak attempts to try and comfort him. He doesn’t say anything until they’re boarding and there’s a familiar face among the cabin crew. 

Annabeth doesn’t pull off demure even with a fake customer service smile plastered across her cheeks. Her eyes are as sharp and dissecting as ever. In fact, the only difference is the grey and red airline uniform she wears. It’s… a strange thing to see her in. 

Percy lets out a harsh breath when he sees her. The tension doesn’t leave his shoulders, not by a long shot, but he looks less inclined to commit homicide about it. 

Annabeth’s gaze hones in on him as soon as he’s within sight, like she can smell him. When it’s their turn to board, Sam hears their muttered exchange. 

“Report.”

“I’ll live. Report.”

“No injuries. New host.”

And with that, she moves on to greet the rest of the flight, completely ignoring Sam and Dean. 

Percy stands aside for Sam and Dean to shuffle into their seats first, leaving him closest to the aisle. The old man behind them scoffs at the holdup. Sam can’t see Percy’s face, but he must give the guy one hell of a glare, because the pensioner meeps and nearly falls over in his haste to get past them as soon as the aisle’s clear. 

Sam leans over his older brother.

“So, what’s the plan?” 

“This is such a bad idea. This is such a bad idea,” Percy chants. He’s actually sweating. Not all the passengers have even boarded yet, and he’s gripping the arm rests so hard Sam hears them creak. He closes his eyes once. “We need to find the demon. Could be anyone. We wait til we t…take off, and we comb the aisle with the EMF reader.”

Sam gets so many ‘don’t talk to me right now’ vibes from his youngest brother that he leaves it at that. If it were just them, Dean humming Metallica like it’s a lullaby might be funny, but Percy makes him so uncomfortable he can’t enjoy it. For some reason there’s this notion that if Percy is afraid, you should be afraid.

It only mounts the closer they get to takeoff. When the plane starts moving, Percy starts muttering under his breath so fast it doesn’t even sound like english. He sounds like he’s praying. Dean forces himself through deep, staggering breaths. 

Finally, they’re up in the air. They level out, and after a minute, Percy’s eyes snap open with purpose. As if on cue, Annabeth stalks down the aisle in her uniform flats. There is a half-second in which she sends them a look that Percy probably understood. Then she makes her way to the back, settling in that little cut-off area with the curtain outside the bathroom. With stilted, jerky movements, Percy drags himself down the length of the plane after her, leaving Sam with their useless sack of big brother. 

The plane shakes. Dean slams a fist down against his armrest, half-melted into a tense puddle in his seat.

“C’mon, that can’t be normal!” 

“Hey, hey, relax, it’s just a little turbulence,” Sam assures him, keeping his voice gentle and steady. It used to calm Percy down better than anything else when he had nightmares or just plain old bad days. Dean might not say it, but Sam’s pretty sure it always had that effect on him, too. 

“Sam, this plane is going to crash, okay, so quit treatin’ me like I’m freakin’ four!”

“You need to calm down.”

“Well, I’m sorry, I can’t!”

“Yes you can,” Sam intones calmly. He is aware that he sounds like he’s speaking to a spooked rabbit, but if it works, it works. And he needs it to work. 

“Dude, stow the touchy-feely self-help-”

“Listen to me, you’re emotionally compromised, you’re wide open to demonic possession so you need. To calm yourself down. Right now.”

Still staring ahead with those wide, cornered eyes, Dean starts his pathetic attempts to breathe deeply back up. 

“Good,” coaches Sam. He turns back to their father’s journal. “Now, I found an exorcism in here that I think is gonna work. The Rituale Romanum.”

“What do we have to do?”

“It's two parts. The first part expels the demon from the victim's body. It makes it manifest, which actually makes it more powerful-”

“More powerful?”

“Yeah.”

“How?”

“Well, it doesn't need to possess someone anymore. It can just wreak havoc on its own.”

“Oh.” Dean nods dryly. “And why is that a good thing?”

“Well, because the second part sends the bastard back to hell once and for all.”

“Yeah, well… first thing’s first, we gotta find it. Where the hell is Percy?”

Sam shoots a look back at the curtain his little brother disappeared behind to see him poking his head back out, immediately shooting his hands out to grip the chairs on either side of the aisle for comfort. Even from here, Sam can see his nostrils flare. He tracks Percy’s progress until he’s slumping into his chair, stiff as a board. Sam wasn’t aware one could slump stiffly. 

He’s not lookin’ great, but he’s present, and at least handling it better than Dean. Percy’s a lot of things, but pale isn’t one of them, so it’s strange to see his face so devoid of colour. Under the substandard lighting, he looks like a tombstone, the scars in his flesh like cracks in the facade.

“So,” he says, “Amanda Walker is not our vessel.”

“What makes you say that?” Sam asks.

“She’s unconscious in the back. For the duration of this flight, Annabeth is now Amanda Walker. And if anyone asks, there is not a suspiciously-dressed body on board this plane.”

“What?!”

Both of his brothers snap to stare at him with wide eyes. 

“Well, Wise Girl needed her clothes. She gave Walker hers, but they’re not exactly the same size, have you seen Annabeth’s thighs? And the shoes, they’re not even close, pretty sure Annabeth’s pissed she’s had to-”

“Dude, focus,” Dean hisses.

“Okay. We need to find the thing. Who’s got the EMF?”

It’s Sam that ends up combing the aisles for readings. The thing should light up in the demon’s presence. He gets nothing, so Dean does a lap. Nada. 

Until they get to the very front. 

The flimsy bathroom lock clicks open, the door banging a little with the shifting of the plane. A man in a crisp pilot’s uniform shuffles out. He could be anyone- late thirties/early forties, well-groomed, with short mouse-coloured hair and pockmarks from a life in the sun. There are two stripes across his shoulder patches.

Dean has the earphones in to listen for spikes in the radio, so he’s the only one to hear the damning high-toned pitch level out. Sam’s still talking to him. 

“Dude, what is it?” 

Instead of answering, Dean keeps his eyes on the man who must be the co-pilot. 

“Christo.”

An undeniable shudder runs through the man’s broad frame and he stills like a mannequin gone limp. Then, slowly, he turns. 

Two black eyes land on the brothers. 

One second passes.

And then he’s gone. Back into the cockpit, the door clicking shut behind him. 

“Fifteen minutes left.” Sam jumps and turns to huff out a breath at the derisive grey eyes that greet him. When the hell did she get there?

“Holy… don’t do that,” Dean hisses, obviously recovering from a minor heart attack himself. 

“All the planes went down in forty minutes. Time’s running out,” she reminds them instead of apologising. Sam didn’t really expect her to.

“Yeah. We’ve got him,” Dean says. “It’s the co-pilot.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah. I don’t know how you’ve managed to swing this-” Dean looks her airline uniform pointedly up and down, “- Amanda Walker, but if you could swing it again and get him to the back, that’d be great.”

“You’ve got a plan?”

“An exorcism,” Sam says.

She nods. Then there’s some awkward shuffling to get past each other in the tiny aeroplane hall. Dean’s a big guy, but Sam’s huge, and Annabeth’s no Tinkerbell, so it’s an effort. 

They meet Percy in that little back area. His head snaps up when they enter, and then he’s immediately moving to yank the curtains closed behind them.

“Oh, don’t worry, just trying to keep a low profile here,” he hisses. 

His brothers just stare dumbly at the petite blonde thing crumpled against the wall, absolutely swimming in what are undeniably Annabeth’s clothes. A pair of combat boots too small to be Percy’s and far too big to be Amanda’s sit tellingly beside her tiny bare feet. 

“Dude!” Dean gasps, for lack of any more eloquent outrage. 

Percy makes some windmilly motions with his hands, like, what do you want me to do?

“I wasn’t here for that part, ask Annabeth. But- look, if it works, it works.”

“Well is she okay?”

“She’s…” Percy turns on his heels to look at Amanda Walker. He frowns down at her, as if just now considering this. “She’s stable. So… yes?

Sam would love to stand there and wobble around protesting that for a while, but they are on a bit of a time crunch.

“We can do this later. We’ve got the guy. We’ve confirmed it, black eyes and all. Annabeth’s bringing him back here. I’ll do the exorcism, you hold him down.”

Dean jiggles a crumpled plastic pouch, and the contents slosh audibly. 

“Holy water," he explains. "Let’s boot this sucker back to hell.”

Something flashes across Percy’s face so fast Sam’s not sure he didn’t imagine it. The lighting in this plane has really been doing funky things to Percy, making him all shadowy and stark and… Sam shakes himself out of it. He’s been out of the game too long, getting jumpy.

A peek out of the curtains confirms that Annabeth’s leading their mark straight to them. Sam positions himself to the left of the opening, against the wall. Dean unscrews the cap on the holy water. Percy settles into place to receive his target. 

“Now what’s the prob-”

The co-pilot gets no further than that before Percy’s on him. Sam doesn’t even see him move, but there’s a crunch and suddenly they’re on the ground. Percy descends upon the demon like a breaking wave, all-encompassing and final. Sam hears the impact of two rapid-fire blows thud dully through the space, and a spray of blood paints the back wall. Then Percy settles on top of the co-pilot’s thrashing form in a hold that is as efficient and brutal as it is apathetic. In a matter of seconds and no wasted effort, Percy has him completely restrained. Outclassed, too. There is no justification for the huge gap in ability suggested in that short exchange. 

The fight has no time for Sam’s stupefaction, though. The demon bucks and heaves against his captor like a- well, like a man possessed. Annabeth is already throwing herself behind him and wrapping her thighs around the demon’s borrowed neck in an honest-to-god chokehold, the size of her muscles almost dwarfing the grown man’s head. The pathetic little pencil skirt doesn’t stand a chance, shredding itself up the seams in an effort to get out of her way. With Percy on its torso and Annabeth on its shoulders, all that struggling proves absolutely useless.

Dean wastes no time chucking the contents of his bottle over the guy’s chest. The skin hisses, the heat of sin and righteousness eating holes in his crisp white shirt and bubbling over his flesh. The smell of rot and burning flesh hit them all full-force, smoke billowing into the cabin. The demon screams and seizes under the tape Annabeth’s slapped over his mouth at some point. 

“Sam, where are you,” Percy grits over the noise, and it occurs to Sam that he’s supposed to be doing something. 

He fumbles for the journal, cursing himself for getting distracted. He flips desperately through the pages for the one he just had open, dammit , ignoring the demon surging violently off the floor out of the corner of his eye.

There. There! The first verse.

“Regna terrae, cantate Deo, psallite Domino—”

A vicious kick from the demon sends the journal flying out of Sam’s hands. The sharp heel collides with two of Sam’s fingers, and he feels something crunch. 

The demon’s desperate clawing at Annabeth’s grip on him makes one of his nails catch against the tape over his mouth. The tape becomes a quick casualty of the struggle. With not much manoeuvrability and few weapons to leverage, the demon uses what it has. 

“PUTAS ME OCCIDES?!” it screams into Percy’s face, spit flying. Its voice is a distorted howl of mismatched tones that refuse to coexist, its face a mottled red pushing purple, blotched and ugly with unrestrained vitriol that has no place on human features. It’s like it wants to turn its own face inside out with only hatred. “NON SUM INFERNI TUI!”

The sound that curls through the air stops Sam’s heart. His blood stutters in his body, cold. Dean freezes in place. Even the demon forgets everything for a moment and goes dead still. Its head snaps to attention, following the source Sam can’t identify. 

…It snaps to Percy. 

He grabs both the demon’s wrists in his hands and drives them, white-knuckled, into the floor with a mighty SLAM. The demon looks into his eyes as he looms over its form and its face flickers. Percy stares right back and bares his teeth, lips going further back than they should, and snarls. 

“INFERNUS EGO SUM, ET SI NON EVIGILANS, TUUS ERO!” 

“Sam!” 

Sam’s eyelids flicker at Annabeth’s yell. He breathes, shakily, realising he’s forgotten to. His voice stutters back to life of its own accord.

“A-Aes… In pretentium aes…”

Sam keeps reading, even as he hears fabric ripping and looks up to see claw marks in the demon’s shirt where Percy’s fingers clamp around it like a vice. Even as he nears the end and the demon’s struggling doubles at the expense of the vessel. The demon doesn’t care what bones it breaks. Dean throws himself on top of it beside Percy to minimise the damage. 

Then it comes out. The co-pilot goes impossibly tense underneath them, like every muscle in his body is being engaged. A concentration of black that makes Sam’s eyes fuzzy seeps out of the man’s gaping mouth, twisting into itself, over and around teasingly. The sight of it makes Sam’s hair stand on end, makes him want to force it back in so he doesn’t have to see it, hear it slithering sharp and cold through one ear, into every nook and cranny of his mushy, vulnerable brain, and out the other. He feels ruined, infected, reduced to a level he hadn’t even conceived of- an affront to decency just by proxy. The sick feeling doesn’t even lessen when the infection drags itself through the unhappy air and into the vent. 

The co-pilot slumps, his strings cut, and Percy drops him immediately. 

“Where’d he go?” Annabeth snaps. 

“It’s in the plane,” Dean throws back, already rising. “C’mon, we gotta finish it!”

Sam makes it to the door before the plane drops. 

His gut soars up into his head as he slams into the back of a chair. A bag hits him over the head, the strap catching around his ear. The plane tilts hard to the right, sending him flying again only to smash into the ground. He grips the bottom of a seat for purchase, his legs tangling with something. There’s a lot of crap flying, people screaming and lights flickering, and Sam’s body is panicking so much about the free-fall situation that it’s all he can do to stay conscious. His body suddenly feels like two-hundred points of dead weight that he has absolutely no control over. 

He feels something collide with his tender knuckles, and the journal goes skidding down the aisle. Sam yelps, gripping his hand to his chest. If his fingers weren’t broken before, they are now. He throws himself after the journal in a soldier crawl, begging the plane not to jolt again. If he loses sight of this thing, it’s over. 

The tips of his fingers just scratch the leather binding. He stretches his digits as far as they can go, scrabbling for purchase. He manages to grip a stray page that sticks out oddly between two of his fingers, and he tugs. Just a little closer…

The book inches closer.

Almost…

Sam feels a give, and… the page rips. 

Sam grunts in desperation, near dislodging his shoulder against the chair between him and salvation. It’s right there.

He twists his hand sideways and crawls his fingers up, up, until… 

YES!

Sam yanks the damned thing to him and nearly rips the cover off of it. They need to start use a fucking bookmark. 

Sam can’t hear himself scream the words over the crying engine, the wailing passengers, and his own terrified heart. But he doesn’t need to. 

He can hear Dean. It settles him. Even shrieking, he’d know his brother’s voice anywhere. It’s harder that he can’t hear Percy. He could be anywhere. He could be injured. He could be worse. 

Sam doesn’t realise he’s finished until he looks for the next word and there isn’t one. 

For a horrible second, nothing changes. It’s still dark and loud and they’re still going to die.

And then his vision whites out. He falls back in the aisle, and the impact knocks the breath out of him. 

And then the world levels out. It’s not steady, but the violence climbs down from its whirlwind peak. The flurry of things beholden to no one settle where they lay, leaving the plane floor almost covered in loose papers and plastic cups and briefcases. The lights groan and shudder back on. Sam’s conscious form sheepishly returns to his physical one, and his body is his own again. With how much he’s just been thrown around, he almost wishes it wasn’t. He hurts.

Sam grips the seats for balance and drags himself tediously upright. With great effort and a few tries, he staggers onto one foot, then the other. He brings his throbbing hand to his chest protectively and scans the plane for his family. 

Dean is in the corner, clinging to the curtain for dear life. He is… Jesus. He is not looking good. No injuries that Sam can see, but fuck, this might be what finally gets him to a therapist. 

Looking around again, Sam spots a familiar mop of blonde curls, and behind that, his brother. Percy staggers to his feet. His hand fumbles blindly at his girlfriend’s back until she takes it in hers and gives it a squeeze. 

They’re alright.

Sam wishes he could lap up the victory, but he has the unshakeable feeling that he walked into this missing information. It’s been nagging at him, eating him up in the day and sizzling under his skin at night. He thought it was something he could let lie. But this? He’s missing something, and it’s affecting the work. They were in a life or death situation, and Sam felt like he didn’t know his brother. Since when is Percy fluent in Latin? Since when does he move like that?

Since when does he inspire fear in demons?

Sam looks across the aisle into the deep scars of Percy’s face, the sea-green eyes still scanning for threats, stance low and defensive. Tensed. The way he holds his hands- also scarred- like they’re weapons. The way his centre of gravity shifts, his feet light. The way his muscles flex under his t-shirt like currents in a strong tide, held back with deadly poise.

Since when doesn’t Sam recognise his brother?

Chapter Text

They are silent for the rest of the flight, the landing, the police questioning, and all through the trip to the nearest motel. Something’s shifted, Dean can feel it in the way Sammy’s leg bounces under the dash and the way neither of them say anything about it. The comms buttons stay stubbornly unlit, taunting them the whole way. 

Not even Tame Impala undoes the tension in the air, and Dean thinks that’s a sin in and of itself. He’s been tense enough for one day, thank you very much. He was just in a freaking plane crash– which, by the way, totally vindicates his thing about flying. Planes fucking crash! He would know! 

He feels leagues better back in baby’s loving leather arms, but shit if there’s still not something very, very wrong. 

He hates that he knows it. He hates that he has known it, and he hates that Sam said it, and he told him to drop it, and now here they are and something is still wrong. Hate that. 

But hey, maybe it’s nothing. Maybe it’s just some stupid thing Percy’s hung up on that’s making him act weird, like Sam and his Jessica guilt. Maybe the big secret is that Annabeth’s his biological cousin or something. With blonde hair. And caucasian skin. Sure, that’s plausible. Or maybe Percy doesn’t want to admit to a gambling addiction he’s picked up while he’s been away- ooh, he could hit the tables with Dean next time he goes! And the scars are just, y’know, from rock climbing or something. Damn, with a job description like theirs, that would be embarrassing. 

Dean really hopes it’s one of those. 

He… he doesn’t want anything to change. Because that’s his little brother. And the fact that Percy doesn’t look the same, or move the same, or act the same, or sound the same, or fucking breathe the same, that doesn’t mean anything, because he is the same. He’s Dean’s little fucking brother. He’s not allowed to have changed.

Annabeth knows. Oh, yes, Annabeth and her fuckin’ thunder thighs, and her telepathy, how she can just look at Percy and know what he’s saying. She’s not worried about him right now, because she’s been with him all this time while Dean stuck by Dad. He was the only one who stuck by Dad, and now his little brothers come back to him completely different with blonde girlfriends and brooding stares and secrets and fuckin’ nightmares and Dean’s just about had e-fucking-nough. He is doing his best here, does that count for nothing? He’s their BROTHER, for Christ’s sake, and they of all people know what that means. So if Percy had some sort of really horrible, world-altering secret, he would’ve told Dean by now. And Sammy, bless his heart, will get his enormous guilty head out of his ass and follow suit any old tick of the clock. He always was thicker than Percy, so Dean will give him the benefit of the doubt and say it’s just taken him a while to come to terms with it. He’s not really keeping anything from Dean. Neither of them are. 

You don’t keep things from your brothers.

The blue button on the dash lights up far too jovially for the mood in the car. 

“Motel ahead,” it chirps. “Two miles.”

It’s raining. Dean’s not sure how Percy can see the road on that monster bike of his, but he seems to be doing fine. He pulls into the turnoff smoothly, Baby rumbling right behind. They park around the back of another classy joint with a flickering neon sign and a metric ton of beer cans littering the parking lot. 

Dean gets them rooms. He comes back with two sets of keys, but before he can pass one of them off to Percy, Sam snatches both out of his hand. Dean shoots him a look. Sam and his stupid set jaw ignore him. Dean hates that no one says anything, like they were expecting it. 

Nothing’s changed, goddamnit. They can all go to bed and they’ll feel better in the morning. Fuck Sammy for pullin’ this shit. 

Fuck him twice for having stupidly long legs that mean Dean has to hurry to catch up. Percy and Annabeth are right behind him. 

Dean ducks into the room, happy at least to be out of the rain. He chucks their duffel bags onto the floor and throws his arms up in adamant question; a very clear ‘what the fuck?’

Sam turns. He doesn’t sit down, take off his jacket, nothing. He just stands there looking damp, face hard and dark in the shitty motel lights only just filtering in from outside. Like he’s ready to start some shit. 

Dean wishes he wouldn’t. 

Percy and Annabeth slip inside in eerie silence. They move way too quietly. He’s Dean’s brother though, he’s allowed to. 

Dean does a double take when he realises Percy’s not wearing his shirt under his leather jacket. Instead, Annabeth’s got it on over, or maybe instead of, Amanda’s uniform shirt. The thing had been way too small on her, and in the rain- yeah, that makes sense now that he thinks about it. She’s still in what’s left of the skirt, now with stylish slits that literally go all the way up. Does that make it a loincloth? Either way, it doesn’t seem to bother her. If anything, she seems to appreciate her movement being restored. 

She and Percy are soaked, skin slick from the rain and hair flat against their foreheads. Annabeth’s almost looks as dark as Percy’s in the lowlight, hanging down like dreads over her form. It makes her look even more formidable than usual. One of Percy’s eyes catches the light outside, and its clarity matches the rain. The other one is shadowed, though, barely visible. He shifts, and for the briefest second, Dean thinks he sees it flash like a dog’s in the dark. 

The door clicks shut behind them. 

“We need to talk,” Sam says. 

“No, we don’t. We need to sleep,” Dean shoots back at once, crossing to the far bed. They can still salvage this. 

“Sam-”

“Percy, you need to explain. You need to tell us what the hell is going on with you before we go out on a job again. I need to know.”

“SAMMY!”

The room freezes, snapping to stare at the oldest brother. It probably sounded like it came from nowhere. Well, it didn’t. Dean has been freaking out about this for a long fucking time and he has been in a plane crash today and Sam is about to nosedive them right into another one if he doesn’t let it go right fucking now.

“I told you we would stay out of it. And we are going to fucking. Stay. Out of it,” Dean snaps. 

“He’s right,” Percy sighs. Immediately the focus is on him. Even Annabeth seems surprised. If Dean weren’t so shocked himself, he might enjoy that more. 

“It’s killing me to keep from you guys, and I don’t want… you need to know what… it’s too dangerous for you not to know.” Percy inclines his head, and Dean clearly sees his adam’s apple bob with a thick gulp. His finger flicks in Annabeth’s direction. “Wise Girl, will you give us a bit?” 

Her eyes rake his form for all the things Dean’s do, and he wonders if she sees them. If he even knows how to look anymore. It only takes her a second. Then, as naturally as breathing, like the air carries her there, she glides over and touches a hand to Percy’s waist. It slides easily around his back to the other side, and she kisses his shoulder. It’s so easy, so domestic, and so very loving, that Dean feels wrong for having seen it. His head reels trying to reconcile the blonde terminator he understands her to be with such a gentle action. 

Percy gives her hand a squeeze and places an answering kiss to her hair. Annabeth withdraws. Beside Dean, Sam’s hand goes to his jeans. The keys Dean watched him pocket jingle in Annabeth’s hand as she slips out the door. 

Then there is silence. 

“Okay,” Percy starts. “Okay, you guys need to sit down.”

“Seriously?” Dean snorts. Percy raises his eyebrows at him. Yet another strong torrent of real concern washes over Dean. 

He sits. Sam sits.

Percy shoots his shoes a look. Then his eyes dart away, somewhere else, and somewhere else again. He brings a hand up over his mouth, drags it down his face. He starts to pace. Then he starts hitting his open palm against his fist repeatedly. Smack. Smack. Smack. 

“Okay,” he says again. “Okay.”

“Percy,” Sam intones in his therapy voice, “Calm down.”

As always, it works. At least, Percy stops pacing. 

“Do you guys believe in God?”

And if there’s anything Dean wasn’t expecting, it’s that. 

“What does that have to do with-“

“Just answer the question, guys. Work with me, here.”

Percy’s voice is so desperate, just holding itself together. The way he looks up at them, all imploring, it tugs right at Dean’s heart. Any other day he’d say Percy did that shit on purpose, and he does, but not this time. 

“We did just exorcise a demon,” Dean provides. “That sort of implies a man upstairs, doesn’t it?”

“I've never really thought about it before,” Sam admits. Dean snorts.

“Find that hard to believe.”

“A lot of the stuff we deal with is Christian,” Percy says. “Demons and that. But a lot of it isn’t. Wendigos are native folklore. Spirits are sort of universal. There are things out there from all sorts of cultures, is what I’m getting at here. Can I take this off? We’re having this talk, I’m taking it off. Don’t freak out.”

Before Dean can ask what the fuck that means, Percy’s clumsily stripping off his jacket, spraying the both of them with raindrops as he does. It makes his chest push out into the light, and holy shit…

Percy’s face got off easy. Dean’s breath leaves him at the sight of the jagged valleys carved into his little brother, the miles of marred flesh, some bubbled and cracked and gouged, indented unnaturally, torn in raised starbursts of violence and visceral dragging claw marks. There are so many that Percy looks like an impressionist painting of himself, all slapdash strokes in mismatched colours and textures. Each one leads into a hundred more, tiny cuts layered over huge swathes of punished skin that wrap all the way around his body like he was pulled into many messy pieces and stitched just as messily back up again.

Percy opens his mouth to speak again, but his narrowed eyes scan their faces worriedly, and he changes track. 

“You guys aren’t gonna yarf, are you? This ain’t my carpet.” 

It comes out like a joke. It isn’t. Dean certainly feels like throwing up. 

“Let me think about it,” he says. 

“That’s encouraging.”

“Percy,” Sam breathes in horror, and Dean’s heart finally lets itself break. “What happened?”

Percy’s eyebrows come together. God, he looks so old. And so young. Just way too much. He reaches behind him and grabs the back of the only chair the room boasts, swinging it around to face his brothers on their beds. He falls into it hard. Then he leans forward on his knees, once again starting up the fist-to-palm motion. 

Smack. Smack. Smack.

“There are creatures out there from all kinds of stories. Mythologies all around the world. Nasties, like we deal with… and good guys, too. You ever hear of good spirits? Friendly nymphs? They’re not all bad.”

“Slow your roll, Perce. I think we’d know if there were good spirits out there.” 

“Why the hell would a good spirit show itself to a Hunter?” Percy parries. Sam interjects before Dean can argue that.

“Are you saying you met some?” 

“…Yeah.” He looks between them, watching their reactions. “Well, they taught me a lot. There are baddies out there, and friendlies… and there are gods.”

“Percy, what the fuck.”

“What? You draw the line at gods? They’re just other creatures.”

“Omniscient-“

“They’re not omniscient, whatever they tell you.”

“Excuse me?!”

“How do you know they exist?” Sam cuts in, sounding way too calm for the situation. Percy shifts uncomfortably. He looks down at the floor and gulps again.

“When I was away… I found out who my parents were.”

Both brothers inhale sharply. Dean straightens.

Smack. Smack. Smack.

“My mother was a New Yorker. She worked at a candy shop. She didn’t have a lot of money. My father…” his hands still. His jaw sets. “…was a god.”

Silence. They stare at him. He stares into the carpet. 

“A greek one. Poseidon. God of the Sea. That’s why I was always seeing things growing up, and John never believed me. He thought I was making it up for attention, trying to start a hunt. But you can’t see the monsters unless you’re a part of it, and I am, by blood. I got picked up and drafted into a sort of camp by the friendlies. It was the only safe place for half-bloods like me to get away from the monsters. That’s where I met Annabeth. She’s a daughter of Athena, goddess of wisdom and battle strategy. 

“Well, a lot happened. That camp was home to me for the last six years. Still is, if I’m being honest. But I don’t… a lot happened. A lot… happened. Stuff I can’t even begin to explain to you guys, not tonight. You can ask, but just… not tonight. Annabeth and I did a lot to protect the camp and the people in it. And the people out of it, actually. A fucking lot went down that no one’s ever gonna know about. A lot of people died, and no one’s ever gonna know what they-“ 

Percy cuts himself off sharply and presses a knuckle against his teeth. His eyes are shadowed over so dark, and there are so many lines on his face… he looks a thousand years old. Dean’s little brother.

“These days, most monsters worth their tails know not to fuck with us. That and the things we hunt keep most of the hordes at bay. There’s still the odd suicidal harpy we have to take care of while you’re in the bathroom or something, but we takes chumps like them in our sleep. If we get any, between the nightmares and the visions and the motherfucking PTSD. We still sleep in fucking shifts.” Percy chuckles humorlessly, shakes his head and licks his lip. “That’s not… that’s the bare bones of it.”

Dean’s mind fumbles with the information. His head still throbs almost as painfully as his heart whenever his eyes stray back down to Percy’s ruined body. He doesn’t look at Sam, can’t even begin to factor in his reaction to all of this. This is about Percy, now. 

“Perce… you’re tellin’ me that all this time, you were out there fightin’ stuff alone? Because of your dad? Why wouldn’t you tell us? Why would you do this shit alone?”

“I wasn’t alone,” Percy refutes immediately.

“Without us, Perce!”

“This is a lot, but you know we would’ve had your back,” Sam agrees quietly. 

“Do I?”

Dean reels back, feeling like he’s been punched in the face. Percy realises, too, but he doesn’t take it back. He looks at Dean, realises what he’s just said, and doesn’t take it back.

“You were with Dad, Dean. You worshipped him. I trust you, but I didn’t trust him. If he looked at me- a half-breed- and saw a monster, he’d kill it. And whether you… whatever you did with that, I… I didn’t want you to have to. And Sam, you were so messed up with your own stuff, I wasn’t about to drag you into it. My side of things is so dangerous, guys. Worse than Hunting. We, me and Annabeth- we are the prey. Honestly… I didn’t expect to live long, anyway.”

Dean shoots up to his feet and stalks across the room. His brothers start to say something, but he doesn’t wait to hear it. Instead he throws his fists down hard into the bedside table- hard enough that the shitty legs of it all but combust and the surface rockets into the ground with a mighty CRASH.

“Dean-”

“NO!” he screams. “You could have told me! I don’t care what it was, you could have told me. You could have DIED!” 

Dean stands there, shoulders heaving in air that doesn’t help him breathe. There’s a roaring in his ears and rocks in his throat.

“You could have died,” he chokes into the dark. “I thought you died.”

They all stand there. Dean doesn’t know what their faces look like, how they’re taking it- he just sways there with his fists clenched and his heart ripped open, as raw as Percy’s skin. His vision blurs. He does everything, everything he can to keep the sob from coming out, and he feels so weak when it rips out of him anyway, but it barely does before a body collides with his and wraps him up in its arms. Dean’s hands fly up to grip at Percy’s back like a lifeline, a ruthless demand that he not go anywhere. Not ever. Not without him. 

“I’m sorry. ‘M sorry. ‘Mmsorry…” Percy chants under his breath, yet another invaluable form of proof that he is alive in Dean’s arms, his stubborn heart beating despite his own stupidity and Dean’s fucking failures. 

And because Percy is so, so good, too good to die, he drags Sam into the hug without unplastering himself from Dean. Dean has both of the brothers he lost between his arms. Here and whole. 

Sam, with the biggest wingspan, wraps as far around them as he can. Percy’s body is like an oddly warm statue, his planes of muscle feeling like solid, loving rock. He’s a lot bigger than Dean thinks of him as being. Dean feels pathetic and small, crying between his little brothers like a whiny kid. Even worse when Sam’s grip loosens and he almost snatches him back with another sob. 

“...You’re dry.”

Dean has no idea what Sam’s talking about, and he’s a little pissed Sam’s interrupting with some shit his brain has to work to comprehend. Then he feels Percy’s chest tighten. It must be important. 

“Yeah,” the youngest one sighs tensely. Dean grips him harder to remind him he can tell them anything, and he’d better. “I figured you guys didn’t really wanna get soaked, so…”

Sam pulls back fully and Percy does too, but thankfully, he doesn’t go far. His hand comes up to smack his fist again, but the motion changes halfway and ends with his fingers tangled in that weird bead necklace he’s wearing. 

“Son of Poseidon,” he reminds them awkwardly.

“God of the Sea…?” Sam tries. 

“Yeah. Comes with a couple perks. Most of them water-related…”

Sam’s eyes bug. Dean’s brain stalls for the third time in, like, ten minutes.

“You’re a fucking water bender?” he clarifies.

“...Yes? Yes.”

While Dean is considering all the ways this is cool as fuck, Sam is putting things together. 

“Was… did you do something with the boy in the lake? Back in Wisconsin?”

Oh, yeah, he was a water spirit, wasn’t he? Shit, that would’ve been handy to know. 

Percy shuffles guiltily. Dean’s eyes narrow. 

“I may or may not have had a talk with him…”

“You what?!” Dean shrieks. Has he not JUST gotten Percy back? How is he supposed to keep him safe if he does shit like this right under Dean’s nose?!

“Don’t freak out!” Percy begs uselessly. “He was just a mortal that slipped between the cracks. Seriously, he couldn’t have put a scratch on me if he tried. I just went for a little swim while Sam was letting you guys know about the whole murder situation and asked him to cut it out. Rocky start, but we struck a bargain, and there will be no more murdering.”

“You talked to the spirit?”

“Mhm.”

“And what, he just gave up?”

“I can be very persuasive.”

Dean sits back down for fear of his knees failing him. 

-~o~-

Percy lets the door close behind him and immediately tromps over to Annabeth. He practically falls into her lap, curled into her on the bed like a needy puppy. 

He’s had a very long day.

Her claws in his hair melt all the tension out of him. He becomes a puddle, his breaths stirring her feathers as she croons something deep and soothing over him. The inhuman noise clicks up her throat and he bring his arms around her waist to just hold her there, drinking it in.

She doesn’t ask. She never asks. If he wants to speak, she expects him to. So speak he does.

“Coulda gone worse. Coulda gone a lot worse.” He sighs unhappily, stirring her feathers again. “But they don’t know anything, Beth. I basically told them nothing.”

“What did you tell them?”

“About the gods. Camp. That we’re half-bloods. The very, very basics. It was really hard. And we’re not even at the bad bits yet.”

“You will get there. They know what they need to for now. And you’re not keeping it from them to lie. This is hard, Percy.”

He snorts. “You’re telling me.”

Annabeth shifts them more comfortably in the bed, settling Percy’s head on her chest. He keeps his arms looped around her like he’s hugging a stuffed toy, and she keeps her claws dragging oh-so-gently through his hair. 

“Go to sleep, Seaweed Brain.”

He turns a little to place a lazy kiss on her neck as goodnight, and he does just that. 

Chapter Text

For a while, they’re too busy to talk about it. Sam’s not in a great way, calling Jessica’s name out in his sleep nearly every night. Percy knows he sees her. Sam’s eyes linger on the pedestrians waiting for the lights to change like they’re revenants in the presence of an angel they can’t see. 

Percy is well-acquainted with grief, from every angle. It manifests in Sam as a simmer. Just under the skin, under the things he says, lacing his tone, hissing and spitting sometimes.

Once, after the war, Mina from the Hephaestus cabin nearly started an all-out blood feud with the camp nereids over a screw that had fallen in the creek. Percy was eighty percent sure she’d dropped it in on purpose. He hears her in his brother’s voice when Sam demands to know why they’re not kicking John’s door in this very second at everyone’s expense. About three weeks after the battle of Manhattan, Clovis refused to sleep for five days out of the blue. He fought like a cornered animal when they confined him to bed. Percy sees him in Sam’s eyes when they ask the big guy how he’s doing. 

There’s nothing to be done, but they do what they can. In fact, they blow through a handful of cases while they scrabble for something they can do to make the situation better. In one particular instance, Sam spends so much time convincing Dean that he’s guilty enough of Jessica’s death to incur the wrath of a vengeful spirit that Percy and Annabeth just take care of the thing while they’re arguing. They’re guilty of more than enough death- so much so that Bloody Mary doesn’t actually know what to do with them. In the end, they talk her through a cliff-notes version of grief counselling and misassigned blame, and she smashes her own mirror to get away from them. 

Then Sam wakes up one morning and says he’s had a dream. 

There’s a sense of urgency to it that Dean’s happy enough to ignore, but Percy and Annabeth have had dreams before. They’ve woken up with a sense of urgency. There’s usually a damn good reason. 

On their way back to Lawrence, Kansas, Percy opens the conversation up, cursing the fact that he has to do it over the comms. 

“Tell me about the dream.” 

“I can’t remember it all,” Sam admits. “But I’m dead sure of what I do remember. It’s definitely our house, the one mom died in. You never saw it, Perce, but you remember the pictures? Anyway, there’s a woman in the second floor window. She’s banging on the glass, screaming. She’s terrified. She keeps looking behind her, and I need to get her out, and then… I wake up.”

Percy frowns at his wording. He makes it sound like it’s a familiar dream. 

“You only had it the once?”

“Yeah.”

A thoughtful hum crackles over Annabeth’s comm, and he knows she picked up on it too. 

“It’s a freaky dream, but it’s not like you don’t have those, Sam,” Dean argues yet again. “I mean, a blonde woman, screaming in a house-”

“It’s not Jess,” Sam cuts him off sharply. His tone is like flint, and Percy gets it. He’d be pretty pissed if someone suggested he couldn’t tell the difference between Annabeth and any random blonde chick, even in his dreams. 

“Dreams have meaning,” Annabeth says. “The unconscious plane is one commonly used for communication by those powerful and knowledgeable enough to navigate it. Demigods in particular are susceptible to dreams that have some basis in reality, be it past, present, or future.”

Nothing shuts up a troupe of mortals still struggling to accept their increasingly absurd reality like the d-word. Percy knows they believe him, of course they do, but there’s belief and then there’s experience. This is new territory, and they don’t like it. He wouldn’t either.

“But I’m not…”

“Say it,” Percy teases. “C’moooon.”

“A demigod,” Sam huffs, annoyed. Percy grins.

“No, but that doesn’t mean you haven’t been contacted. Or, you know, there are cases where I had dream visions of my own accord unintentionally. Maybe you’re more open to that stuff and it just happened. Maybe it’s ‘cause of your connection to us, although why we wouldn’t get the dream in that case I’m not sure.”

“He could be a legacy,” Annabeth offers. 

Eh, possible. Hunting all his life would do a lot to keep Greek or Roman nasties away. But then Dean would be too. Percy just has a feeling that’s not it. Surely there would’ve been signs. 

“ Maybe it’s a form of vision. You know, like how some mortals can see through the Mist? He could be more open to psychic stuff,” Percy purports. Annabeth hums. Dean’s voice cuts over their brainstorming.

“Relax, okay, pretty sure I would’ve noticed if my brother started chantin’ spells and readin’ fortunes in his sleep,”

“Don’t be stupid,” Annabeth chides, and Percy enjoys imagining Dean’s face at that. “If it manifested late, there’s no way you or Sam could’ve known.”

“She’s right. And it could just be a fluke. Hell, it could really have just been a dream. We don’t have enough information yet. Let’s just focus on one step at a time, yeah?”

The air goes silent for a while. Percy grasps around for what he really wants to say.

He feels a little like he’s on the outside looking in, here. As if he needs any more reasons to feel like he doesn’t belong with his brothers. This house… it was never his. The ashes that the Winchesters rose from were already cold by the time Percy entered the equation. He knows the story, of course, but the nightmare they’re returning to isn’t Percy’s. In some ways, it’s not even Sam’s. He was far too young to remember, but Dean… 

He admitted it to Percy once. It was late into the night, and John wasn’t home. Sammy had passed out in his books, and Dean had carried him to bed, tucked him in, and come back to do the same for Percy. Somehow they’d ended up talking instead, voices hushed as much for them as their sleeping brother. 

“Who’s gonna tuck you in?” Percy asked.

“Nobody,” Dean whispered back. “What, you think Dad’s gonna do it?”

“Your mom would’ve.”

Dean blinked in the dark. Percy felt maybe he shouldn’t have said that, but he was right. He wondered if his own mom had tucked him in, kissed his forehead like the moms in the movies.

“I think about it sometimes,” Dean said. His voice was so quiet it almost cracked, petered out completely. Percy was surprised he was saying anything at all. “But then I think about the last time she did. I’m glad you weren’t there. I’m glad Dad was there for you when your mom died. You didn’t have a big brother to pull you out back then.” Dean smiled. “Now you have two, you lucky bastard.”

“So do you,” Percy reminded him. Dean looked at him for a bit, and then he sighed. He ruffled Percy’s hair and told him to go to sleep like he always did, but it felt forced this time.

Percy used to wonder all the time what John was like before it all went to hell. Dean said he was different. He said it in such a wistful way that Percy never asked him to elaborate. Every now and then Dean mentioned some memory from before, and Percy filed them all away in case they ever added up to something. They probably wouldn’t, but he kept them anyway. If he had any memories of his mom, he’d want to keep them. This was the best he could do.

Memories were double-edged swords, though. Dean remembered playing ball in the park and arguments over getting a dog- birthdays and family dinners and Christmases. And he remembered the fire. The screams. The uncertainty.

Percy will have to keep a close eye on both of his brothers while they grapple with their grief. Unfortunately, it’s not a foreign thing to him.

-~o~-

The place is uninspiring; Pale green slats and concrete stairs. The house is half buried in an overgrown mess of a bush that seems to be trying to eat it whole. As if to make up for this, the old tree on the other side is unevenly chopped and stripped bare, leaving only a couple desperate, dying leaves to mourn their brothers. The twisted branches left behind reach crookedly for the house like a black skeletal hand. Surrounded by the insidious undergrowth looming dreadfully down on either side of it, the house looks like the doomed victim of a world that likes to play with its food. Even the discarded tricycle with yellow wheels in the front, lying skewed over the untended lawn, looks like it’s cowering.

Percy and Annabeth wait at the gas station for the brothers to come back. She fills up the tank while he stares off into the distance, fiddling with his necklace. 

“Do you think it’s the same thing that killed your moms?” 

Percy appreciates Annabeth so much for addressing it like that. No bullshit. She trusts him to say if he doesn’t want to talk about it. There’s no politics with her. 

“Dunno what it is,” he says. “It came to Sam, so it’s probably not one of ours. Using someone we don’t know, it doesn’t feel like a trap. And there was no fire.” He spreads his hand to either side and lets them drop, at a loss. 

“I didn’t smell anything at the house,” she says, finishing with the pump. 

“Felt weird being there, didn’t it? I mean, it’s not where my mom died. I don’t even know the place, I’ve just heard about it from Dad. Do you think we’re intruding?”

Annabeth jacks the nozzle back into place and turns to him with a flat look. 

“Percy, I’ve been tagging along on a spectacularly bromantic road trip between my boyfriend and his adopted brothers for about a month now. You each have more trauma than the average orphanage, your father’s missing, and you haven’t seen each other in years. I might have an inkling what it’s like to be out of place in the picture.”

Percy gives her an apologetic grimace, but she’s not complaining. None of it’s said in bitterness. She’s just letting him know that a) he’s not alone, and b) he’s allowed to be here as much as she is. 

Annabeth comes over to sit sideways on the seat beside him, throwing an arm around his waist. He tucks a curl behind her ear, scratching a bit at the fluff. Her ‘fingers’ have much more reach than they did before they changed, so she can hold more of him, and he loves it when she takes advantage of that.

If anyone is ever going to appreciate these things besides Percy, he hopes it’s Sam and Dean. He hopes that they can love their monster brother and the woman he loves.

Percy’s ears twitch as a familiar engine purrs closer. Annabeth hooks her chin over his shoulder as the Impala pulls into the gas station and lets out its two moody occupants. Percy inclines his head in question. Sam’s already storming over, Dean a step behind. 

“I was right. Scratching, flickering lights, the works, and get this- the kid said something in her closet came into her bedroom. Apparently, it was on fire.”

Now that he’s stopped stomping, Sam doesn’t seem to know what to do with his righteous, directionless energy. He moves to pace, glaring out over the road, and then changes his mind, whipping around to glare at Percy. He clearly hasn’t noticed, but every angry word has him stepping closer, looming over his little brother as if in threat. Percy doesn’t so much as twitch in reaction, calmly watching Sam go through the motions.

“We just need to chill out, that’s all,” Dean voices without his usual inflection. He subconsciously grabs Sam’s arm and redirects his ire from Percy. The middle brother swaps to leaning against the car and drumming his fingers on the roof. “You know, if this was any other kind of job, what would we do?”

Anyone could answer that, but they all silently agree to wait for Sam to. He has to take a deep breath first. His voice comes out a little more calmly this time.

“We’d try to find out what we were dealing with. We’d… dig into the history of the house-”

“Exactly, except this time we already know what happened,” Dean interrupts. 

“We know what we think happened,” Annabeth corrects, leaning back on her hands. “That’s only one side of the story.”

“Can’t know what we don’t know,” Percy shrugs in agreement. 

“One side’s better than none.” Sam’s eyes settle heavily on Dean. “Let’s… let’s go over what we do know. How much do you remember?”

“About that night, you mean?”

“Yeah.”

They’re all watching Dean carefully for an answer. He looks at Sam once, then back into the middle distance. His eyebrows are drawn together, which isn’t unusual for him, but right now to Percy they look sewn in place by thin strands of hurt. His face is deceptively smoothed out, only the barest lines pulling at the sides of his mouth. When he speaks, it’s in that too-even tone, tellingly devoid of the usual bounce and character that makes Dean himself. 

“Not much. I remember the fire. The heat. Then I carried you out the front door.”

Sam looks up sharply. 

“...You did?”

“Yeah, what, you never knew that?”

“...No.”

“And, uh… you know dad’s story as well as I do. Mom was…” Percy watches Dean’s jaw work. “...Was on the ceiling. And whatever put her there was long gone by the time Dad found her.”

“And he never had a theory about what did it?”

“If he did, he kept it to himself. Same with Percy’s mom.” Dean looks up at Percy now, and there is a tinge of interrogation in his next question. “Unless he told you somethin’ different?” 

Percy shakes his head. “He said he was on a case- probably caught wind of a monster, come to think of it. Dad just said he was watching the house, and he saw the fire. It was in the nursery. I was fine, but my mom was on the ceiling, so he grabbed me and ran.”

Dean nods, and Percy’s not sure if he’s disappointed. That really is all the information he has, though. In all honesty, the link between Mary and Sally’s deaths is probably the reason John kept him- because he didn’t get it, either.

“Okay. So, if we’re gonna figure out what’s going on now, let’s start with what happened back then. See if it’s the same thing,” Annabeth reasons. Dean nods. 

“Yeah. We’ll talk to Dad’s friends, neighbours, people who were there at the time.”

“...Does this feel like just another job to you?” Sam asks in that impossibly gentle tone of his. It’s just a shade off from the one he uses to comfort victims. 

“We’re too close to this,” Annabeth sighs.

“We?” Dean snaps, narrowing his eyes at her. 

“It’s close to you, so it’s close to me. We are a team,” she delivers steadily, meeting his gaze. “It’s your trauma, but I’m here to help you with it.”

“I wasn’t there either, Dean,” Percy reminds him. Dean’s eyes snap to him in shock. “But we’re here now. In your corner.”

After an extended moment’s standoff, Annabeth pushes off of the bike, tightening her ponytail. 

“Come on. There’s a family in danger. Let’s get to work.”

Percy watches Dean march off to the bathroom (read: call John again) and curses their father for the millionth time. The bastard’s voicemail says to call Dean for emergencies, and the oldest brother must have heard it a thousand times by now. Sam only listened to it once, and Percy caught the tears in his eyes. Percy himself had nearly gone full Dean and smashed the nearest piece of furniture. It all but confirmed that John Winchester knew exactly what he was doing, giving them nothing to go off except the expectation of service he’d been drilling into them since before they could walk. There are days when Percy struggles to see the difference between his biological father and his adoptive one.

John, believe it or not, knew a few people. They split up to chat to those still in the area- bartenders, mechanics, anyone that comes up on the police file worth interviewing. Annabeth, bless her diplomatic soul, takes point. Percy takes the not-so-promising leads, the ones less likely to get him reported as some creepy scarred-up delinquent demanding information from tax-paying citizens. He used to get pegged as a trouble maker all the time, but these days people tend to skip past that and go straight for ‘irredeemable terrorist’. A face like his just doesn’t fit into the suburbs anymore. 

Luckily, the boys hit a breakthrough before Percy can scare their best shot at information off. Apparently John went to some palm reader in town religiously after Mary died- even wrote about her in the journal. He was just cryptic enough about it that they wouldn’t ever have known had they not been pointed her way by an ex-co-worker. Typical. 

The joint she works out of isn’t what Percy thinks of when he hears ‘palm reader’. There’s no cheap neon sign, none of those eye-hand symbols in the windows- it’s actually just a house. The downstairs is some kind of office space she works out of, and upstairs is the apartment. 

The interior is surprisingly barren. There’s only one frame hung on the plain white walls, a small one that says something about asking yourself why you’re here. Other than that, there’s one stubborn monstera plant in the corner, and Percy gets the inexplicable feeling that it’s judging him. 

He only has to sit and feel judged for, like, two minutes before a door opens down the hall and voices carry over. Every word sounds profound in the silent space, like the walls are quiet so as not to take away from what’s being said. Maybe that’s why they’re blank.

“All right, there. Don’tchu worry ‘bout a thang, your wife is crazy ‘bout ya.”

A man appears first, nodding gratefully as the woman that must be Missouri Moseley shuffles him out the door. She’s shorter than Annabeth and a lot plumper, with a healthy glow that lends light to the room. Her skin is as dark as Hazel’s, and there’s a genuinely lovely smile across her face that makes Percy’s shoulders unknit slightly without his permission. Her hair’s in tight curls, packed up on top of her head in a big burst that recalls a sunflower. The soft burgundy cardigan she wears looks more like it belongs to a therapist than a palm reader. If she’s as nice as she looks, Percy should start going to more palm readers. 

She sees her customer out and settles her hand against the door, letting out a little breath. 

“Wooh! Poor bastard. His woman is cold bangin’ tha-”

Missouri turns around and freezes. Percy feels another wave of guilt crash over him. He’s gonna screw the case up after all, him and his mashed-potato face. The poor woman is looking between him and Annabeth in something that’s not accusatory enough to be called horror, but is likely in the same family. Her eyelids flutter with the weight of it. Percy notices that she doesn’t stumble back or shrink at all, even as her lip quivers and her eyes water. A lightning strike of shock hits him as he realises that he can’t call the emotion in her eyes fear. It looks far closer to a staggering amount of sorrow. She looks like a mother watching her child die. 

Percy instinctively moves to comfort her, or at least steady her on her feet, but he stops himself. The last thing she needs is for him to come any closer. Agh, he should just leave. He shouldn’t have come in in the first place. He stands there stupidly, half out of his seat in aborted approach. Stuck.

Then Missouri’s hands drop from her mouth with a sharp exhale, and she’s moving across the room. Percy can barely process this surprising turn of events before she’s gathering him up in her arms. 

He forces himself, against every instinct, to untense. Somehow once he’s done it halfway his body unravels the rest, melting him against this woman with no warning. She’s far shorter than Percy, and big as she is he still dwarfs her, but he feels like she’s the one holding him. Percy’s no authority on hugs- he didn’t get many before camp- but even he can tell that this is a spectacular one. She’s soft as a cloud but undeniably present, and she smells of earth and spices. Percy feels all the more terrible for making her cry. 

“Ohh, dearie-” she breathes shakily, turning from him to Annabeth and bringing her in next. Stunned, Annabeth lets Missouri place a chubby hand against her face, staring between them with those impossibly sorrowful eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” Percy hums in confusion. He doesn’t know what’s going on, but he’s definitely sorry. “W-we’ll- leave…”

“Woah, woah, what the hell’s goin’ on?” Dean interjects, sounding freaked. Fair enough. 

“No, no, you don’t need to go anywhere,” Missouri huffs airily. Percy keeps expecting her to wipe her eyes, even subconsciously, but she doesn’t. The only thing that keeps him from leaving anyway is the fact that she still doesn’t look afraid. She waves her hands and shakes her head, mouth opening, searching for words. 

“Don’t you feel guilty, Percy. You ain’t got a thing to feel guilty about. I didn’t mean ta…”

She trails off, shaking her head again. Behind him, Percy hears his girlfriend gasp.

“…Can you see us?”

Percy’s eyes widen, but Missouri’s still shaking her head.

“No, I…I can feel you. I thought… but then this one, he was so guilty. So… human. Nothin’ truly evil could have empathy like that. I… I can’t imagine bein’…”

Percy’s heart breaks for her while hers breaks for them.

“Would somebody please tell me what’s goin’ on?!” Dean almost yells, eyes flying over his brother like he might be bleeding out. 

“Oh, hush!” Missouri chides softly. “They’re fine, Dean. I- I’m sorry.”

“You can tell, that they’re…?”

Sam trails off, staring at Missouri, sure he’s solved it, and Percy feels positively awful. How many layers of lies his life amounts to when his brothers can only guess at one in this situation. Sam thinks she’s just picked up on them being demigods. And if that’s the reaction he expects from someone who knows that much about them… what the hell is he gonna think when he finds out the rest? What horrible reaction is he gonna have, finding out that his brother is… this?

Another choked sob escapes this wonderful woman’s throat, and Percy wonders how much she can really ‘feel’. He hopes for her sake she’s not subjected to too much of his hellish psyche. Maybe they should leave for her sanity. She might not be safe, a mortal picking up on the concentrated psychological result of their experiences…

“I said don’t worry ‘bout me,” Missouri chides gently. “Just… just come on in, now. All o’ ya, c’mon.”

Sam and Dean both shoot Percy a worried glance, but nothing more is said. Percy follows Missouri into the office, and after a second’s hesitation, they follow suit.

Missouri stands in the middle of the cosy little room, hands on hips, and finally smiles. It’s watery, but it cuts through Percy’s wallowing like Riptide through melted butter. The place is just that much brighter. 

“Well, now. Let me look atcha! Sam, Dean, and little Percy. Ooh, you grew up handsome! AH-!” They all snap to attention. Missouri stares Percy down sternly. “None of that now. You are a handsome boy, just ask your girlfriend.”

Percy exchanges a look with Annabeth. She gives him a secret nod, and he melts a little with love for her. She’s the only one on earth qualified to confirm it, after all. She’s the only one who really sees him- excluding Nico, Percy guesses.

“You two, you’re gonna make me cry ‘gain,” Missouri simpers, beaming at them. Oh, she probably heard that whole exchange. Percy wants to feel weird about it, but after making her cry like that, it’s probably the least he can do. He’s just glad she’s smiling again. 

Missouri’s eyes twinkle at him like she heard that too, and then she turns to Sam. She says his name fondly and takes his hand in hers. Once again, that smile crumples into sadness on her face. 

“Oh, honey. I’m sorry ‘bout your girlfriend. And your father… he’s missin’?”

Sam gulps and shoots a glance at Dean, who’s staring openly.

“How do you know all this?”

Missouri gives him a look like he might be a little slow. 

“Well, you were just thinkin’ it, just now.”

“Duh,” Percy coughs. Annabeth kicks his shin. 

“Well, where is he, is he okay?” Dean shoots, effectively sobering the room. Missouri’s voice is a tad less soft addressing him.

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t know? You’re supposed to be a psychic, right?”

Said psychic reels back with a frown that would shame a hellhound right back to Tartarus.

“Boah, you see me sawin’ sum bony tramp in half? You think I’m a magician? I may be able ta read thoughts and sense energies in a room, but I can’t just pull facts outta thin air! Sit! Please!”

Oh, yes, Percy loves this woman. He loves this woman.

They all settle on the couch and she settles on the chair. It’s terribly comfy. Not quite as comfy as her hugs, though- Percy’s gonna have to grab another one of those before they hit the road again. 

“Boah, you put your foot on ma coffee table I’m gon’ wack you wit’ a spoon!”

“I didn’t do anything,” Dean protests.

“Well you were thinkin’ about it!”

Sam and Percy look at her like she’s the second coming of Father Christmas. Eventually Annabeth kicks his shin again, and Percy clears his throat, remembering that they’re here for a reason.

“So, our dad– when did you first meet him?”

Missouri softens again. “He came for a readin'. A few days after the fire. I just told him what was really out there in the dark. I guess you could say…I drew back the curtains for him.”

“What about the fire?” Dean blurts. “Do y- do you know about what killed our mom?”

“A little. Your daddy took me to ya house. He was hopin’ I could sense the echoes, the fingerprints of this thing.”

“And could you?”

Missouri breathes out something non-committal, shaking her head and looking away.  

“What was it?” Sam asks.

“I don’t know,” she admits. “Oh… but it was evil . It was everythin’ that you two-” she turns those big, earnest eyes on Percy and Annabeth pointedly, “-are not.”

Percy’s mouth goes dry. He tries to swallow around the emotion in his throat. He takes his girlfriend’s hand and tries to project every ounce of gratitude he can Missouri’s way. He tries to let her know how much that simple statement means. She sends him a smile, and he thinks she gets it.

Coming to the woman’s-Jenny’s- house with a whole troupe of mismatched family and friends doesn’t sound like a great idea, so Sam and Dean go up to the door with Missouri while Percy and Annabeth stay outside. If they’re needed, the boys will call. Percy has no doubt that Missouri could sweet talk anyone into anything without uttering a word of lie, but there’s no need to converge on the poor woman all at once. It’s just her and her kids, so they’re kinda pushing it as is.

Sure enough, they talk for a bit on the step, and then Jenny’s letting them all file in, three strangers with no reason to be there whatsoever. 

“That,” Percy sighs, “was intense.”

Annabeth snorts at the oversimplification. 

“I really thought she could see us for a second.”

“Yeah, I didn’t even think of that before you said it, I was really confused. I thought it was my face.”

“Gods, Seaweed Brain, it’s not that bad.”

“Wonder what she did see,” Percy muses.

“She could feel us, she said,” Annabeth hums. 

That doesn’t make Percy feel much better. In fact, that might be worse. They’re rough to look at, but he feels pretty secure in the fact that you have to be acquainted with concepts that break the mind before your brain can visually process the likes of them. The feel of it, though- that’s less defined. 

Perception shapes reality. If nobody believed in the gods, they would lose power and, eventually, disappear. People believe in Percy and Annabeth, sure enough, but only as demigods. No one (save Nico) is even aware of what they really are. No one even knows things like them exist. They’re mistakes- the gory, stunted results of a formula that should never have been tested. 

Perception shapes reality, and no one perceives the survivors of the Pit. At least, that’s Annabeth’s theory as to why they can’t seem to be any one thing. Sometimes they look as human to each other as they do to everyone else. Sometimes people do double takes, and Percy’s sure he doesn’t look entirely like he should. Their bodies are at war with reality. Their bones don’t fit. They wake up with a different number of teeth than they went to bed with. They blend. They alter. They ache. 

(Quietly, Percy thinks maybe they just shouldn’t exist. It wouldn’t feel right, if something like them was just allowed to walk the earth unaccosted.)

Whatever the case, Percy shudders to think what a mortal would make of ‘feeling’ any of that first-hand. Or second-hand, for that matter. Percy's not sure which one applies here. No wonder Missouri burst into tears. 

Percy rolls his ill-fitting shoulder blades to try and combat the feeling that they’re not his, and waits. 

It’s been dark a while when they first smell fear from the house. By the time they race in there, though, it’s over. The place is a mess. Apparently the cutlery drawer took a violent liking to Dean, and Sam’s neck got intimately acquainted with a lamp cord. Even Missouri got the royal treatment, pinned to the wall by a desk. 

She says it’s over, and Percy’s ready to pack up and go, but Sam’s not convinced, so they settle in for another riveting few hours of watching the house from the street. Percy thinks if he does much more of this, he might crawl out of his skin. Recon missions are the worst. 

Sam and Dean don’t make it easy, bickering through the whole thing. Percy’s starting to regret sitting in Baby with them. It doesn’t matter how comfy the seats are if he has to put up with tweedle-dumb and tweedle-dumber. 

They’re still arguing when Percy catches the scent again. He feels Annabeth tense beside him in almost the same second. 

He doesn’t explain, he just throws open the car door and bolts for the house. Shit, it’s strong, he caught it right through the closed windows. It’s coming from upstairs. 

He feels Annabeth at his heels, and a few moments later, he hears the thud of his brothers’ boots coming up behind. 

“You get Jenny. Sam, you get the girl,” Percy barks. Annabeth chirrs a confirmation and Percy goes right, splitting off. He flies through the house, following his nose. 

The boy’s in bed, watching the curtains fly like they’re in a full-blown hurricane. Toys whip around the room. One narrowly misses the unbothered kid’s head. 

Percy barrels through the chaos, keeping his head low. The shoulders that have been aching for release all night finally cooperate with him and feel exactly the size they should be- big, poking out from the fragile human skeleton he’s rented. It helps him lope across the room much faster, his limbs long enough to cut the journey in half. The kid might see something- kids are weird like that- but he still doesn’t care, not even crying when Percy snatches him up in one big claw and runs for it. 

Dean’s holding Jenny back when Percy gets outside. He forces himself to slow to a believably human pace, tucking the kid into his arm like he’s been carrying him that way the whole time. Annabeth comes out next, holding the little girl’s hand. Percy catches Sam about to follow. Two steps from the door, though, he hits the ground hard. Something drags him back down the hall like a whip, and he’s gone. The door slams violently shut. 

Percy vaguely understands that Dean’s going for the guns in the trunk. He doesn’t bother, sprinting straight for the door. He doesn’t even think to kick it down, slashing straight through the thing and racing inside. He goes through, rather than around, anything in his way. He follows the fear-scent he knows to be Sam’s. 

For a while, Percy doesn’t process the fire. There’s no smoke, no scent, no ash, so it doesn’t register in his brain immediately. Eventually he realises that across from where his brother’s pinned to the wall, a figure wreathed in flame is approaching.

Percy stops. He can’t explain why. He just knows, in his heart, that it doesn’t want to hurt. 

“Sam! SAM!”

Dean barrels onto the scene, shotgun cocked, and immediately raises it against the thing. Both of his brothers shout.

“No DON’T!”

“STOP!”

“What, why?!”

“Because I know who it is,” Sam gasps. “I can see her now.”

And so can Percy. The roaring flame whipping wildly around is a golden mane of hair. The fire licks over and into itself with purpose, conforming to a shape. It’s abstract. It glows like the centre of a hearth, and Percy feels the warmth he took for heat coming off of the figure settle into his bones.

Mary Winchester opens her eyes. 

Percy feels, with utmost certainty, that he should not be here. He could only terrify and confuse her. His brothers deserve the company of their mother.

With this in his mind, Percy employs all of his stealth capabilities and slips from the room.  

When Sam and Dean walk out of that house, it’s empty. Mary is gone, and so is the spirit that was tormenting the halls of the old Winchester home. 

Missouri explains, as they’re saying their goodbyes to Jenny, what happened. Mary destroyed the poltergeist haunting her home when it threatened her boys, but in doing so, she snapped the last of her tethers. She destroyed herself putting the thing down. The house is now as safe as any second-rate suburban two-story can be. It still looks pretty haunted if you ask Percy.

Percy kinda doesn’t want to leave Missouri. He knows it’s childish, but she’s been downright motherly to them. You don’t see a lot of friendly faces when you’re hunting, and they don’t come any friendlier than Missouri.

She must sense all this, because she pulls him and Annabeth aside before they go. She levels them both with an unconditionally adoring look, and Percy’s breath catches.

“I don’t know whatchu are. I don’t know what happened ta make ya this way. But I know good, and you’re it. Percy, you’ve gotta put more value in yourself, boy. Drop that guilt nonsense like a hot potatah. Annabeth, you keep him straight, y’hear? And don’t let those boys drive y’off, or they’ll never stop fightin’.”

Annabeth nods like she’s been given a holy mission. Percy can’t fight his smile. Missouri beams at him proudly, gives his cheek a pat and Annabeth a nod. 

“One last thing.” She sobers, her kind eyes meeting Percy’s pointedly. She keeps her hand on him, and he finds himself leaning in and holding his breath. “Those boys would do anything for you, Percy. They’ll understand, in time.”

Percy does end up getting his goodbye hug, and even when Lawrence disappears from the rear view, he can still feel it. 

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

BANG. BANG. BANG BANG BANG. BANG.

Annabeth huffs at the tin can, still stubbornly standing. She reloads with a little more ferocity than is strictly necessary. 

She hears her boyfriend fervently cautioning one of his brothers against something. Then there are footsteps. Soft, but solid- Sam. 

“You’re a Weaver,” the big guy’s voice washes over her. She doesn’t let up her stance. “I took you for an Isosceles kinda gal.”

“You’re breaking my focus.”

“Sorry.”

Percy has long told her how his older brother was a total puppy. Annabeth does not waver for puppies, but Percy has always been her exception. Maybe she can, occasionally, make exceptions for Sam as well. 

“I have a rotator cuff issue,” she says just as his weight shifts to step away. “I have to use the Weaver stance.”

“Yeah, you uh, look pretty tight.” Sam clears his throat, briefly touching her shoulder to confirm that hypothesis. “Jesus.”

“Been stabbed a few too many times.”

Sam shuffles, and Annabeth can see it in her mind’s eye. She’s made an effort to become familiar with him and Dean, the way she’s familiar with Percy, so she can know them with her eyes closed. A few months on the road has done a lot for her there. Sam’s nervous. Unsure how to broach a topic. 

“Your, uh, monsters… stab you?”

“Some of ‘em,” she admits. “But swords do it just as well.”

“Swords?”

BANG BANG BANG. BANG.

One hit just grazes the can. Annabeth clicks her tongue. 

“In the first war, a lot of demigods defected. Think the one that finally did my stance in was a friend.”

“The first–? Okay, we- we need to talk about that. Can we talk?”

BANG BANG.

Annabeth reloads. 

The smaller hand on her shoulder shocks her. She didn’t hear anyone else walk up over the gunfire. With a sharp intake of breath, she whips around, grabbing the encroaching forearm in a grip with pressure on the fingers in case she needs to break them. Her eyes meet flared green ones.

“Ow, damn! ‘S just me!” Dean roars. Annabeth drops his hand none too gently, giving him a look like ‘shouldn’t sneak up on me, then’. She pretends not to notice Sam’s analysing gaze. 

Annabeth doesn’t like turning her back to people when she can’t hear them come up behind her, but Percy is watching her six, and there’s no one here but family. She’s still reminding herself of that. She’s trying, but old habits die hard. Percy’s been the extent of her family for many, many years. Him, Grover, and Thalia are the only people she’d label that way, the only people she wouldn’t feel the need to account for in any given situation. Learning to incorporate more than that is… a process. 

She forces herself to relax as Dean’s hand comes up over her shoulder blade, pressing in at the base. She lets him prod her into place. 

“See if that helps with the recoil,” he hums.

BANG. BANG.

Hit. 

“That’s better,” she admits. It’s as close to a thank you as she gets. She’s confident Dean will hear it as such. She gathers he’s got some things in common with her, hubris being one. He speaks stoic. 

Annabeth lowers the gun. She turns and starts walking back to where Percy’s cleaning the rest of the armoury, quietly disassembling all their guns over his lap and giving them a good once-over. He looks up as they all return, sensing something coming. Sometimes Annabeth wonders if they’re separate people anymore, the way one of them feels something and the other one knows just by extension. 

Dean starts picking up the guns Percy’s finished with, popping the trunk and returning them to their rightful places. He’s real touchy about the trunk, insisting they don’t know where everything goes. Sam sets himself down on the seat of the bike, hands clasped. Annabeth sits in the back of the Impala. The door’s wide open. Her leg brushes Percy’s shoulder where he’s leaned against the tyre in the grass. She absentmindedly kicks his leg into a position that’ll be better for his bad hip. 

“What were you guys doing, all that time, at the camp you mentioned?”

Sam doesn’t explicitly ask about the scars, but that’s still the question. Annabeth knows Percy will need all the time he can get to formulate an answer, so she buys him some time.

“Camp Half-Blood is the only safe place for demigods. Outside of its borders, our scent attracts monsters. Your scent depends on your godly parent. Percy’s a child of Poseidon, so he’s like monster catnip. With blood like that, it’s not ever safe to leave camp. The only exception is for quests.” 

“We’re familiar with visions,” Percy picks up, looking over at Sam as if to reference his recent dreams. “Prophecies. It’s how we get information from the Fates. When they inform us of threats, we go on quests to prevent them, or, if it’s too late for that, we fight them.”

“Threats, what do you mean, threats?” Dean asks. “You just said the monsters can’t get inside the camp.”

“No, no, it’s…” Percy grasps around for an explanation. It’s just all so complicated. 

“I don’t know how much you guys know about Greek mythology,” Annabeth starts, “but the gods had enemies. Have enemies. And threats to the gods are threats to the world as we know it. That’s the kinda stuff you go on quests for.”

Sam’s eyebrows raise incredulously, and his head bobs forward like a chicken’s. 

“W-wait, are you- saying you went on quests to save the world in the name of the gods?”

Dean scoffs, but when no one laughs, his smile dies. 

“You’re joking.” 

“It is not half as glorious as it sounds,” Percy assures him dryly.

“It sounds like a poorly written Y/A novel.”

“If only we could’ve defeated Gaia with the power of love,” Annabeth sighs. Percy huffs. 

“You’re gonna have to explain this one,” Sam says almost apologetically. He’s sweet. Annabeth appreciates him holding back on calling them absolutely nuts. She’d be sorely tempted, in his position.

“Before the gods, there were the titans,” Annabeth explains. Sam picks up from there.

“Yeah, uh, Kronos ate his children because he was told they would dethrone him.”

Dean makes a face. Annabeth nods. 

“Zeus cut Kronos into many pieces and banished him to the pits of Tartarus.” The air seems to grow colder, and she steamrolls on before it wraps too tightly around her neck. “But he wasn’t killed. You can’t kill a titan, just like you can’t kill a god. A while back, Kronos started reforming. Through dreams, he started gathering allies, gaining strength. He started making moves to return. Our first quests were all us trying to stop it. The gods are not kind, but their rule is stable. Overthrowing them would plunge the world into chaos.”

“An actual new world order,” Dean summarizes. “Holy shit, when was this?”

“We don’t know how long he was setting it up,” Annabeth admits. “Probably since he was thrown into the pit.”

“Just my luck that shit started going south as soon as I showed up,” Percy grumbles. 

“That’s terrifying,” Sam gasps. “You’re not saying he succeeded?”

“Of course not, does the world look new-ordered to you?” Dean snarks, throwing his arms out to either side. Sam is not convinced.

“You mentioned a war.”

Percy meets his eyes gravely, all but confirming it. His voice comes out flat and tired.

“We had spies in our ranks. He took a vessel. He walked the earth.”

“He nearly took Olympus,” Annabeth continues. “In the battle of Manhattan, Morpheus, the god of sleep, knocked all the mortals on the island out while we fought off Kronos’ army. The Mist helped cover it up, but it couldn’t hide everything. Mortals have a lot of theories on what happened that day. I believe certain circles even have a name for it.”

“The Missing Day,” Sam breathes in horror. “I’ve heard of this.”

“No,” Dean chuckles humourlessly. “That’s- no. Sammy, c’mon.”

“I don’t like sounding batshit insane, but I am not lying to my brothers anymore.” 

Dean freezes. Both brothers stare at Percy with wide eyes. Sam gulps. 

“Percy, that’s- you’re talking about gods here, man. We- I’m willin’ to believe a lot of things, but you’re talkin’ crazy right now.”

“Dean, I’m a water bender,” Percy sighs. He turns his endlessly tired eyes on his brother. He sounds as beat down as Annabeth knows him to be, saying this just for the sake of his brothers but without the energy to give them any more than that. She knows Dean recognizes it, too. She watches him gulp thickly, brain almost visibly stalling. Percy goes back to cleaning out the barrel of his gun, a little viciously. 

“That was the first war. There was another. And more quests in between those, and prophecies, and sieges, and labyrinths, and all sorts of shit. At one point Hera fucking wiped my memory and stuck me in the middle of California on the off chance it would help. Seriously, my life is way more fucked up than just being a part-time ghostbuster. It has been since I was twelve years old, and I didn’t know how to tell you. I still don’t know how to tell you. So you just gotta take what I’m giving you, man, because this is what I’ve got.” Percy snaps the barrel of the shotgun into place sharply, getting up to set it with the rest. “Now you know.” 

Instead of coming back, Percy busies himself with the trunk. He’s not really doing anything, just making motions. Dean doesn’t even stop him. 

“We could call camp,” Annabeth offers. Percy doesn’t answer. After a second’s wallowing in the taught silence, he marches off from the group into the field they’re pulled over in.  Out of the range of human hearing- as clear a ‘leave me alone’ as she’s ever seen. Annabeth watches him uncap Riptide out of the corner of her eye and start his training motions. Defend. Jab. Block. Pivot. Duck. Defend. Jab. Block. 

“Is that a sword?” Sam blurts. To help them both out a little, Annabeth snaps the Mist from their eyes. Dean blinks, making a little ‘woah’ sound. 

Annabeth swallows, counting her air intake. Measured breaths. 

“Have either of you heard the story of Arachne?”

It might be the nature of the topic. It might be the uncharacteristic softness of her voice. Either way, Sam and Dean both drag their eyes from Percy to look at her. Annabeth reminds herself that she is a warrior, not a haunted child, and she has earned the space she takes up. Fear is unavoidable, but she will not give what she fears power over her. 

“She was a weaver,” Sam chances, watching her closely. “The best. She angered a goddess and was turned into the first spider.”

“She angered Athena.”

“...Your mom,” Dean finishes. She nods. 

“When I was little, I was attacked by spiders every night. Swarms of them. My step mom would tuck me in, close the door, and without fail, I would be covered in the things.” In for four, hold for eight, out for six. Keep your breathing even. “I would scream, and they’d disappear the second my parents would come. The bites would fade like they’d never happened. Every night. I slept with those things in my eyes, my ears, biting… and in the morning, there wasn’t a trace. They came from nowhere, straight out of the woodwork like a curse. But that wasn’t the worst part.”

Annabeth swallows again. In. Hold. Out. She’s never told anyone this story, not even Percy. He knows, but she never wanted to say it out loud like this, relive it in full detail. She wanted to stab it and bury it and burn the grave til it wasn’t even a memory, and here she is, digging it up. 

In for four. Hold for eight. Out for six. 

“The worst part,” she forces out thickly, “Was that no one ever believed me. Not my step-brothers. Not my step-mother. Not even my father. He knew who my mother was, and he didn’t believe me. They thought I was making it up for attention. This went on for six years. I ran away on my seventh birthday, and I didn’t speak to them for six more years after that. We’re civil, but they’re not my family. Of the kids I ran with on the street, the one that’s still alive- she’s my family. Percy, he’s my family. If I tell him we have to kill the president and I can’t say why, he’ll ask me when we’re leaving. That’s what family does.”

“...I believe you,” Sam states heavily. 

Dean’s eyes are impossibly distant, trained on Percy’s cold, efficient swings like he’s planets away. The oldest brother’s head shakes, a desperate clutch for some form of control as his grip slips. His face pulls tight with pain.

“I don’t want to,” he croaks. “I don’t wanna think that I failed him so bad.”

“You can’t change what happened,” Annabeth hums. “But you are here now. So be here now.”

-~o~-

They drive through the night, which is lucky, because as Percy’s thinking to himself that it’ll be just about bonfire time at camp, he gets an idea. He pulls over without warning. The Impala jerkily follows his lead. 

“Woah, hey, warn a guy. You gotta take a leak?” Dean’s voice comes over the comms. Percy doesn’t bother answering, just pulls off his helmet and gestures for his brothers to get out of the car.

“Percy?” Annabeth questions. It occurs to him that he should really ask her how she feels about this first. 

“You still wanna call camp?” he asks. Her eyebrows furrow. 

“Now? They’ll be busy with the bon- ohh.”

He checks her features for any sign of discomfort at the idea, but she’s nodding thoughtfully. A glint of excitement steals into her eyes. It’s been too long, really. 

Dean lumbers over, raising his arms to either side in question. Sam trots after him.

“What gives?” 

“We thought we’d call home, if you guys are interested. It’s time for the bonfire.”

“The bonfire?” Sam echoes. “You mean at camp.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Okay, well, wake me up when you’re done,” Dean grunts, already heading back to the Impala. Percy holds him back by the arm. “What, you want a burner?”

“It’s not that kind of call,” Annabeth smirks. Percy jerks his head, calling them over to the bike. Sam and Dean exchange a puzzled look and follow. 

Percy clicks in the bronze trident crest adorning the crown of the bike’s body. The face slides back smoothly to reveal a reflective surface, sort of like an opal. It has a subtle glow in the dark. With only a moment’s hesitation in front of his brothers, Percy politely asks the moisture in the air to coagulate into something he can use. He thickens it into a kind of centralised mist around the reflection and plays with it a little bit, until… aha! The telltale colours of a soft nighttime rainbow appear. 

Annabeth’s already flipping a drachma into the air and announcing her intended connection. 

“O Iris, goddess of the rainbow, show me Chiron at Camp Half-Blood.”
Percy barely hears his brother curse and stumble back as the mist ripples, melting into the familiar hues of home. Chiron stands before them, the colourful fire reflecting in his warm brown eyes. His face looks even more timeless than usual at bonfires, each crevice and pockmark an earned thing. His hands, usually clasped over his chin in a thoughtful way or grandly presenting to new campers, are open by his sides. His smile isn’t huge, but it is absolutely brimming with comfort and pride. 

Percy hears Dean cough something about a horse and Sam breathily correcting it with ‘Centaur’. Chiron’s radar ears pick it up over the cheering in the background, and his head swivels to meet the eyes of his latest success stories. Percy and Annabeth brighten as he catches sight of them and beams. 

“My children! Hello!”

“Is that Annabeth?” Someone calls from the back. Another voice picks it up asking for Percy, and then there’s a collective roar of excitement as the news travels round. The song being half-heartedly sung is drowned out by cries of delight and ‘we miss you!’ The visual of Chiron is quickly taken up by half a dozen faces clamouring for a look. They get an extreme close-up of one of the Stolls’ nostrils, a brief glance at Joel (the shortest) jumping to see them, and then the entire thing is taken up by one big brown eye. 

“BROTHER AND ANNIEBETH!!!!”

“Tyson!” The two of them call back delightedly.

“Don’t hug the mist!” Percy adds quickly. That’s been a recurring problem; Tyson gets excited and tries to hug them, and he dissipates the connection instead.

“We didn’t mean to interrupt, but we thought we could join the campfire tonight,” Annabeth explains. “Travis, get your elbow off the screen.”

“That better not be your sister you’re sitting on, Hannah,” Percy chides. The girl is quick to duck out of shot. 

“Why is it that your arrival heralds such unbridled chaos every single time?” a familiar tired drawl sounds out. Percy gasps excitedly.

“NICO!” he squeals. Annabeth grins.

“How you doin’, Di Angelo?”

Death Breath himself shoulders into shot. Percy’s eyes take in everything they can: the hair that’s curled up something fierce now that he’s started taking care of it again, the way his face has filled out so he doesn’t look so sunken anymore, the shine in his dark eyes. His hair still falls in his face, but in a more graceful way that keeps his eyes clear. He isn’t hiding behind it anymore. Is that a ponytail?

“Tell Will to play Copa Cabana,”  Nico orders. 

“You know I can’t play or sing, I’m a medic, not a jukebox-”

“Oh my gods Will, please play Copa Cabana,” Percy begs, jumping up and down with his hands in fists like a little kid.

“I can’t play-”

“‘Things couldn’t be worse,’” Annabeth suggests. She raises her voice a little so the ones at the back can hear her. “Jamie, can you play ‘things couldn’t be worse?’”

“Yes!”

“Children, back in your seats, come on, don’t hound them! Connor, nice try, give it back. Clarisse, fire that slingshot and you’re on dishes for a week. Leo, hands to yourself.” Chiron corrals the excitable kids back into place around the camp. Grumbling sounds out, but they’re all quick to obey. Chiron waves the air around the mist gently into a new position so Percy and Annabeth can look out over the circle. The flames crackle a pretty red with happy yellow and purple sparks every now and then, roaring with the comfort of the campers. Percy looks over his cousins happily, watching them all and noting what’s changed since they last spoke. James starts strumming his guitar again in a classic camp tune, and Percy feels himself automatically sway along with Annabeth. They open their mouths and sing with the camp.

“ Oh, things couldn't be worse,

When your parents run the universe.

Oh, things couldn't be worse,

When your folks run the universe!”

As the chorus comes around, it’s Leo that starts them off. It’s usually an older camper so they can show the new ones how its done before they take a crack. Leo’s good for it, because he can’t sing for shit, so it makes everyone feel a bit better about breaking into song in front of everyone.

“My dad is Hephaestus, why’d nobody tell me?

So I’d know who to call when the teachers expel me!

The gods have excuses but they don't compel me,

Oh no…”

“Oh noooo,” the camp sings back. Leo leaps up in place, playing out his part with utmost gusto, pulling laughter from the little ones and teasing from his friends.

“I was too hot to stay in foster care,

But I’ve got a giant bronze dragon, so there!

Oh, things couldn't be worse

When your parents run the universe

Oh, things couldn't be worse

When your folks run the universe!”

Percy whistles sharply in appreciation. Annabeth whoops along with the crowd.

“Let’s go Repair boy!” Piper hollers. He shoves her into the ring in retaliation, and cheers go up. Piper rolls her eyes and thinks for a second.

“My mom’s Aphrodite, the goddess of love,

I’ve got no warm memories of her to speak of.

I fight to stay breathing, she preens like a dove, 

Oh no…”

“Oh nooo…”

“I’ve met her a few times and wasn’t impressed

If you never do, consider yourself blessed!

Oh, things couldn't be worse

When your parents run the universe

Oh, things couldn't be worse

When your folks run the universe!”

Percy claps along happily, his enthusiasm doubling as a new camper volunteers. Kiki hasn’t come out of their shell yet, so he’s so excited he’s here for this. They rise in place, shuffling nervously from foot to foot, and the whole crowd cheers them on.

“You got this, Kiki!” Annabeth calls. They take a deep breath and start in a small voice:

“My dad’s Apollo, god of the sun,

He left me before I could even turn one.

Growing up with no mom or dad ain’t much fun,

Oh no.”

“Oh noooo…”

“But it’s nice to not be sleeping out in the mud,

I’m happy to say home is now camp half-blood!

Oh, things couldn't be worse

When your parents run the universe

Oh, things couldn't be worse

When your folks run the universe!”

The roar is almost deafening. It’s always exciting when a newbie contributes, especially one as reclusive as Kiki. Clarrisse goes next. 

“My father is Ares, the patron of war,

And yet he must not know what a phone is for.

I’ve done all he’s asked, but you’d think I’m a chore,

Oh no.”

“Oh nooo…”

“If he wants a fight, then he’ll get one I swear,

Name a time and place, and I’ll meet the guy there!”

The chorus goes around again, even as people glance nervously at the sky as if expecting Ares to parachute down any second now. Percy just laughs along. 

“Let’s hear the masters!” Clarisse calls out tauntingly. Despite the jeering undertone, everyone takes up the cheer like it’s all in good fun, calling for Percy and Annabeth to round off the song with the longest verse. Connor and Travis take turns bowing in exalt at the Iris-Message. Leo returns Percy’s wolf-whistle. The couple look at each other. Annabeth starts them off.

“You guys know our parents, you know what they’re like-”

“For Christmas, her mom wants my head on a spike.”

“Well if they don’t like it, they can take a hike-”

“Oh yeah!!” Percy interrupts. The circle laughs, missing their cue.

“We’re staying together, come hell or high water.”

“I’m more than a son-”

“-And I’m more than a daughter,”

“I’m not my mother-”

“And I’m not my father,

Oh no…”

“Oh nooo!”

“I’m not gonna lie guys, it’s been a rough year, 

But all things considered, I’m glad to be here!

Oh, things couldn't be worse,

When your parents run the universe!”

“Oh, things couldn't be worse…

But I don't care where our parents may be,

As long as you are here with me.

We don't care where our parents may be,

As long as you are here with me.

As long as you are here with me!”

Chiron stomps a dramatic end note. Whoops ring out around the circle. Leo throws his arms around Piper, and Will tilts his head back and howls like a happy wolf. James gets up and mimes smashing his guitar against the ground like a rocker.

Then a voice so scratchy it could only be one of the dinner harpies screeches through the scene.

“IS THAT PERCY JACKSON?!”

Percy’s fight or flight kicks in and he slashes a hand through the connection. Annabeth cuts herself off mid-whoop and turns an interrogating stare on him. 

“Ah,” he chuckles sheepishly, “I may have forgotten to make my bed when we left.”

In a remarkably similar screech, Annabeth squawks his name and hits him.

Chapter Text

The room is dark, and it’s moving. A truck. It smells like animals and hunger, festering wounds and old Mcdonalds. In the blackness, something brays mournfully.
We’re heading to our deaths. I probably deserve it, but Annabeth doesn’t. Annabeth, twelve years old, sitting next to me with a cut on her face and monster dust under her fingernails, offering me an oreo.

Sam wakes up to a spoon in his mouth and the radio cranked way up, Dean honking like Baby would never. The crack up drums the steering wheel along with the music triumphantly, stupid grin across his face. Sam cranks it down so he can hear himself think.

“Ha-ha. Very funny,” he grits tersely, trying to hold onto what he remembers from his dream even as it slips from him. He’s been having them for longer than he realised, but he’s sure now: they’re all about Percy. And they probably happened.

“Sorry, not a lot of scenery here in East Texas, kinda gotta make your own,” Dean chuckles, not sorry at all. Sam slams a hand into the comms buttons.

“Percy, Dean’s bullying me.”

“Without me?”

“I don’t know what you expected,” Dean cackles.

“C’mon, we're not kids anymore, guys. We're not going to start this crap up again,” Sam announces stalwartly.

“Start what up?” inquires Annabeth.

“The prank stuff. It's stupid, and it always escalates.”

“Aw, what's the matter Sammy, scared you're going to get a little Nair in your shampoo again, huh?”

“Do not jump us,” Percy warns. “That’s not, like, a request, that’s a genuine warning. Last time someone did that I dislocated their shoulder.”

“Leo deserved it.”

“Loosen up, you lot,” Dean cries. He must really be bored, but he seems in a good mood for some reason.

“All right,” Sam sighs. “Just remember, you started it.”

Annabeth groans over the receiver. “Oh, this will be buckets of fun.”

“Just when you think you’ve left the Stolls behind…”

“Where are we anyway?”

“A few hours outside of Richardson. That haunted house thing, y’know, with the sexist spirit stringin’ girls up in the rafters. You said you found interviews.”

“Yeah, where’d you get those, anyway?” Percy asks.

“Well, I knew we were going to be passing through Texas,” Sam huffs. “So, umm, last night, I surfed some local... paranormalwebsites. And I found one.”

“You- okay,” Percy laughs, leaving it at that.

“And what's this reputable source of information called, Sammy?” Dean drawls. Sam scoffs the way he does when he’s hoping to get out of answering. None of his brothers let that fly, and he can hear Annabeth’s eyebrow raise in the expectant silence.

“...HellHoundsLair.com.”

Percy lets out a high breathy laugh, genuinely amused by that.

“That totally sounds like a monster website,” Annabeth chuckles. “You remember Monster Donut?”

“Ha, yeah! You think they’d give Mrs. O’Leary a shoutout?”

“Who’s Mrs. O’Leary?” Sam and Dean ask at the same time.

“Hellhound,” the other pair respond in tandem.

“You know what?” Dean says, “Okay.”

“All right. So where do we find these kids?” Annabeth asks, back to business. Sam shrugs even though she can’t see it.

“Same place you always find kids in a town like this.”

Sam hit it right on the head directing them to the local hangout, some honky-tonk fast food place called the Rodeo Drive. Percy supposes it is Texas, thought far be it for him to accept that excuse. The kids aren’t hard to find, and every single one of them has a different story. They all agree that they went to some old shack that’s supposed to be haunted in the area and saw a girl hanging by her neck in the basement, but that’s all they agree on. Hair colour, clothing, state of the body- it all varies wildly from one account to the next. One kid describes the body as ‘hot, but in a dead kinda way,’ and Percy nearly fucking decks him right there. In the end they’re pointed to the record shop where ‘Craig’ works, Craig being the little genius who brought them all to the house to begin with.

Sam and Annabeth head inside while Dean and Percy wait in the car. It’s not weird until the door shuts behind them and they’re alone in the silence.

“Hope they bring you back some better tunes,” Percy says to fix it.

“Hey, what’s the rule?”

“Driver picks the music, rider shuts his cake-hole,” he recites automatically. “Hey, your taste’s not bad, but cassettes? Cassettes, Dean?”

“Yeah, whatever, you’re scared of phones,” Dean shoots back. It comes out easy, but it settles rough in the air, because there’s a reason for that. Percy and Annabeth have been explaining things as they go, but there’s just so much to get across.

“Hey, Percy... you know I believe you, right?”

Percy’s eyebrows raise. He studies his brother from the side of his eye.

“I know that.”

“Yeah, well, I got a funny way of showin’ it,” Dean admits. “Fact is… this is hard for me, but it’s gotta be just as hard for you, and that’s more important. I mean… I just mean, you don’t gotta conjure centaurs in rainbows for me to- you know I-”

“I know, Dean.”

Dean nods, shooting one brief glance Percy’s way, then nodding out the window.

“Yeah, good." He clears his throat. "...Good.”

"Maybe I should’ve told you how I found out. ‘Cause I was just as freaked as you, Dean, if not way more. I was scared. Missin’ my brothers. Missin’ dad…” Percy shakes his head, and he feels Dean’s gaze land on him properly this time. He talks to his lap. “That last public school we went to together, we had this math teacher…”

Annabeth, being the closest thing camp Half-Blood has to an ambassador and having acted as one through the wars and the peace talks with the Romans, is confident in her ability to read people. She is used to dealing with spies, praetors, senates, and the twice damned Olympian council. She is confident when she says that Craig is genuine in his fear. He clearly found himself neck deep in something he still doesn’t understand. But he’s lying.
Annabeth rounds the aisle and places her hands casually on the displays to either side of the kid, subtly boxing him in. With Sam behind him, his exits are cut off. She leans in as if to impart a secret. Then she drags his wide eyes to attention, locking them with hers and making sure he knows that his only option here is to be completely transparent. She gives him an inkling of who he’s lying to, and she watches it dawn on him, clumping up in his throat as he tries to swallow. His hands freeze where they’re shuffling through records, and his spine straightens, facing her down like a deer does the approaching car.

“You know more than that, Thurston,” she states evenly under her breath. Craig’s breath stops. “You didn’t string that girl up, but somebody did. So it might be worth giving me the information you have, hmm?”

“All right,” he chokes, remembering to suck in air. With the surrender a weight seems to lift from him, and he curls into himself a bit. Annabeth recognises shame in the fear he radiates. He closes his eyes and licks his lips once, then croaks out the truth. “Um… My cousin Dana was on break from TCU. Ah, I guess we were just bored, looking for something to do. So I showed her this abandoned dump I found. We thought it would be funny if we made it look like it was haunted. So we painted symbols on the walls, some from some albums, some from some of Dana's theology textbooks. Then we found out this guy Murdock used to live there, so we… we made up some story to go along with that. So they told people, who told other people. And then these two guys put it on their stupid website. Everything just took on a life of its own. I mean I, I thought it was funny at first but... I saw that girl dead! It was just a joke, you know. I mean, none of it was real, we made the whole thing up. I swear!”

“Okay,” Sam soothes in that gentle voice of his. Annabeth wants to bottle it and prescribe it accordingly through Camp Half-Blood's med bay. Craig, who has been getting steadily more distressed, calms. “It’s alright, man, we get it. We’re not gonna call you in or anything. But you know now, right? This stuff has real consequences.”

“Yeah,” Craig nods fervently. “I never believed it for a second, I would never have done it otherwise. And maybe… maybe it was some freak coincidence, but it was so real. We all saw it. I don’t wanna go back there, man. I’m not messin’ with this stuff ever again.”

Sam does his good cop thing, and Annabeth heads back outside. She locks eyes with Percy across the street in the passenger seat of the Impala, and he gives her the go ahead blink, so she crosses to join them. She can tell they were discussing something at least semi-serious, but it mustn’t be too pressing if he’s happy for her to interrupt.

Dean jumps a little as she opens the back door and drops inside, too focussed on the conversation to have heard her approach.

“Where’s Sammy?” he asks at once.

“Playing therapist.”

“What’d ya get?” Percy hums.

“The kid made up the story, tagged the place up with band logos and symbols from his cousin’s theology textbook. There was a Murdock, but the rest is harpy feathers.”

“Weird. So, what, it’s a coincidence?” Percy asks.

“Maybe not. The kids could’ve made it up, but Craig saw the girl for sure. Maybe they found out he made it up, and they’re getting back at him? Conjuring something? Or straight up messing with him…” Annabeth trails off, muttering hypotheses to herself.

“Stuff a scarecrow and scare the guy stiff with his own story,” Dean hums appreciatively. “But then why lie to us about it?”

Sam plops into the other side as Annabeth’s answering.

“The kid said the story was up on a website. Popular one, too. Belief like that goes a long way.”

Percy grunts at the understatement.

“Did you tell them about the theology symbols?” Sam asks.

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” Dean barks, turning in his seat a bit to look at them as best he can. “Me and Percy’ll take the house. Sam and Annie, you hit the books, see if you can’t track down the symbols, make sure they’re not actually viable. We’ll send you pictures.”

“Actually, it might be worth us taking the symbols,” Percy sighs reluctantly. “We might recognise them, or know someone who would recognise them. Ella would probably know ‘em on sight, right?”

“There’s a good chance,” Annabeth agrees. “You can take the glasses.”

“Yes!” Percy pumps his fist in the air and makes grabby hands until Annabeth hands them over. Sam raises an eyebrow in question.

“Translating glasses,” she explains. “Swaps the words from English to Ancient Greek. Makes it much easier for us dyslexics to read.”

“How would that make it easier?” Dean squawks dubiously, eyeing the things like they might jump him. 

“Another lovely perk of demigod-dom,” Percy huffs with no small amount of sarcasm. “ADHD and dyslexia- brains hardwired for battle and ancient Greek. Trust me, the glasses make all the difference.”

“You’re dyslexic too?” Sam turns to Annabeth curiously. “ADHD?”

“That’s what you got from that?” Dean scoffs. Something seems to occur to him then, some kind of light switch going on in his eyes. He turns to squint at them. “Hey, you ever heard the name Jackson?”

Percy and Annabeth stiffen as one, their heads swivelling to stare at him owlishly. Annabeth puts all her thoughts aside and sits forward.

“Where’d you hear that?” Percy asks seriously. Dean eyes the two of them warily like he just did the glasses. Annabeth tries to relax her stance so she looks less like a snake poised to strike.

“That cop, the sheriff. When I was in custody, he started spoutin’ loads of shit, spittin’ and hissin’. I thought he mighta been possessed by somethin’, but… he was one of your monsters, wasn’t he?”

Percy nods slowly.

“Jackson… was my mother’s maiden name. It’s what they call me.”

“...Do you know what happened to the sheriff? The wendigo?” Sam asks hesitantly. When Percy doesn’t answer at once, Sam glances at Annabeth. She has eyes only for her boyfriend.

“...Another monster,” Percy finally says. His voice is flat, brooking no more interaction. Despite this, Dean barrels ahead.

“A-? A monster did that? And you fight those things?! Percy, that thing was fuckin’ strawberry jam-”

“You should check out the house.” Percy hasn’t even finished the sentence before he’s booking it out of the car and slamming the door behind him, marching off to his bike. Annabeth follows behind, but not before she hears Sam’s disheartened mutter.

“Well, it explains his face.”

-~o~-

The place is the homestead equivalent of a rotten bowl of fruit. The planks are shot, black like it’s just rained when it hasn’t. The sky is appropriately overcast, but it’s not dark out, which makes it even more off-putting to look at a house that sucks the light from the very air, out of place in the bright and reasonable world. The surface of each dry board is mottled, and it takes Dean a moment to place what the vicissitude reminds him of: skin. There are things under the skin of this place. Dean struggles his depth perception, the contrast making it hard to tell what’s a broken window and what’s a flat-out hole in the wall. They look like the spaces where missing teeth should be in a big black grin, glimpses into the maw of the thing they’re about to walk down the gullet of. Naturally, the only semi-functioning thing around is the electrical box, which jams the EMF reader right up. Guess they’re doing things the old fashioned way. He’s not sure the whole thing won’t collapse the second they step foot on the porch. He kinda hopes it does so they don’t have to go in.

Unfortunately, the crappy wood holds up, so in they go. It looks exactly as welcoming on the inside. Dean can see how the symbols sprayed onto the walls would up the creep factor, but knowing they’re just a kid’s prank, they kinda settle his nerves. Especially when he recognises the Blue Oyster Cult logo over the fireplace. The kid chose nice paint; it really looks like blood.

Dean gets to work snapping pictures of the symbols and sending them off to Percy and Annabeth while Sam rattles on about one of them not lining up with the timeline of the legend. Something about the sigil of sulfur not showing up in San Fransisco ‘til the sixties.

“Dude, it’s a spook story some kid made up to scare his friends. You are reading way too into this.” Dean swipes his hopeless brother’s phone before he sends Percy a picture of the Dead Kennedys logo. “This is why you never get laid.”

“Least I can talk to my brother without bringing up a touchy subject,” Sam grumbles without heat. “What was that about, anyway? I thought you told me to leave it.”

“He said we could ask. And if it’s about his safety, I’m gonna ask. Besides… everything’s a touchy subject,” Dean grouses.

“I think that happens when you’re a veteran by eighteen,” Sam says quietly.

Somewhere in the house, something moves. It sounds like planks of wood stumbling over each other. Both brothers snap to attention. They fall into position, Sam behind Dean, and creep up to flank the door the sound came from. Dean waits the instinctual two and a half seconds, then gives Sammy the smallest nod. Another second, and they barrel in together.

Dean’s blinded by something and he squeezes his eyes shut, shrinking back. Between the flashing, he gets a glimpse of their intruders- fuckin’ randos wielding their flashlights like they’re lightsabers. Did they miss the hand-eye coordination lesson growing up?

Dean blinks the spots out of his vision and rakes them up and down with his eyes. It’s a sad picture. One of them’s got an awkwardly cut bush of curly hair, blocky rectangular glasses, and a pitiful attempt at a beard that might actually just be cheeto dust. His acne suits him. The next guy is even sadder, with the wide, gullible eyes of a preteen and the hairline of a man in his mid-forties. He's wearing a fishing vest adorned with pins announcing things like ‘You’re looking at Star Wars trash’. Curls is in charge of the video camera, a big clunky thing that probably boasts about ten whole pixels of quality.

“Ugh, cut!” Curls calls, annoyed. “Just a coupl'a humans!”

“What’re you guys doin’ here?” Star Wars asks. God, he even sounds like a preteen.

“What the hell’re you doin’ here?” Dean shoots right back. Curls chuckles condescendingly.

“Uh, we belong here, we’re professionals?” He throws his hands out and raises his eyebrows expectantly, looking for recognition, like Dean and Sam are gonna realise their mistake and stumble over themselves to get out of their way, begging forgiveness as they go. He comes across like a hungover teacher who’s given up pretending to respect his students. Dean blinks.

“Professional what?”

“Uh, paranormal investigators?” Curly reaches into his pocket and pulls out two plain slips of paper with those weird fake burn effects around the edges, straight out of the art kid’s science fair project. He fans them out with a dramatic snap of his wrist, offering them one each. “Here you go. Take a look at that, boys.”

Ed Zeddmore and Harry Spengler
Professional Paranormal Investigators
Hellhoundslair.com

Follow us on twitter and facebook

“Oh, you gotta be kiddin’ me.”

Star Wars takes that as praise, all but bouncing on his feet. “Impressive, right?”

“Oh yeah, yeah, we’re big fans,” Dean assures them.

“Yeah, so, if you don’t mind, we’re trying to conduct a serious investigation here,” Curls informs them in that supercilious drawl of his.

“What’ve you got so far?” Dean asks. If these guys have any real information, he’ll eat his car, but he’d be remiss not to check. They could be messing with the actual investigation, after all.

“Why don’t you tell ‘em ‘bout EMF?” Curly suggests. Star Wars lights up like he’s just been given a treat, his face adopting a similarly patronising expression as he tries to imitate his friend’s attitude. He’s like a dumb puppy. Sammy never gets to play with other puppies, so Dean lets Star Wars lecture Sam about electromagnetic frequencies he has severely misunderstood. Sam nods along, making fascinated little hum sounds at every load of shit the guy spews.

“So have you guys… ever actually seen a ghost before, or…?”

Dean fights not to look at his brother as the two clowns start fluffing around a blow-by-blow account of that one time they heard something move upstairs. If Dean looks at his brother right now, he will crack.

“We were downstairs, see,” Curly informs them gravely.

“Just us. It was just us, but something moved in that house, didn’t it, Ed?”

“It did. And something like that, it ah… it changes you.”

“Yeah, I think I get the picture,” Dean gasps for effect. “Well, Sam, we’d better get out of their way, let them get back to work.”

“What? But-”

Dean leans in as he passes his brother, speaking rapid-fire out of the corner of his mouth.

“Sam, if I stay here with these chuckle-fucks, I’m either gonna punch one or laugh myself into a heart attack.”

Sam would argue that, but he can tell his brother’s dead serious. The house will still be there tomorrow. They got through the upstairs, so they’ll just have to come back for the basement later.

“This thing’s a bust,” Percy sighs. “There was a Murdock, alright, but he was a Martin, and there’s no record of him ever killing anyone. Annabeth looked, there are no records of missing girls anywhere in the area around the time the kids apparently saw her. They didn’t even have their stories straight. We press ‘em enough, I bet they’ll admit the whole thing’s a prank to get back at that Craig guy.”

“What’re you talkin’ about?” Dean asks, dropping heavily into the motel seats and propping his feet up on the shitty little table. “Sammy just met his heroes!”

Sam scoffs from the entryway where he’s taking his jacket off and hanging it up, like a regular human with manners. Sometimes he thinks he respects shitty motels just to make up for Dean’s lack of respect for anything that isn’t Dad’s car. Ah, to be the middle child.

“What’s this?” Percy asks, interest piqued. Sam cocks his head curiously at what his little brother’s busy with. Percy's hands are deftly weaving through Annabeth’s golden hair. He’s not even watching what he’s doing. Sam comes over to have a look. Annabeth hums in greeting as he passes, eyes not lifting from the computer, glasses perched over her nose.

Most of the braids are tight to her skull, but there are a couple of thin ones lying loose amongst the cascade of blonde curls still unwoven. Percy doesn’t seem to have any plan; in fact, his crooked fingers flit aimlessly from braid to braid, not even tying them off. It gives her a patchwork disposition. Some parts of her remind Sam of a princess from a fairy tale, and others make her look more like a Viking warrior going into battle.
“Going somewhere you gotta look nice for?” Sam inquires, sitting down beside Percy on the bed to watch. He notices that Annabeth’s shoulders don’t tense. They used to go rigid whenever she couldn’t see everyone in the room (besides Percy). Sam’s glad she’s getting more comfortable with them. Lord knows it’s been a journey getting used to her.

“No,” Percy hums once he realises what Sam’s talking about. “We usually tie it back for quests or spars, it’s safer, you know. I’m just practising I guess. What’s this about meeting your heroes?”

Sam scoffs dismissively, but Dean’s already answering.

“We met the legends behind Sammy’s favourite spook site. The hellhound one. They are everything you’d expect and more.”

“Did you get their autographs?” Annabeth mumbles.

“They were a riot,” Sam chortles. Percy abandons Annabeth’s hair, falling back into the bed propped up on his elbow.

“Well now I’m kinda curious.”

“‘Why don’t you tell ‘em ‘bout EMF?’” Sam mocks in a nasally voice. It’s pretty uncanny, if he does say so himself. Dean cackles.

They’re about to leave town the next day when they pass two cop cars headed down the left road outside the gas station. It barely qualifies as a road, and there’s only one thing down there; that damned house.

A little investigation reveals that a girl was found dead last night in the basement by- you’ll never guess it- hanging. No signs of depression, a bright future ahead of her. Not that that necessarily means anything when it comes to suicide.

Annabeth shoves her nose right back into the computer. She clearly hates the thing. Percy says that being a demigod, she grew up without technology. She had a magic laptop for a while, but apparently that was totally different, built special. Annabeth’s determined to figure out the symbols they sent her and she’s not about to give up ‘for all the nectar in Olympus’, but it's best they evacuate the premises until she’s satisfied.

“She needs the practice, and we need to not be there for said practice,” he explains. He doesn’t need to tell Sam twice. Dean doesn’t argue, having learned his lesson when he asked her if she wanted dinner and only narrowly avoided being bitten.

The boys take the excuse to investigate the house themselves. They stake it out, but even after dark, there are cops patrolling the place, and they look to be settled in for the long haul.

“They really don’t want any more kids screwing around in there,” Sam whispers. Percy huffs impatiently.

“Alright, that’s it. We gotta get in.”

“Relax, okay, let’s make a plan,” Dean hisses, holding Percy in place. The poor guy just was not built to sit still. He looks like he might fight for a second, but then he stills, head twisting like he’s heard something.

“I don’t believe it.”

Sam hears it a second later and turns to face the snapping branches sounding from the east side of the house. Another moment and Sam can hear them arguing as they crest the hill: their favourite viral internet stars, decked out in full cams and headlamps like true professionals on a budget.

"Those your new friends?" Percy snickers under his breath. Dean taps him on the chest, gaining his brothers' attention and shooting them his ‘go with this’ face. He has a plan. Sam’s almost afraid to ask. He doesn’t get the chance before Dean cups his hands around his mouth and leans closer to the bumbling intruders’ entrance. He waits until they come up over the rise, right into the moonlight, bold as brass.

“Who you gonna call?”

Dean’s shout attracts the attention of the police, and suddenly it’s a standoff between two officers of the law and two idiots strapped with enough go-pros to film their own shitty, off-brand Olympics. Their situation dawns on them. And then it’s a foot-chase. Percy slaps Dean back triumphantly, and all three of them make their way across to the house.

It’s even grosser after dark, of course. And the basement is… something. Jars of dubious substances line dusty, crooked shelves. Cobwebs cover the place. Obviously Craig couldn’t be bothered to tag the walls down here, and honestly, Dean can’t blame him for that. Being here sucks. Not that it’s not par for the course in their chosen profession.

Dean swipes one of the grossest jars from the shelf and studies whatever it is that's floating in the murky yellow substance.

“Hey, Sam. Dare you to take a swig of this.”

“That is gross,” Percy snickers.

“The hell would I do that for?” Sam asks, unimpressed.

“…I double dare ya.”

Percy shakes his head and chuckles. “You’re as bad as those kids.”

Something shuffles in the dark, and it’s not them. Immediately, Sam and Dean whip around, guns out.

“Relax, it’s just rats,” Percy assures them. Dean frowns.

“Better safe than sorry,” Sam hisses under his breath. If something’s here, it’s definitely heard them by now, but they quieten on instinct. Dean gives his brother the visual cue, and Sam creeps his hand over to rest on the cupboard door. One. Two. He throws it open and-

Rats.

“Eugh!” Dean jerks back, shaking his boot at the little vermin as they scurry out from their hide-away. “I hate rats.”

“How’d you know?” Sam asks his youngest brother. Percy, usually the jumpiest of all of them, is perfectly relaxed, checking out the jars Dean abandoned. He looks up at the question. He pauses a beat, then shrugs.

“Lucky guess.”

Sam opens his mouth- to say what, he’s not sure- but Percy’s face changes abruptly and the temperature plummets. Sam feels something lighter than breath on his neck. The world darkens.

Sam whips around, but something’s already grabbing him, yanking him hard to the side. The shotgun goes off. Sam thrashes until he sees Dean brandishing it with purpose at a black smoky mass that dwarfs the room. It has two pinpoint red eyes shining through the gloom, and a ghost hat to match. It swings back its poorly defined limbs to bring something that glints like an axe down, and Dean fires twice more.

The thing dissipates, but Sam doesn’t feel it diminish. It still hangs in the air, an oppressive weight pressing down on his shoulders. It could be anywhere, everywhere- the only guarantee is that it’s somewhere.

Sam turns to try and catch what grabbed him, and is surprised to find himself staring at his littlest brother. He was sure he’d felt claws. How’d Percy move so fast to reach him across the room in time? And more pressingly-

“What the hell kind of spirit is immune to rock salt?!”

“I don’t know,” Dean admits, eyes raking the place over for the enemy.

“Think later, go now!” Percy suggests, all but shoving his brothers up the stairs before him. Dean gets into a quick tussle with him trying to go last, which he loses. One of the jars explodes violently behind them, and Percy throws his arms out to catch any glass that might reach them.

They’re not quick enough. Sam once again spins in place when he hears thuds just in time to see Dean go careening down the stairs and into Percy. They both hit the floor. Above them, the horrid black smoke coalesces back into a semi-solid, hulking form, poised to bring the axe down again.

Sam flies into it with an angry roar. The spirit is huge, but so is Sam. All of its attention is required to fight him off, the two of them wrestling for the axe. He yells over his shoulder.

“GET OUT OF HERE, GO!”

Yeah, that’s likely, but Sam can dream. Still, he can’t say he’s surprised when Percy comes at the bastard in a flash of bronze (the sword?) and Dean’s right behind him.

Sam loses track of the fight. It’s dark. He can hear growling and splintering wood, loud thuds as three grown men and a brute of a ghost(?) throw each other around. More glass shatters. At some point they stumble upstairs, and Sam practically throws his brothers out the door and flies out after them.

He shouldn’t be surprised to find Thing One and Thing Two outside with their go-pros. He yells at them to go, but he doesn’t stick around to make sure they listen, focussed now on the backs of his retreating brothers. They weren’t hit, were they? Sam can’t smell blood. Please don’t let them be hit.

Dean grabs him by the collar as soon as they're in the woods, making sure he’s okay. The other one is snarled in Percy’s, doing the same for him. Sam looks over his shoulder to watch the goon squad get arrested by the cops that have finally shown up, babbling and pointing at the now empty doorway of the house.

“Are you good? Everybody good?” Dean demands.

“Yeah,” Sam gasps. “Percy?”

“I’m good. C’mon, let’s make tracks before they catch us.”

-~o~-

Percy returns at about ten-thirty. Annabeth is immediately up to greet him, shooting off what she’s found.

“The swirly symbol that looks like a wave, it’s a Tibetan spirit sigil. It’s used t- you’re bleeding."

“Yeah, hi,” Percy hums, shuffling forward to pull her into a chaste hello kiss. “Nothing big. You made a break?”

“Yeah.”

“Where do you want me?” he asks, turning in place to gesture around. There’s no use getting blood everywhere if they can help it, after all. She gives a sniff. He’s not bleeding too bad, but he might need stitches.

“The bed,” she decides. “Grab a towel just in case. Or- actually, we can use your jacket.”

“Aw, man, it’ll be ripped now,” he pouts. Percy doesn’t have much, but he gets attached to what he does have very quickly. He always hates having to stitch up his shirts when the latest monster of the week inevitably shreds them, but gods forbid he throw them out and get new ones. Although, to be fair, they might go broke on that strategy.

Percy settles himself on the bed, carefully stripping off his shirt and inspecting it for bloodstains. Annabeth fetches the med kit and a wet cloth from the bathroom. He hands her his jacket without looking up, and she dutifully arranges it under his butt to catch any blood that weeps from his back. Then she folds her legs around him and has a good look at what she’s working with.

Percy did well to hide this from his brothers. The shard of glass isn’t big (not by their standards), but it must’ve been moving pretty fast to shred through his jacket, shirt, and skin. Particularly his skin. Demigods are notoriously thick-skinned, but Percy’s on another level in that department these days. If it had hit Sam or Dean, this would’ve ripped right through them. As is, it’s just lodged rather solidly in Percy’s back. Annabeth runs the cloth over the area so she can see it better.

“You’re gonna get real sick of hearin’ this. You’re probably already sick of hearin’ this,” Percy corrects himself. “But I hate lying to them.”

Well, Annabeth can’t begrudge him that. Again, she reflects on just how cruel the fates are to put them in this situation. There truly is no right answer.

“Breathe in. One, two-” Annabeth slides the shard from his flesh in one neat tug. Immediately, she starts to stem the blood flow, putting pressure on it. With her other hand she rifles through the medkit for the antiseptic. She should’ve given him a cigarette for this.

“You’re good,” she grunts, and he takes the signal to pop half a square of ambrosia into his mouth. It doesn’t do half of what it used to, but half is still better than nothing.

“Drakon stew again,” he informs her.

Annabeth removes her hands to watch the blood flow stem, the skin twitching, making a half-hearted attempt to stitch itself back together. She runs the back of what was once her hand over the surface, careful of her claws. She can’t, but she fancies she can feel his tiny scales catch in the creases of her knuckles. He will need stitches after all.

“I don’t know how much longer we can keep this up, Beth,” Percy whispers. “I don’t want to anymore, but I’m so scared.”

Annabeth pauses in her ministrations, waiting while he gathers himself to say what he really means. She fans her claws out, pressing gentle warmth over his back. She knows he likes that.

“We don’t even bleed red,” Percy chokes.

Annabeth flexes in response to that, holding herself back from reacting sharply enough to slash his back further. Instead, she forces her claws to uncurl, pressing them back as far as she can to imitate a human hand’s natural position. It hurts. She watches the black blood well up from Percy’s flesh, dribbling down his brown-grey back, and she steadily wipes it up with the cloth.

“We are not our bodies, Percy,” Annabeth reminds him.

“I know that. I… I forget, sometimes. But I know. They’re… they’re monster hunters though, Wise Girl. They were raised… we were raised, to…”

“So was I,” she reminds him. He nods. He moves to cover the hand she has on his shoulder with his own, but she slaps it away.

“Don’t stretch that way. I haven’t stitched you up yet.” He nods sheepishly, and she nuzzles into his cheek to make up for it. His rough skin feels nice against the soft down of her face. She makes a cooing noise. “You don’t have to tell them today. Or tomorrow. You’ll tell them at some point, when things are easier. And they might freak out, but they’ll come around. If they didn’t, they wouldn’t be family.”

Percy lets his head fall against hers. It’s kind of weird, because Percy doesn’t have much of a neck to speak of anymore- his head just kind of juts out of the uneven mass of his torso, huge and clumsy. Monstrous. She croons again.

“That saying about blood being thicker than water. Think it still applies if the blood’s black?”

“...Percy, you’re adopted.”

“Oh, yeah.”

She breaks out into giggles, her beak(?) clicking with it. Percy laughs too, burying his face in her feathers in embarrassment. He ruffles a certain part and she squawks.

“Not there! Not there!”

She’s given away her weak point. Oh, she’s screwed.

“Annabeth Chase, are you ticklish?”

“N- it’s- the downy feathers! It’s not my fault! Y- AH!”

Percy’s already twisting around in place to take full advantage, snuffling into that damned spot, and she shrieks. He slaps a fin over her beak and they share a mortified look, giggling like little kids at a sleepover.

“For Hades’ sake, just-” she crams the other half of the ambrosia square into his toothy maw. If he’s not going to sit still for stitches, he can at least stop bleeding everywhere. Not to be distracted, he doesn’t even chew it, gulping it down in one go and getting right back to attacking his girlfriend.

Annabeth was not lying before. Percy is handsome. In fact, she finds him beautiful. He is what he is at the very core now, unimpeded by human parameters like conforming to a certain bone structure. She recognises him this way. He moves more naturally in this smooth, aerodynamic form. He has no pretty fins or stripes to speak of. There are no scary spines that light up like the deep sea creatures, no showy spines. Nothing that you would hear or see coming. He’s something the Aphrodite cabin would find utterly hideous, if their minds could perceive him the way Annabeth’s can. Well, actually, anyone would find him utterly hideous. Annabeth thinks he’s more stunning than any of the divinity she’s encountered, Aphrodite included.

His large, fleshy gum catches on the soft part of her, just under her chin, and she gasps. He doesn’t have lips, so she should have expected it, but she never expects it to feel so good, and it always does. It’s something she’s been keeping in her back pocket for later; just an observation she’s made. She’s not sure if Percy’s picked up on it and is doing it on purpose. She kind of likes the mystery.
As she watches, Percy’s mouth sort of… separates into three. It might be unhinging. She’s confused for a moment, wondering, but after a moment’s thought she considers that the middle part might be something like a tongue. She didn’t realise he had one anymore- at least, not one that separates from the floor of his mouth. It’s huge. It could also not be a tongue. It’s hard to say. Either way, he presses the huge flat of it against her, and it’s so big and warm it just covers everything. She feels it against her skin, her feathers, the parts of her she’s not sure there are words for in any human language. The pressure feels divine and familiar, something for her to meet with her own. She surges her body up in answer, running her curled knuckles over his rough skin, relishing the feel of the little scales catching in her creases. The rumbling sound Percy lets out is indescribable- maybe something like a whale’s, but impossibly deep- and it vibrates through her entire body, every bone, every muscle, every feather. She lets out a keening sound high enough that it might actually register to the human hearing range.
With Percy completely encompassing her in every other way, it feels like a natural progression for him to be inside her as well. She’s not sure how it happens. In fact, she’s not sure they’re not inside each other- she’s not sure of anything but how correct it is for them to be this way. One thing. Together. How they’re meant to be.

When they return to awareness- or perhaps, when they grudgingly regress back into something within the scope of conscious understanding- they are one thing. One set of limbs, however many they have. One being looking out of one set of eyes (though they’re not sure how many of those they have, either). One thing.

They are not worried by this. It feels too right. Perhaps, when they regress further and the pointless human worries return to them, this will matter more, but for now they are content. In fact, they are content for the very first time- deeply fulfilled in such a way that no thing has been in recorded history. They are sure of it. Elysium would not provide such bone-deep freedom as they have conjured themself here on earth. Everything they’ve ever done unravels into this result, and it is easy, for the first time, to breathe.

Chapter Text

Percy wakes up easy for the first time since before he can remember. He doesn’t open his eyes at first, basking on his personal cloud nine. He feels golden. When he finally does crack his eyelids, they don’t even fight him. The tightness in his lungs seems hesitant to return to him as violently as he’s used to it doing. His limbs feel blissfully numb, and he’s delightfully warm. There’s no way he’s still awake. He feels awake, but consciousness is never this good to him. Not entirely sure what’s going on, he lets his eyes slip shut again, and he drifts peacefully off.

When he next floats back to the land of the waking, the first thing that comes back to him is the gentle petting of his hair. The second thing is that it’s not them doing the petting. This brings the realisation that he is with a separate being again, and he pulls his eyes open to check. 

Sure enough, he’s in Annabeth’s arms. He’s huge, but she falls naturally around him as if he fits into her. He kind of does- she’s big enough herself to rival him in size. He likes that. It never seemed right that her human body wasn’t on par with his when she was so much stronger. This suits her better. 

But the main thing to take from it is that he cannot feel her toes when he wiggles his. When he flexes his fingers, hers do not falter in his- well, he doesn’t have hair anymore really, but it still feels like she’s carding through his hair. So weird.

He tries to say something, but the words unravel in his throat and tumble out as a happy purr from his chest. Annabeth gives him a good morning scritch. He tries again. 

“Is it just me-”

“It’s never just you,” she interrupts softly. Her morning voice is beautiful, deep and rich and honeyed. “It’s us.”

He rumbles back his delight and turns to nuzzle against her golden waves. So they really were… one, last night. Wow.

“So what happened?”

“...I don’t know,” she admits. Percy can tell she’s still kind of high about it too, because she doesn’t even sound annoyed to say so. “We’re in uncharted territory here, Perce. It’s never happened before.”

“Oh, dam, we’ll just have to experiment more,” he hums facetiously. She giggles. It comes out in an echoey chitter.

“We probably shouldn’t until we know more. What if we can’t undo it next time? We wouldn’t be able to explain that to your brothers. Or camp. We need to know what we’re working with here…”

The arguments all sound weak. None of it matters. Nothing is more obvious to Percy after last night, and it’s probably the same for Annabeth. He marvels at her restraint, sticking up for these things in the face of how it felt . Like he said- she’s always been far stronger than he.

“Just give me some time to think about it, Seaweed Brain,” she entreats. As if he wouldn’t give her anything she asked for. He looks fondly into her eyes, already sold, and tells her as much in another rumble. 

“Now that you’re up,” she taps his back twice. “Move. I need to check the time.”

Percy makes an unhappy noise and goes to work making it as difficult for her to move as possible, pretty much just going completely limp on top of her. If nothing else, the ensuing scuffle wakes them both up (her more than him, until she kicks him off the bed).

Annabeth lets out a strangled squawk and all but falls off the bed herself a moment later. 

“What, what, what is it?” he snaps, pushing himself into a go position in one fluid motion while his brain reminds him of their exits and advantages. 

“It’s twelve-thirty!”

Percy relaxes and drags himself up to his feet properly. 

“What, really?”

“Yes!”

“Wonder why they didn’t wake us up.” He stretches. “You hungry?”

“In the shower! Get dressed! Get your butt in gear, c’mon! Twelve-thirty!”

“Yes ma’am.”

They kick it into high gear, and it’s a good thing, too. Percy’s just exiting the shower when there’s a rap on the door. Annabeth can smell the fast food through it.

“Morning, lovebirds! Sleep well? Betcha didn’t!” Dean's smug voice calls. Annabeth’s head snaps to check Percy’s back. It’s not bleeding or anything, but it’s not worth the risk. She chucks a tangerine coloured shirt at him and gets up to let his brothers in. 

Percy wrestles the shirt on and Dean and Sam file in, one of them looking smug and the other walking like a satyr in high heels. Annabeth jerks her chin at the latter.

“The Hades is with you?” 

“Dean,” Sam growls.

“Ahh, the old itching powder in the jeans trick. Tried and true. So, how we feelin’, chickadees? Sore but satisfied?”

Annabeth catches on quicker than Percy, blushing and rolling her eyes. Percy frowns while he hops into his jeans like a frog on LSD.

“What’re you talking about?”

“Oh, no need to be modest, Perce, motel walls ain’t what they used to be. I was gettin’ kinda worried, there, not a peep all this time, something had to give-”

“Is that a tattoo?” Sam blurts over the top of him. He crosses the room to Percy in three large strides. Percy hasn’t really caught onto what he means yet (he’s not usually this slow, his head must still be fuzzy) and he doesn’t in time to stop Sam from twisting his forearm up to bare the mark of the legion. Annabeth rises from her place on the bed, watching the exchange closely.

“That’s… aha, that one’s a funny story…”

“It’s not a tattoo,” Annabeth says.

“It is, sort of-”

“No, Percy, it’s not. It’s a brand. They branded you.”

“What?!” Dean storms over as Sam’s head whips up to read Percy’s face for confirmation. 

“I gave permission…”

“I know you did,” Annabeth sighs. “I’m not mad at you. I’m just… Hazel was fourteen.”

“Percy?” Sam asks. Percy looks at his worried brother and sighs through his nose. 

“Um, the Romans- you know, there are Greek and Roman demigods. That time I lost my memory, I got stuck with the Romans. They do things a little differently. At camp, we get a bead for each year we survive.” He pulls his necklace from under his collar. His brothers’ eyes flick down, understanding dawning. Sam briefly glances to where Annabeth’s necklace hangs around her neck. “When you join the Roman legion, you get branded with the mark of your godly heritage. One line for each year of service. Jason has twelve, doesn’t he?”

Annabeth nods stiffly. She doesn’t like thinking about how old he was. 

“Branded? Like fucking cattle?!” Dean growls. 

“They’re pretty intense,” Percy agrees. “But in fairness, that’s what keeps them afloat. They’re a properly regimented force with strict regulations and standards, and that’s why they’re stable enough to have schools, families- a whole freakin’ town. They don’t have an average lifespan in the single digits. I’m kinda jealous.”

“You wouldn’t have lasted long there, Praetor,” Annabeth teases. “You’re too Greek.” 

“Yeah, you’re right,” Percy chuckles. 

“Okay, I can’t do this anymore,” Sam bursts. They all turn to him, surprised. He sounds like a man who’s finally reached the end of his rope. “I’ve been trying so hard to leave it alone, but I need to know.”

“Know what…?” Percy asks warily.

“Everything! About the Greeks and the Romans and the differences between them, about the gods, about quests, monsters, centaurs, symbols, weapons, cultures, I need to know! You just mention things offhand, but there’s obviously so much we don’t know, and I want to know!”
“Woah, okay, don’t hurt yourself, Samy,” Percy soothes in slight alarm, placing his scarred hands on his brother’s arms and rubbing them comfortingly. “You could’ve just said so.”

Sam laughs out his tension. “I didn’t want to press.”

“Dude, press away. If I don’t want to talk, I’ll tell you that. Just say what you mean, I won’t know otherwise.”

“No wonder you were so difficult,” Annabeth chuckles, shaking her head. “You came from a family of communicative cripples.”

“Excuse me?” Dean huffs, brow still stern over the brand thing.

“Don’t laugh. She’ll get you, too,” Percy warns. Then he looks over his brothers, sobering a bit. “Seriously, guys, we can’t do this silent-understanding thing, it doesn’t work. We gotta tell each other what’s up, straight up. I don’t do metaphors. Or silent treatments. Or insinuations. Or-”

“We get it, Yoda,” Dean grouses. “Keep the self-help book.”

“How am I the most well-adjusted Winchester?” Percy asks himself despairingly.

“Well-adjusted might be generous,” Annabeth counters. Then she turns on the older brothers. “We’ll talk, Sam. All of us. Extensively. Think of some questions, we’ll sit down and answer. For now, what’d we miss?”

“I glued his hand to a beer bottle,” Sam sighs out, sounding relieved of a great burden. Honestly, if he’d just said something, it wouldn’t have been a problem.

“The Tibetan symbol on the wall’s been manifesting the threat, right?” Dean asks rhetorically. “That’s what your text said. It’s those freakin’ hound jokesters and their hellsite, spreadin’ the legend. So we moseyed on down to their charming trailer of geekdom- seriously, it’s a trailer- and gave ‘em some phony story about old Mordechai being vulnerable to firearms. Should be ripe for the shootin’ by this afternoon.”

“Did I mention I glued his hand to a beer bottle?”

“I barely have any skin left on my palm,” Dean snarks.

“I’m not touching that line with a ten-foot pole.”

Percy gives his middle brother a high-five for that. Dean makes a face and some mocking noises. 

“So, what I’m hearing is, you don’t want this lunch that I so generously went and bought us. Me and Annabeth’ll just enjoy it ourselves, then-”

“Food!” 

Dean squawks as Percy pounces on him. Annabeth isn’t much better, honestly- she’s starving. 

Over lunch, they have that talk. Sam’s first question leads them into a long explanation, and then another, and more questions and more explanations. They keep things as impersonal as they can help. It makes the conversation much easier. Sam just wants to understand because, like Annabeth, he can’t bear not to. She’d go crazy with such a half-explanation as ‘the gods are real, don’t worry about it’, and clearly it’s been tearing him up just the same. And he kept it to himself all this time! For no reason! It’s no wonder where they get it from (John), but these Winchesters are going to kill her!

They wait until nightfall to make their move. Breaking and entering is easier that way. Percy leads the police off with a patented Lupa howl and joins back up with his family, no trouble. 

Sam and Dean enter back to back, guns drawn. Percy and Annabeth take up similar stances and enter from the back.

“Well, I’ve slept in worse places,” Percy allows, “but this place sucks.”

“Agreed,“ says someone.

Percy and Annabeth both whip around at the unfamiliar voice, guns trained on the source. Percy just stops himself from moving to restrain before he has all the information. He’s among mortals now- he can’t shoot first and ask questions later, as much as his instincts would like him to. 

The two guys on the wrong side of their guns startle, stumbling around exclamations of fear. One of them screams and pushes the other in front of him. The other one freaks out, fighting to get away like a cornered thing. The smell of urine is suddenly present. 

Hollers of their names accompany the swift thudding of boots. Even over the cacophony of smells and sounds the strangers are making, Percy recognises his brothers. Sam and Dean barrel onto the scene, guns raised and fingers poised on the trigger. Percy would shoot them a confused look if he was comfortable taking his eyes off the unknown party. It’s only the fact that they’re definitely mortal that convinces him to lower his weapon. 

The strangers immediately start clamouring to get behind Sam and Dean. They’re obviously dead terrified of Percy and Annabeth- actually, judging by their stolen glances, just Percy. What’s up with that?

“Woah, woah, hey, are you trying to get yourselves killed?!” Sam demands, gripping the tallest one by the shoulder. It forces him still for the first time, and Percy realises that these are the same guys they baited the cops with last night- the ghostbusters.

“Would you stop fuckin’ screamin’?!” Dean snaps. The boys immediately shut their traps. “What are you yellin’ about? …Ew, wait, did you piss yourself?”

“It’s right there! Run for your lives!” One of them makes a break for it. Sam grabs him by the backpack with one hand and drags him right back into place. The other mortal hits him.

“Dude, you were just gonna leave me here with it?!”

“Mordechai? Where is he?” Annabeth demands. 

“Are you blind?! He’s right there, right next to you!!” 

She looks around uncertainly. So does Percy. They’d know if something was that close to them, though. Yeah, there’s nothing there. 

Dean actually slaps the guy he’s looking after over the head, lip curling. “That’s my brother, asshole!”

Percy blinks. “Wait, me?”

“Your brother’s a zombie! Look at him! He’s one of them!” The short one turns on his partner. “Are you getting this?!”

“Oh my god,” Sam groans, letting his charge go to turn away in disappointment.

It dawns on Percy what’s happened. You encounter a guy with a face like a long-dead victim of violent crime in a house reportedly haunted by a long-dead victim of violent crime, some assumptions are bound to be drawn. He opens his mouth to defuse the situation, but something interrupts him. The sharp metallic sound of a blade slicing over metal hisses through the air- once, twice. Mortal metals always sound so tinny to Percy. 

Sam and Dean turn their weapons on the sound at once. Percy and Annabeth are more hesitant, keeping an eye on the mortals and around the space. You can never be too sure when dealing with things that can play with your senses. Or strangers. 

“Uhh… oh, crap… hey, uh, hey guys, you wanna go open that door for us?” one of the goons pants. He’s breathing so heavily Percy would think he had a condition if he hadn’t been breathing perfectly fine before. 

“Why don’t you, piss boy?” Dean delivers flatly.

”I didn’t-!” Piss boy protests out half-heartedly under his breath.

Another second. Then the door explodes with no warning, splintering into so much rotten confetti. Percy gets a moment’s look at a much more solid Mordechai than last time. The face is pale in the way of stripped flesh, contorted unnaturally around a jaw that doesn’t quite fit. The black cowboy hat, flannel, and dungarees are so out of place. He’s like a cartoon character. 

Sam and Dean open fire. Percy doesn’t bother- his brothers will get him. At least, that’s his reasoning until he realises they’re hitting dead centre and it’s doing zip. They both have to empty their clips before Mordechai dissipates, but he’s not gone. Percy can feel him in the air. 

Dean signals like Dad used to, and he and Sam instinctively move to carry out the order, fanning out. Annabeth stays on the mortals. Percy doesn’t envy her, having to listen to their blubbering. Ugh, he hasn’t had to deal with civilians in ages, he just doesn’t have the patience anymore. 

Percy doesn’t see the next contact, but he hears it. He comes back to the chuckle twins staring down at their shattered camera, cleft clean in two. Percy’s guessing the axe-happy resident had something to do with it. 

“Mordechai,” Annabeth confirms. “Appeared, smashed the camera, disappeared.”

“Didn’t you guys post that B.S. story we gave you?!” Dean demands, ducking through the north doorway. 

“Of course we did-” 

“Yeah, but then our server crashed.”

“-Yeah.”

“So it didn't take?” Annabeth presses.

“Uh...mmm....”

“The guns don't work,” Dean surmises. “Great. That’s great. Guys, any ideas?”

“We are getting outta here,” Curly hair breathes out. Finally, the first smart thing either of them has said. Percy moves to escort them out, tucking his gun into his waistband and swapping it for his pen. 

They make it to the door. In what is no doubt a cruel twist for the mortals, Mordechai chooses that moment to make his appearance, coalescing between them and the door in a pretty clear statement: None shall pass.

The ghosthunters must still not be sold on Percy, because they turn to run from Mordechai, run right into Percy’s chest, and double their efforts to burst his eardrums. Seriously, you’d think Percy was the devil himself the way they scream. Which, okay, they’re not far off, but for all the wrong reasons. 

“HEY!”

All of them turn. It’s Sam, and all Percy can think is, he’s unarmed.

“Come and get it, you ugly son of a bitch.” 

Mordechai is only too happy to comply, rushing Sam like a professional footballer. Percy feels the impact from here- Sam the giant versus off-brand Frankenstein; a clash of not-quite titans. They grapple with the axe. Percy turns on the mortals. 

“Go. Get out of here. Go!”

As soon as they scramble out of sight, Percy brings his focus back to the enemy choking his brother out. Sam is struggling, pressing back against the axe handle, but it’s pinning him up the wall and his feet are losing their grip on the ground. Percy’s brother. Yeah, that’s not gonna fly.

He makes no sound of warning before he descends on Mordechai, wrenching him bodily from Sam with a practised grip. He doesn’t bother holding back. This is something he can afford to damage. In fact, Percy reflects as Mordechai flies into the ground with a satisfying CRACK, this is a good opportunity to let off some steam.

Actually, best not. Mordechai’s essentially smoke, so Percy expects he’ll have to use Riptide to do real damage. Playing with his food wouldn’t be a good look in front of his brothers when he could so obviously kill him with a slash of his sword. A shame. 

Stifling a sigh, Percy finishes it quickly. The stupid spirit doesn’t have time to count itself lucky before he draws Riptide through its smoky bone and sinew. It feels similar to slicing through dracaena flesh- maybe with a bit less resistance. 

Sam gasps himself back down to earth, eyes a little wide. Percy offers him a hand up. Seeing his interested gaze on Riptide, Percy hands her over. He’s not sure what Sam’s expecting to see that he didn’t the other hundred times he inspected her, but whatever keeps him happy. 

“How did that work?” Sam asks. “Was it the, ah, celestial bronze?“

Percy shrugs a confirmation. “Mordechai’s just an idea- a, uh, concept brought to life through belief. Riptide’s well acquainted with those.”

Loud scuffling announces Dean’s entrance well before he actually appears. He skids to a stop in the doorway, posed with a full spray can of petroleum or something and a lighter, ready to light it up. Instead he finds his brothers having a casual conversation over the nature of Percy’s sword. 

“Mortals are clear!” Annabeth calls through the house. 

“Cool! Bad guy’s dead!” Percy calls back.

“Can we get dinner?” 

“Yeah-” he starts to reply, but Dean cuts him off rather tersely.

“Can we stop yelling at each other from across the house?”

Percy regards him in amusement. He was clearly all fired up and ready to torch something, fight a baddie, and save the day. Poor guy show up a few seconds late and didn’t get his payoff. Percy claps him on the shoulder. 

“C’mon, Dean. We’ll getcha some pie.”

Chapter Text

Dean wants to say he can’t believe it, but he can. It’s not like this motel’s any better than the last dozen they camped in- why should the toilet work? The only good thing to be said for shitholes like these is that they tend to be 24/7 joints. The front desk will probably be manned, even at this hour. 

Dean grumbles under his breath and shoves his boots on. He’s careful to be quiet slipping out, though. Sammy won’t wake up to his whining, he’s too used to it, but one creak of a door will have him up and armed in a heartbeat. Heh. That’s his boy. 

Dean waits in the hall for a second and listens, but alas, no funtime sounds to be heard from Percy and Annabeth’s room. Seriously, what is up with that? If he was as madly in love with a hot piece of (bad)ass as Percy is, he’d never sleep again. He was hoping the two lovebirds made some kinda breakthrough the other night, but apparently that was their libido satisfied for the month. Unbelievable. 

Dean shrugs, feeling weird without his jacket on, and starts down the hallway. He doesn’t get far, though, before the door he was just listening outside of creaks open. He turns. 

Annabeth steps smoothly out. She’s in one of Percy’s shirts and probably shorts underneath, not that he can tell. She’s just not the kind of girl to walk around without pants on (a shame. Those are the best kinds of girls). What really throws him is her hair, wild and messy, falling around her like a mane. It should make her look smaller, but it does the opposite. It’s not fair. People are supposed to look softer when they’re sleepy.

“What’s up?” Her voice is a little raspy, like the edge of a blade. Maybe she used to smoke. 

“Bathroom’s jacked, I was just gonna… why’re you up?”

“Hold it. He’ll only be a minute.”

“What? Who?”

Annabeth seems to debate the merits of explaining herself to him and decide it isn’t worth it. Instead of answering, she turns into her room with a jut of her chin, gesturing for him to follow. As usual, she doesn’t look back. 

Dean glances down the hallway after his bathroom quest once and ducks in after her. It’s kind of annoying, her implicit expectation to be obeyed- doubly so because, hard as Dean tries, he always ends up obeying her anyway. 

Annabeth moves through the room over to the east window as fluidly as if it was broad daylight. Dean stubs his toe about eight times keeping up with her in the pitch black. 

“How can you see a damn thing in here?”

“Shh,” is her reply. “She’s here.”

“Who?” Dean demands for the second freakin’ time, stumbling up to the window. He can see a little in the neon glow of the motel sign, but not much. The ground’s still wet from the rain, reflecting the dim colours in a trippy way that makes Dean’s head spin whenever he moves it. The dumpster’s right outside, that’s lovely. Smells great. What is he supposed to be looking at, here?

“Old friend. Well, enemy. She’s been tailing us for a while. Percy’s gone to handle her.”

Dean snaps to attention. “What? Alone?”

“Relax, he’s got it. Just wait for him to finish up, and you can go to the bathroom.”

Dean opens his mouth to detail all the ways in which he’s not gonna do that, but he’s interrupted by a shadow cutting over the asphalt of the parking lot and Percy’s bored voice.

“Kelli! Oh my gods, girl, how many times are we gonna do this?”

There’s a weird dragging shuffle and a CLUNK in reply, like something heavy hitting the ground. Then a garbled sort of hissing. The voice that answers is a chick’s, but it’s messy, like she’s frothing at the mouth. 

“As many times as it takes,” she growls with such raw vitriol that Dean actually takes a step back. Something red flashes in the dark.  

“This is getting really embarrassing for you,” Percy sighs, nonplussed. 

The girl suffers no more words. From then on it’s just that strange shuffle- clunk , her guttural snarling, and the swish of riptide through the air. A hair-raising screech of agony is cut off abruptly, and the silence rings with the unsung note of it, dead. 

“Eugh. Can you smell any more, Wise Girl? I got monster dust in my nose.”

“Gross. You’re clear,” Annabeth responds, raising her voice out the window so he hears. Then she turns to Dean. “So’re you.”

Percy’s silhouette approaches the window, and Dean’s brain stalls. It looks too big, how did he get so close? No, he’s still on the other side of the car park… 

His brother emerges from the dark, eyes flashing in the light of the neon signs, and falters for a second seeing Dean. He hops in through the window and Annabeth closes it behind him. 

‘Dean? What you up for?’

‘Seems I got a damn good reason to be up, what the hell was that?!’

Percy looks back out the window as if in afterthought, like he’s already forgotten the monster. ‘Empousa.’

‘Hateful bitch,’ Annabeth mumbles, uncrossing her arms and moving off to the room at large. Percy snorts and puts a hand on Dean’s shoulder, looks him in the eye.

‘If I was worried, I’d wake you up, Dee. But seriously, she’s chump change. Fuckin’ annoying, but nothin’ else. Honestly, I’m kinda pissed I woke up for it. If she had any sanity left, she’d piss off, but a few deaths at my hand sent her totally bat shit, and… anyway, I’m not keepin’ secrets. She just wasn’t worth bringin’ up. Promise.’

Dean can’t sleep after that. For once, he pulls a Sammy and thinks instead. 

There are too many insinuations to sort through. Percy acts like his monsters are no big deal, but then he’s adamant that they’ve been raking him across the coals all his life and they should be taken very seriously. Worse than what they hunt, he said. And with what was left of that wendigo? Dean believes him. Hell, one look at Percy’s mashed potato face says it all. But then he murks a monster bitch in the middle of the night like it’s whatever, without even telling them— without so much as breaking a sweat. Acts like it’s normal. What is Dean supposed to make of that? 

Dean wishes, for the millionth time, that he’d been there with Percy for it all. So he didn’t have to do it alone, of course, but also so Dean could understand. So he could catch everything that’s slipping through his fingers now, understand what Percy’s alluding to or covering up or even fucking talking about. There’s this great divide between them now, a whole world and seven years in it that they don’t share. Percy isn’t the little brother Dean lost all that time ago.

It’s not fair. 

And one more thing. 

‘You know we’d have your back—‘

‘Do I?’

‘You were with Dad, Dean.’

‘If he looked at me- a half-breed- and saw a monster, he’d kill it. And whether you… whatever you did with that, I…’

This is stupid. Why does Sam do this instead of sleeping? It just makes Dean want to break something. 

-~o~-

The next job they take is pretty intense. Sam gets— is possessed the right word? –And says all sorts of shit to Dean. Percy’s not there for it, but he can imagine the stuff he’s been sitting on; neither of his brothers are particularly subtle about their grudges. Sam and Dean fight like cats and dogs on a good day, and with this shit with Dad, it’s worse than ever. It all comes to a head and possessed-Sam tries to shoot Dean, actually shoots him with rock salt, and drops the shotgun on the cement floor before they get him back. Sam would never treat a gun like that. When he comes to, he’s horrified. He apologises, and Dean tells him to stow the touchy-feely shit. Sam says he was talking to the shotgun. Dean then gives their latest damsels in distress a rather snide goodbye— it’s not their fault they thought Percy was a ghoul and tried to shoot him, but Dean’s petty like that. He should probably get over it; it looks like it’s gonna be a recurring theme on jobs. 

Percy’s not there for this next part. He’s not sure how it would’ve gone had he been present. Honestly, just hearing about it makes him near explosive with rage, and as the person behind the Mt. St. Helen’s eruption, that’s not something you want to be. 

Apparently, Dad called in the middle of the night. Dean, of course. But Sam picked up, and no doubt demanded all the answers they deserve, and Dad told him to can it and take down a list of names. All Sam got out of him was that he knows they have Percy, he knows the three of them have been looking for him, and he doesn’t want them to. He’s on the tail of the thing that killed their mothers– a demon, apparently. That’s it. That’s all he says. 

Sam gave up the life he deserves for this. His girlfriend is dead. Percy’s back from being MIA for multiple years, which John apparently knew, not that he bothered to acknowledge it or Percy at all. And now the man calls from a Sacramento payphone in the middle of the night to give them a job.

So yeah, Percy’s a little miffed. Just a smidge, y’know. A few volcanoes worth, at most. He keeps a lid on it, just in case the job is life-or-death important. 

Sam drives. Dean looks into the names, and Percy listens closely over the comms.

‘Alright, they’re all couples?’

‘Three different couples all went missing,’ Dean confirms. 

‘And they’re all from different towns, different states?’

‘That’s right, yeah, Washington, New York, Colorado… each couple took a road trip cross-country. None of them arrived at their destination, none of them were ever heard from again.’

‘Where’s the catch?’ Annabeth asks. 

‘Each one’s route took ‘em through the same part of Indiana. Always the second week of April, one year after another after another.’

‘This is the second week of April,’ Sam notes. Percy didn’t know that, but there ya go. He’s still waiting to hear how this pertains to Dad.

‘It’s a hunt,’ Annabeth says, since no one else seems to want to. 

‘Yahtzee,’ Percy vaguely hears Dean say through the red haze of overwhelming rage quickly descending over him. Should he be driving right now? Maybe he shouldn’t be driving right now. Dean whistles appreciatively. ‘ Can you imagine putting together a pattern like this? The different obits Dad had to go through? Man’s a master.’

‘Pull over.’

‘What? Why?’

Percy doesn’t answer. He just pulls over by the side of the road and gets off the bike, roughly yanking his helmet off as he goes. Annabeth doesn’t try to stop him, but she’s two steps behind. 

Sam gets out of the car, face almost as stormy as Percy’s. Well, maybe not quite. He almost falters at the look on his little brother’s face, but Percy doesn’t have it in him right now to cool down. Dean gets out of the car, arms to either side, looking between his brothers for an explanation. 

‘Alright, listen up,’ Percy grunts before Sam can open his mouth. ‘Sam and I will go to California. Annabeth, I’d feel better if you stuck with Dean, but you come with us if you want to. We keep in touch, call every two days–’

‘What? No!’ Dean barks.

‘Dean, Dad’s closing in on the thing that killed mom and Jess. We gotta be there,’ Sam insists. ‘We gotta help.’

‘Dad doesn’t want our help.’

‘Well I don’t care.’

Dean stalls for a moment like he doesn’t understand. He looks at his brother like he’s just fallen out of the sky. ‘He’s given us an order.’

‘I don’t. Care. We don’t always have to do what he says!’

‘Sam, Dad is asking us to work jobs, to save lives, it’s important!’

‘Alright, we understand, believe me, we understand, but we’re talkin’ one week here man, to get answers. To get revenge .’

‘Hey!’ Percy snaps. The brothers stutter to attention, lost in their bickering as they were. ‘Sam, revenge isn’t gonna help us sleep at night. We’re killing this thing so that no more kids have to watch their moms burn to death on their ceilings. And Dean, “because Dad ordered us to” is not a reason to do something. His agenda holds no more weight than any of ours do, so cut that shit out right now.’

Percy knows Dean’s about to say something he doesn’t mean by the way his brow sets, the way he squares up but his body still won’t face Percy head-on. He steels himself.

‘Alright, maybe you’ve forgotten this, Perce, since you’ve been out of the picture so long, but we listen to Dad. What he says, goes. It’s called being a good son.’

The air goes dead quiet. They all stare at Dean. Percy lets it settle around them, lets it sink into his big brother what he’s just said. He refuses to break eye contact. Dean’s chin wobbles like he wants to take it back, say something. Percy doesn’t expect him to; he never has, not since John beat the common decency out of him. But still, Dean should feel accountable. Percy stares him down, just to make sure he does.

‘...I’d rather be a person,’ Percy finally says, quiet and unmistakable. Dean’s jaw tightens until it looks wired shut. When he speaks again, it comes out flat.

‘Dad said it wasn’t safe. For any of us.’ Sam shakes his head with a bitter smile, and Dean rounds on him. ‘I mean, he obviously knows something that we don’t. If he says to stay away, we stay away!’

‘And if he says to kill Percy?’ Sam demands.

‘He wouldn’t do that.’

‘He would. He would, and you know it. Percy’s not human. Do you know how many times, growing up, he drilled it into us that anything that wasn’t human was better off dead? Are you honestly telling me he wouldn’t take one look at the cold hard facts and cut Perce out like a fucking cancer–’

‘HE WOULDN’T DO THAT!’

‘Maybe he would, maybe he wouldn’t,’ Percy interjects. ‘But I have family with fangs, Dean. My baby brother on my father’s side is a fucking cyclops. Dad would’ve killed him without question, I nearly did, ‘cause of how Dad raised me. You don’t have to hate the man, Dean, but if you’re gonna accept me the way I am, then “because Dad said so” isn’t good enough anymore!’

Again, silence falls. Dean’s throat works around something thick, looking at Percy in horror. Sam’s eyebrows dance through a conga of unhappy emotions with a side of vindication. Percy grinds his teeth together, biting down on… everything.

‘Annie, what do you wanna do?’

‘...I’ll stay.’

Percy nods shortly, makes an about turn, and marches back to the bike. He braces his hands on the throttle and stares down at the ground. Deep breaths. In and out. In, and out. In… and out. He looks up and finds Zoe in the night sky. In… and… out.

He folds Annabeth into his arms when she approaches without taking his eyes off the stars. He focuses on her warmth.

‘Well done, Percy,’ she hums into the underside of his jaw. ‘I’m proud of you. Tyson would be, too.’

That makes him smile a bit. The big guy would be crying big fat tears and trying to fix it any way he could, worried he’d done something wrong. He hasn’t. He’s never done anything wrong in his life. 

‘Are you sure you want me to go?’

‘No,’ he admits. ‘But someone should be here with Dean. The smarter monsters might use him to get to us. And I don’t think… even if we don’t find Dad, I… I don’t think I can be around him, for a bit. It’s all Dad’s fuckin’ fault, it’s him, it’s–’

‘Shhh, shhh.’ 

Percy winds down, nuzzling into her feathers. He breathes in her scent as much as he can, hoping to clog his nose with it so it stays with him when she goes.

This is probably a terrible idea. They haven’t been away from each other since Tartarus, since Arachne. They were one being the other week. Separating? This can only go poorly. But what else can they do? They need to find Dad or he’ll just keep sending them on these fucking goose hunts, and Dean’s not gonna disobey a direct order. Percy’s not letting his brother go alone. 

Percy pushes his claws through Annabeth’s hair, bringing his hands up around her face. He pulls back and holds her there, just drinking in the sight of her. Then he pushes forward so their foreheads touch and they stay there for a moment. She croons something soft and kisses him in a lingering way. Then, because she’s the stronger of them, she pulls away. 

Percy watches her go, shooting glances back at him like it’s hard to keep him out of her sight, even once she’s settled in the passenger seat of the Impala. Even when he and Sam are pulling out onto the road, driving back the way they came. Even as Percy’s certain Dean’s talking at her, saying something about dropping her off somewhere because he’s still somehow convinced that she’s just Percy’s girlfriend. 

Percy silently asks Zoe to watch over her for him. Just until he can get back to her. 

-~o~-

Dean simmers in silence for most of the journey. That works for Annabeth. She has nothing to say to him. Percy’s been gone all of a minute before she’s missing him, and she feels each mile between them more keenly than the last. 

Unfortunately, Dean does break the quiet at one point, briefly. 

‘You sure I can’t drop you off somewhere? Because I am not slowing down for you, Dad gave us a job–’

‘Funnily enough, I am aware,’ Annabeth snaps. She can’t help it, the man’s pissed her off. She doesn’t hate him, can’t even necessarily fault him– the things a father does to his son are permanent, and not for her to judge the son for. But he’s essentially split her up from Percy, and she’s not feeling particularly forgiving about it. 

‘Not you too. Listen, you got no right to–’

‘I don’t. Dean, I assure you, if I was truly angry at you, you would know. No, we’ve just ended up in a less than ideal situation, and I’m a little pissy about it. You still somehow thinking I’m gonna jump ship like some easy fling Percy does on the side isn’t helping. So how ‘bout you don’t take your shit with your brothers out on me, and I won’t take their shit out on you?’

Dean’s got nothing to say to that. A few minutes of silence later, he turns the radio on. Annabeth turns to look out the window.

By morning, they make it to Indiana, right through the route their missing couples supposedly took. They go through several towns, but the first one they get somewhere at is a slumpy little place that’s all rainwater and churches. The locals are a mixed bag. It isn’t until Dean’s asking in at the bed & breakfast that the owners’ daughter says the last couple came through, just married. The owner hums and ha’s a bit, and then does the whole ‘of course, how could I forget those guys’ and points them the same way after them. Suspicious. 

Headed up to the interstate, the EMF goes off something awful. That stupid thing does Annabeth’s head in on a good day, but today it’s like a pencil in her ear. She curses her heightened senses and throws a hand back to rustle around for it in the back. 

‘Would ya– hey, careful–’

Annabeth ignores Dean shooting glances back while she finds the damn thing in his duffel bag of led zeppelin shirts and underwear. When she does, it dawns on her that she can’t smash it to pieces to get it to stop, and she lets out an honest-to-gods growl. Dean nearly crashes thinking something’s in the car with them, and she sends him a harried but apologetic look. 

‘That was you?’

‘Would you– can you make it shut up? ’

‘The EMF?’

‘Yes, the fucking– turn it off, I can’t hear myself think!’

She shoves the thing into his chest, and after a few seconds, the thing blessedly shuts off. Annabeth slumps in relief. 

‘The hell was that?’ Dean demands. She turns to his bewildered eyes scanning her over like she might’ve grown an extra head while he wasn’t looking.

‘That thing sucks,’ she says. He frowns.

‘We use it all the time, you’ve never thrown a fit about it.’

‘Yeah, well, I have a headache. Just fix it.’

Dean eyes her over one more time, then pulls over to have a look. He turns the stupid gadget around in his hands, slapping it around a bit. ‘Nothing seems to be wrong with it…’ 

He casts his gaze around outside. Annabeth groans and opens the car door before he says anything. 

There’s not much around, but a couple hundred feet back (where the EMF first went off) there’s an unobtrusive gate. It’s basically rusted chicken wire. It almost falls apart when Annabeth opens it. Beyond that is an orchard of low trees with thick trunks and thicker canopies. They seem lush, but all the colour is leached from the grounds by the heavy mist settled almost permanently around. Despite that, the air feels thin. All these trees, and it’s like there’s no oxygen in it. Each crunch of dead leaves beneath Annabeth’s feet echoes loud and accusatory through the empty space, like sacrilege. She feels unwelcome. 

Dean appears either not to pick up on this, or not to care. He tromps violently through the orchard on a mission. Annabeth follows.

The deeper they go, the more everything starts to look the same. Each row of interwoven branches feels endless. She feels the distinct need to keep her wits about her, and she is extra careful to note exactly where they came from. 

Dean finds their first landmark, whistling for her attention. At first, she thinks it’s a burned body hung up on a cross. She doesn’t smell burnt flesh, though. It can’t be too decomposed, if it’s hanging there… but a moment later, she realises it’s a scarecrow. At least, she thinks that’s what they’re called. Supposedly, mortals put them up in their crop fields in an attempt to scare crows away— hence the name. Some of the part-timers at camp tried to make one a few years back, but it didn’t last. No one ever brought it up again. After the wars, that would just be begging campers to get flashbacks.

Annabeth doesn’t think “scarecrows” are meant to look this haunting. It really does resemble a body. The hair on its black, sack-ish head looks real, bristling down from under a beaten black hat. The shoes pointed down at the ground are genuine leather boots. The cold glint of metal from the inexplicable hook jutting out from the right sleeve seems out of place. The face itself is stitched together from something cracked and leathery that looks to her like skin, with deep, hollowed-out sockets for eyes. But it doesn’t smell alive. And it doesn’t smell dead.

‘Dude, you fugly,’ Dean informs the thing. Annabeth rolls her eyes and immediately regrets it, as it makes her headache even worse. She swore, after Gaia, never to get into a vehicle with Leo Valdez ever again. And here she is. 

Dean grabs a ladder to inspect the thing more closely. She doesn’t like him getting that close, but telling him not to is just gonna encourage him, so she waits for his report with her dagger drawn.

‘It’s got the guy’s tattoo,’ he informs her. 

So it is skin. The man from their young couple. 

‘What do you wanna do?’ 

Dean hops down from his perch and moves to walk away, brushing his hands on his jeans. Annabeth rolls her eyes and replaces the ladder where they found it. It’s not wise to show blatant irreverence or otherwise fuck with things in potentially hostile, sacred, or cursed places. You’d think a Hunter would know that.

‘I say we go back to town, see if we can’t figure this thing out before it happens again.’ Dean scratches his head with a sigh of dissatisfaction. ‘I’m drawin’ a blank here. I can’t quite think what it could be.’

‘A curse, maybe?’ 

He nods. Shrugs. ‘With the townspeople in on it?

‘Could be.’ 

‘Yeah, there is definitely somethin’ up with that Scotty character. C’mon, Baby needs gas anyway.’

The way home is silent. It’s not uncomfortable– not for Annabeth, at least, but Dean finds it intolerable. Here’s this window to all the things he missed with Percy– one of the most important things in his life, if not the most. He feels like he needs to pry her open and absorb all the information she has. But, ah… he’d never tell his brothers this… he’s also a little scared of her. Just a little. He can’t afford to fuck it up. 

Alright, Dean, think. What can you ask without sounding too obvious? Something light. Like if Percy’s favourite food is still pizza. Or–

‘So who’s this new baby brother of Percy’s?’

Not that, you idiot!

Annabeth’s not even impressed enough with the question to bother looking un impressed. Again, Dean tries not to feel like she’s disintegrating him with her eyes. He does not look over. Not because he can’t, okay? He just… doesn’t want to. Eyes on the road. He instinctively reaches for the radio knob, and nearly jumps in place when Annabeth’s hand shoots out and stops him.

‘If you turn the radio on again, I will break it.’

‘Jesus,’ he sends her a half-scared, half-concerned glance. ‘The hell’s wrong with you?’

A big sigh answers him. A heavy one, full of gripes. ‘Sorry. I’m just not feeling well.’ She sounds shattered. Dean means to open his mouth and ask if they should stop and get her some ibuprofen or something when she resettles herself in her seat to look at him, still uncharacteristically slouched. ‘Tyson is a cyclops son of Poseidon. He’s the only other half-sibling Percy has at camp. He’s a complete sweetheart. Percy found him living out of a box in New York and they immediately got on. It was a tough thing for Percy to accept when he found out they were related, though. Tyson had to earn the title of brother from him.’

‘He did, though,’ Dean says, processing all this.

‘More than.’

Right… right. 

The rest of the drive is quiet. Dean really does want to ask more, but he has enough to think about, and Annabeth really doesn’t look up to an interrogation. He hopes she’s not getting sick. That's all they need, to get the sniffles on a job. Annabeth doesn’t strike him as one to go down easy, though, so he suspects it’s rather more than that.

Dean pulls Baby into the car port at the gas station where that daughter he spoke to is sweeping the leaves from the front of the convenience store. Her necklace reads Emily.

‘You wanna take the girl or should I?’ Dean asks without meaning to. It’s a little shocking, but he’ll admit that it might be time to just accept that Annabeth’s capable on the job. She’s no Winchester, but she’s no slouch, either. A little training up, and she’ll be one of the boys. Isn’t that a scary thought.

‘You take her,’ Annabeth wheezes in the passenger seat. Dean sends her one last concerned look before he gets out of the car. 

Emily sends him a girl-next-door smile.

Dean gets to work.

-~o~-

Percy is quiet for a long stretch. They just ride, only exchanging words to direct each other at turns. It’s not right, but it’s what they need. Eventually, though, Sam decides he has to ask.

‘You alright, man?’

Percy brings a hand up to switch on his comm, but he’s silent for a few more seconds. 

‘No.’

‘Do you wanna talk about it?’

Instead of answering, Percy pulls over. Sam takes the cue and gets off the bike so he can see his brother properly. Percy swings his leg over to sit on the seat side-saddle, pulling his helmet off as he goes. He looks into his lap like it holds the secrets of the universe, and he doesn’t like a single one. 

‘I don’t particularly wanna talk about it, but I have to. We have to. I just… it’s hard doing it without her.’

Sam looks over his brother. Percy’s hands are fiddling. And not their usual fiddling– danger fiddling. They’re frantic in their movements, shaky and maybe a little violent as his fingers fly over the straps of his helmet, unable to bear being in one place, like everything burns. His gaze snaps back to the road behind them every few seconds like she might come back any second and yell ‘SURPRISE!’

‘I haven’t been away from her this long for– for a while, and the last time— nothing good ever happens when we…’

Sam frowns. ‘Percy… I get that you miss her, but it’s only been a couple hours. You can do this without her. You know where she is, she’s safe with Dean… when were you last separated?’

Percy shakes his head, eyes flying this way and that. He bounces his leg and twists his hand up in his necklace. ‘Last… I don’t know. Last year sometime?’

‘You mean– you were at the same camp.’ 

Percy shakes his head. ‘On a quest with some others. We got back to camp a few weeks before we met up with you and Dean. But I– I could always see her. I always knew where she was. She was always there.’

‘You know, this might actually be a good thing. You get too used to having each other one step behind, it’s not healthy. Maybe this is your chance to prove to yourself that you’re okay on your own when you need to be, and not…’

‘Codependent?’ Percy suggests dryly. Sam licks his lips, trying to find a softer way to say it. Percy just snorts and shakes his head. ‘We’re well past that point, Sam.’

‘Well… well, we can work on that–’

‘No. No we can’t,’ Percy states matter-of-factly. He presses his palms to his eyes. ‘Our problems aren’t– you can’t–‘ Percy growls in frustration. It almost makes Sam smile, because Percy used to always do that growing up. It’s another little thing about his brother he’d almost forgotten about. Now, though, the sound is deeper, and Sam doesn’t smile. 

Percy’s voice sounds small and scared when he speaks again, and Sam wants to wrap him up in a hug so badly. 

‘I’m scared, Sammy,’ he breathes. ‘I can’t do this anymore. I’m not doing it anymore. I can’t just not tell you, I’ve gotta tell you, I can’t take anymore of this strung-along will-they-won’t-they shit. But I can’t tell Dean. Seriously, I can’t. Everytime I look at him, it’s eating me, but I can’t. I don’t want him to look at me different. And I am different, Sam. I’m different than I was before. Different in ways Dad wouldn’t like. In ways Dean wouldn’t like. I don’t wanna do that to him. I don’t wanna do that to me, to Annie. We don’t like it either, we’re all fucked up and we hate it, and we can’t afford our family to hate us too. So I’m LYING to my BROTHERS. Because that FUCKING PLACE took EVERYTHING FROM US!!’

‘No it didn’t,’ Sam tries in that gentle tone. It comes out weak through his fear. 

‘You sound so fucking sure,’ Percy hiccups, collapsing into himself like a defeated thing. ‘It kills me that you sound so fucking sure.’

‘You’re not the same, I know that,’ Sam admits, his voice coming out a little stronger with his certainty. ‘But you’re still our brother. And you’re still him, Perce, I know you are.’

‘How do you know?’ he croaks resignedly. Sam meets his eyes with his own wide ones, begging his brother to understand what he’s about to say. 

‘I know.’

Percy stiffens, Sam feels it through the hand he has on his brother’s knee. He’s not sure when he crouched down in the dirt, but that’s where he is, looking up at Percy through his fringe, so he gets front row seats as his words travel through Percy’s system and shock it cold. He sees Percy’s green eyes widen with something he hasn’t seen in them for a long time: fear. 

‘How…?’

Now Sam’s throat closes up. He breathes in unsteadily through his nose and reminds himself that he has to be a big brother now. Percy’s scared of telling them that he’s different? Alright then. Sam will go first. 

‘I’m scared to tell Dean about something too, Percy. And Dad. That nightmare I had, the dream vision about the house in Kansas… it wasn’t a one off.’ One more deep breath. Moment of truth. ‘Before Jessica died, I dreamt it. For weeks.’ Come on, Sam. Tell him. ‘Before that… and even more recently… I’ve been having dreams of you.’

Percy is deathly still beneath his hand, and that is terrifying. Percy doesn’t do still. He never has. But now, it’s like he’s turned to stone. Sam forces himself not to show his panic. He keeps his breathing count in his head while he mentally screams and begs that Percy won’t react badly to this. He keeps talking.

‘I got snapshots of things. Pieces of you… fighting gods in the sand. Defending camp. Tending to the wounded.  The battlefield…’ Sam shakes his head, feeling lost as he remembers it. ‘They were so vivid, Perce. Like I was there. Like I was you. The fear, the uncertainty, the… the hell… ’

Percy inhales sharply, and the air seems to get colder all at once. Sam suddenly feels the need to cover his back, but he dares not turn. 

‘Tell me you didn’t see It,’ Percy just barely breathes.

Sam knows what he’s talking about immediately. He swallows, his nails curling into the palms of his hands. 

‘I think… once… just for a moment. I couldn’t remember after.’ But there was an aftertaste that will haunt Sam for the rest of his life. He woke up shaking so badly he could barely make it to the bathroom to throw up. His lungs— he thought they were going to explode. Thinking of it now, Sam feels his lip quiver and his knees weaken, his stomach trying to crawl up his throat to get away. He remembers, distinctly, the frantic need to kill himself. He’d never had it before, but when he woke up from that dream, it was all-consuming. Desperate. Primal. The fact that his heart didn’t stop of its own accord is still a mystery to Sam. 

He had hoped, of course, that it was just a dream– he’d hoped they all were. But he knew that his brain couldn’t have done that to him. It’s not cruel enough. Still, what was he gonna say? That they have to find Percy, he’s in danger, my psyche told me so? That he had a bad dream? He feels infinitely guilty for not looking for his little brother, for not telling anyone any of this, and even worse for being this way in the first place. There is no right thing to do in this situation, because having visions is irrefutably wrong. Sam’s not sure, had he not convinced himself he was just dreaming, that he wouldn’t have shot himself to rid the world of his evil. Save some hunter the trouble of ganking him. 

Sam takes a deep breath. Percy. This is about Percy. 

‘Whatever you’re struggling with… I’m on your side, Perce. I can never really understand what you’ve been through, or… or what you are, but I understand a sight better than Dean. And Dad… well, he’ll have to get through me first. Whatever you’re not telling me… it’s okay. You’re my brother. I will always be here for you.’

Sam feels something wet fall on his hand. He can just make Percy’s glistening eyes out in the dark. Then he’s being tackled back in a hard, muscled hug, a hand that feels too big holding him in by the back of his head. 

‘You too, Sammy,’ comes Percy’s muffled assurance. ‘You got me. We’ll figure it out.’

Sam hugs his brother tighter and thanks Percy’s gods for bringing him back to them.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Dean works the case alone until he’s run out of town. The sheriff (yeah, Dean was ecstatic to see another one of those) gives Annabeth a weird look when he sees her in the car and pauses, like he might change his mind. Dean thinks he might take pity on them– a pretty lady in distress is a hell of a card to have up your sleeve. In the end, though, they get the boot.

‘Yeah, they didn’t bite,’ Dean informs his current working partner.

‘The couple? They were in there?’

‘Yeah. Could really have done with some puppy dog eyes… or your hot-but-immensely-threatening aura, that mighta done it. I was doomed to fail though.’

Annabeth grunts. No sympathy from the peanut gallery. 

‘We should set up close to the orchard,’ she says. ‘In case my plan B falls through.’

‘Plan B, what’s plan B?’

‘I slashed their tyres.’

Dean laughs triumphantly and almost gives her a brotherly slap, which would have likely been the end of him. ‘Nice going, girl!’

Annabeth gives him half a smile. She’s really not looking too hot though. Annabeth’s got a rockin’ tan, so her being as pale as she is now isn’t a good sign. The bags under her eyes seem to have deepened in the time Dean was in the diner. She closes her eyes slowly, as if fighting some invisible thing as she speaks. Even her breaths seem monumental summits to reach. 

‘Hey, uh, you’re not lookin’ too hot, there, cowgirl. Everything alright?’

‘’S just my headache. I’ll take some ambrosia if I need to.’

‘Ambrosia, that’s… that’s the god food, right?’

‘Mhm. Don’t get any ideas, it’d burn you up.’

‘Like the flu? Maybe you took too much, then.’

‘No, like a crisp. You would literally shrivel and die.’

Dean recalculates his plans to maybe steal some of that later. Man, this greek god business could do with some lightening up. It’s all terribly life-or-death.

-~o~-

There’s a girl in the pharmacy. She’s trying to reach something on the highest shelf. There’s no chance she’s reaching it, but she’s giving it her all, giving a waiting chair in the corner increasingly frequent looks like she might drag it over and stand on it. 

Sam doesn’t even have to stretch to get the pack of pads she’s jumping for. She lets out a little yelp and stumbles back a couple steps in surprise. Sam throws his hands up in the universal sign of surrender and hands over the pads. She eyes him for a moment, huffs out a breath, and takes the olive branch. 

‘You scared the shit out of me,’ she chuckles breathlessly.

‘Sorry,’ he huffs. He can’t help his answering smile. Now he has a proper look at her, she’s gorgeous in a natural way; pretty, but also someone you might see at a bar, on the street– or in a pharmacy, he guesses. She’s wearing a raggy crop top that maybe used to say something over the top of long sleeves, revealing a good slice of her stomach, and worn old grey jeans. She has dyed blonde hair chopped into a rough pixie cut and big dark eyes. She’s like a pixie herself, petite and thin. Her smile is beautiful. 

‘My fault, I shoulda been paying attention. I’ve been trying to get these damn pads down for ages, people have walked by, and no one helped. But I guess chivalry isn’t completely dead,’ she allows, eyeing him up and down. He frowns. He can’t believe no one helped. He knows some guys have hang ups about buying pads for girls, but seriously? That’s ridiculous. 

‘What are you doing in this aisle, anyway? You’re not some kinda creep, are you?’ the girl asks with more curiosity than fear. 

‘W– no, I– I just walked by the aisle couple times, you looked like you needed some help, so…’

‘Huh. Well… thank you…’

‘Yeah, no problem. Uh, Sam,’ he offers.

‘Meg,’ she returns with another smile. She tilts her head a bit to read the labels of Sam’s handful of things. ‘That’s a hefty stash of ibuprofen. You sick?’

‘Me? No, uh, it’s my brother. He’s not lookin’ so hot, and he’s my ride, so I sorta need him coherent. Can’t get to Cali without him.’ 

This takes Meg aback. She blinks those big doe eyes at him. ‘No way. Cali? You’re going to Cali?’ She huffs in disbelief and gestures to the duffel bag by her foot. ‘So am I. Don’t suppose you have room in the back for a pretty passenger?’

‘Ah, I’m sorry. It’s a bike. Otherwise we’d take you.’

‘No trouble. Maybe I’ll see you there, huh?’

‘California’s a big place.’

‘You never know,’ she hums teasingly, looking up at him through her lashes with that stunning smile again. Sam tilts his head, intrigued. Meg brushes past him with one last look over her shoulder.

‘See you around, Sam.’

Sam hurries back to his brother, and Meg quickly leaves his mind as it becomes clear that they have much more pressing issues. 

-~o~-

‘There. There!’

Annabeth tries to prop herself up. It’s unreasonably hard. Just beyond the windshield she makes out a shape in the gloom, probably way better than Dean does. She can’t smell much, but she’s certain it’s the couple pulling over by the road, right in front of the orchard. 

Dean opens his mouth, but he doesn’t get to speak before the car mists up all at once. The air coalesces into something familiar, and Percy’s face swims into focus through the mist. An IM.

‘Is this working?’ Sam’s voice comes through. ‘I just speak-? Annabeth, can you hear me?’

‘Loud and clear,’ she croaks out as she scans her boyfriend. He looks as bad as she feels, but Hades, is it good to see him. She sees him light up at the sight of her, his eyes going full and bright and soft, the smile curving up his face. She returns it. I’ve missed you too, Seaweed Brain.

‘Sam? ‘S that you?’ 

‘Dean?’

‘Go, Dean. The couple.’

‘Right. See ya, Sammy. Annabeth…’ he looks her over and decides against finishing his sentence. He just gives her a nod and steps out, racing for the shotgun in the trunk as he goes. 

‘Percy. Are you alright?’ Is the first thing she asks. 

‘That’s why we’re calling,’  Sam answers for him. Annabeth tries to read why in Percy’s eyes, and what he gives her is not encouraging. ‘Dean– is Dean-?’

‘We found the couple, he’s dealing with it, I’ll explain. What’s wrong,’ she demands a little more sharply this time. She’s getting more and more worried at the slight fear in Percy’s eyes. He’s trying to hide it, assure her it’s fine, but it’s there, and she doesn’t like it. 

‘Percy… uh…’

Percy takes over, his hands flying through signs. They haven’t used ASL in a while. All the camp counsellors learned it, though– most of camp did, for the mute, deaf, and traumatised. It started as op signs, signals you could make in the field, but it grew to be part of camp life. 

I can’t speak, Percy signs. He sticks out his tongue and points at it. No work. 

Annabeth’s mind reels. His tongue specifically? Why? Hers is fine, in fact, she’s been using it plenty on the ride over. If it’s not stuck into her cheek, she’s talking, or running it over her teeth, or licking over her old split lip. It’s one of the only parts of her she can say she’s been using, it’s the rest of her that feels unresponsive. Her fucking legs are like concrete. Her arms feel heavy and far away. 

‘-just stopped working,’ Sam is saying. ‘He can’t move his tongue at all. The rest of him’s fine. I mean, I don’t know– is this a demigod thing? A- a curse?’

‘You’ve been on the bike, haven’t you?’ she clarifies. ‘Riding? Your legs and arms, they work?’ Percy nods. ‘And the rest of you? You’ve had headaches, stomachaches— everything aches?’ More nodding. 

Annabeth huffs. She opens her mouth to explain her thoughts, but she stops, remembering Sam. 

‘Sam, could you give us a minute?’

He stay, Percy signs. If you agree. 

Annabeth’s eyebrows shoot up. She gives Percy a questioning look, but he meets it with certainty. He’s serious. Something must have happened. 

She thinks about it. Is she okay with it? …Yes, she is. If Percy wants his brother to know, then so does she. She settles her assessing gaze on Sam, silently letting him know not to take their trust lightly. Then she speaks to Percy.

‘I’ve been using my tongue to talk, but I’ve been in the car the whole time. You’ve been using the muscles in your arms and legs to ride. Mine have seized up. I’m not sure I can move them, but if I can, I want to save it as a backup plan.’ 

‘What?’ Sam baulks. ‘You– you can’t move?’

You okay?? Percy signs frantically.

‘I’m fine,’ she forces out, ‘but I want you to come back. That’s it, Perce, I know it is. We can’t be apart anymore.’

Percy nods like he knew this. He probably did. Sam, however, looks like he’s been punched in the chest. 

‘Are you serious? These are physical consequences of separation? So… it is a curse?’

Percy turns to his brother and makes the sign for ‘end’. It’s the closest ASL has to consequence, result, outcome, or repercussion.

‘We’re still figuring it out ourselves,’ Annabeth explains for Sam’s benefit. ‘This is useful information, we had to figure it out sometime. It seems to be the distance that’s doing it. It’s probably a function of distance and time apart, actually. Maybe we could do some tests, figure out the exact graph, or at least a ball park estimate…’

‘So if you didn’t know this would happen, why aren’t you more surprised?’ Sam asks curiously. Annabeth exchanges a look with Percy.

‘We knew to some degree that we were inseparable, in a physical, quantifiable way. There have been other… consequences,’ Annabeth makes the sign Percy used.

‘Like what, you can read each other’s minds? You feel each other’s pain? What?’

‘We’re not having this discussion now. Dean will be back soon. We’ve nearly got this job wrapped up. Start making your way back, and we’ll try to meet you in the middle. We’re in Burkitsville. I’ll try not to move in case it has an effect on Percy’s motor skills.’

Percy’s face lights up, and she rolls her eyes. Sam frowns, looking between them for what he missed. 

‘Motor skills,’ she explains with an exasperated sigh. ‘He thinks it’s a funny double entendre. Just get back here so we can make a new plan. I can’t back Dean up in this state.’ And she doesn’t like being in it. If she thinks about it too hard, her brain can only conjure up too many scenarios where she was restrained like this. Unable to move under the weight of the sky. Chained. Poisoned. Broken. Really, she has her pick of traumatic memories for this to unearth, and on the job, she can’t afford that. Dean’s life depends on it. 

‘Alright. We’re coming back. Burkitsville.’ 

‘Burkitsville. See you soon.’

The couple are fine. They get the hell out of Dodge the second they make their car. Dean reports that the rock salt rounds did nothing to slow the thing down, and they barely made it out of the orchard alive. Annabeth curses her inability to help. Dean clearly doesn’t even think to blame her– he wouldn’t be able to hide a grudge if his life depended on it– but it’s frustrating nonetheless. 

‘Percy and Sam are coming back.’

Dean’s head whips around to stare at her so fast she hears it crack. He was clearly trying not to show it, but he was devastated that Sam hung up before he got back. Now he cracks a smug grin and cackles. 

‘So, they finally saw the light, huh? Got their heads out of their asses and apologised?’

‘No,’ Annabeth informs him. ‘Percy’s sick.’

Dean’s whole demeanour does a 180 in a second. ‘Sick? Sick how, whaddyou mean, sick?’

‘I need to see him. You can argue ‘til the cows come home when they get back. We wrap this case up quick, we can meet them halfway.’ Now here’s the hard part. Annabeth braces herself. ‘I am also… out of commission.’

‘Yeah, I’ve noticed that. Your headache really knockin’ you around that much?’

‘It’s not just a headache, Dean,’ she grits out reluctantly. ‘I can’t move.’

Dean stops what he’s doing and looks over, frowning. ‘What do you mean, you can’t move?’

‘My limbs, specifically. They’ve locked up. They’re not responding.’

‘What…’ his eyes widen comically, his whole body swaying with the revelation that she hasn’t just been sitting in the car out of laziness. ‘ What, are you serious?! You– Jesus! We gotta– we gotta get you to a hospital. There’s gotta be one between this town and the next. There’s gotta be–’

‘Dean.’

‘--Do you have your papers? They’ll ask for those. Shit, you really can’t move?? What the fuck, Beth, why didn’t you tell me?? Why are you so calm–’

‘Dean, you need to calm down.’

‘Fuck you, I need to calm down, YOU need to calm down! How the fuck–’

‘DEAN!’ He snaps to attention. ‘Percy and Sam are on their way. I’m confident this is temporary, and if it’s not, we will deal with it together. For now, we have one job, and we need to focus on it, or people are going to die. Now, there’s a community college in town. That’s our best bet for information. You go down there in the morning and look for anything on pagan gods, sacrificial rituals, particularly local ones.’

Dean straightens. ‘You think it’s a god?’

‘A minor one. Pagan, I suspect. It’s always a couple, right?’

‘Yeah. That last one, they were fattenin’ ‘em up like a Christmas turkey.’

‘Right. This is one of the only towns in the area that thrives, seemingly without explanation, every single year. A man and a woman, that’s–’

‘A fertility thing,’ he finishes. Annabeth nods. 

Dean nods, muttering to himself and nodding. He leans forward, putting his hands on his knees. 

‘And you can’t fucking walk!’

‘Dean! Focus!’ 

‘Okay, I’m focussing!’

They hunker down in the Impala for the night. Well, Dean hunkers down, shooting worried glances at Annabeth until she snaps at him again. Annabeth stays up, taking shift. Percy’s not around to relieve her, so she doesn’t sleep at all. She stays there, immobile, all night. It’s not ideal. It gives her far too much time to suffer.

The part of her brain that always sounds like Percy is screaming faintly, ripped away, raw and open like a wound. She can feel it beginning to fester, crying out for an integral part that just isn’t there anymore. There’s a resounding hollowness, just a gaping void where there should be responding muscles and familiar sinew. She feels like she’s missing her limbs, and half of her brain along with them. 

Having said that, she knows Sam and Percy are getting closer. She can feel it. Breathing is still fucking hard, but it’s stopped getting steadily worse. If she focuses, very, very faintly, she can feel the Percy part of her screaming back.

In the morning, she begs Dean for a cigarette. She can’t tell if he’s more surprised that she smokes, or that she wants him to go through her shit to find a pack. 

‘Good morning to you too, princess,’ Dean grunts. ‘Helluva breakfast.’

‘Can it,’ she growls. ‘You quit, right? I’m sorry. I can wait ‘til you get to the college.’

‘No you can’t. But you’re not smokin’ in my car.’

‘I can’t get out of the car.’

Dean pauses like he hadn’t thought of that. Drums the steering wheel and makes a thoughtful noise with his cheek. ‘I’ll get you out.’

‘Don’t be stupid. I’m unresponsive. Literally, ragdoll. I can’t help.’

‘It’s fine, okay? We’ll figure it out. You’ll get your smoke.’

Annabeth bites down an argument. Percy wasn’t kidding; his big brother’s as stubborn as her. 

‘College first,’ she insists. That, he allows. 

Dean peels off the curb and heads right back into the town that ran him out yesterday, still drumming his fingers. He’s rather bright in the mornings. Annabeth’s just glad the endless night is over. 

‘So, a smoker, huh?’ She watches him cringe at himself. ‘Percy ain’t gonna like that.’

Annabeth can’t help it. She snorts. She’s too tired to catch herself before she makes the noise.

‘He knows, doesn’t he?’ Dean says flatly. Her face answers that. ‘’Course he does.’

‘He doesn’t like it, but he knows why I do it.’

‘That one’s pretty self-explanatory, Annabeth. I ain’t judgin’.’

‘No, I…’ Annabeth smiles and licks over her teeth, trying to think of how to explain it. ‘I was stuck somewhere where the air quality was… hellish, for a while. My lungs are well and truly fucked. They need re-fucking, every now and then.’

Dean raises an eyebrow. ‘That the medical term?’

‘There is no medical term,’ she hums. ‘No one’s ever made it out of that place alive before.’

Dean looks over at her seriously. He reads her face, and she lets him. 

‘Noted,’ is all he says. 

Dean does make good on his promise to drag her out of the car himself. It is every bit as awkward as it sounds. He tries, like, three different ways of grabbing her to pick her up before he picks one that’ll work– the one Annabeth would’ve deemed the least effective. He somehow gets her foot stuck under the dash and they spend like fifteen minutes trying to reangle and free her. There is an endless stream of grunts, snaps, growls, swears, and huffs before it’s over. 

‘Jesus, what are they feedin’ you?!’

‘Gas station cheetos!’

‘You don’t weigh like a gas station cheeto!’

‘Then leave me in the car!’

‘You are not smoking in my- OW!’

‘Aw, did you hurt your poor toesies?’

‘Shut it!’

‘That’s my hair, ντουμπάς!’

‘Well why do you have so much of it?!’

‘Percy won’t let me cut it. Do not grab me there, I will–’

‘I will drop you right now, I swear to god.’

‘Try it.’

‘You’re not my girlfriend, I don’t have to–’

And on it went. But finally, finally, he has Annabeth leaned up against a sturdy old tree with a lit cigarette in her mouth and a dry look on her face. 

‘Better?’

‘ βάλλ' εις κόρακας.’

Dean blows her a kiss as he goes. Oh, yeah, he’s crushing this brother-in-law thing. 

-~o~-

Dean is so bombing this brother-in-law thing. Like, he sucks. First Annabeth loses the use of her limbs on his watch, then he helps her smoke (which Percy will hate him for if he ever finds out), then he gets himself knocked out, and her tied up with him as a sacrifice to some pagan shithead with a stick up its ass. Rockin’ start, Dean!

‘Hope your apple pie is freakin’ WORTH IT!’ Dean snaps at Scotty as the man’s leaving with his brigade of concerned citizens. He’s so busy trying to kick the nearest person that he misses Annabeth’s moment of glory. Because even completely paralyzed from the neck down, she’s gotta get hers.

The woman who served Dean tea when he first came through screams. She’s covering Annabeth, and Dean can’t see what’s happening, but she’s screaming blue murder. Like, non-stop. There’s a wet sound loud enough to be heard even through that as she stumbles back. Dean starts as he sees Annabeth now covered in something dark and glistening. Her face shines with it, and it dribbles down her chin, tangling in her hair as it falls in her face. She spits out a chunk of something. Dean is hit with the overwhelming scent of copper. 

‘Stacey!’ The woman’s husband cries, rushing forward to hold her. She stumbles, making more aborted cries. His hands fumble to cover the wound and he shoots a horrified look at Annabeth. ‘You animal!’

Annabeth looks demonic, spitting back at them in ancient greek, blood coating her mouth and hair shading her eyes, glistening silver like a wolf’s in the dark. She bares her teeth and growls, and Dean’s blood runs cold. 

‘What are you?!’ Stacey screams. Annabeth’s gaze snaps to her, and the woman falls back on her ass, scrambling off into the mist. Her husband shoots one look behind and follows her. One by one, the others scram, too.

Annabeth spits yet another gob of blood onto the ground. Then she leans her head back to thump lightly against the tree behind her. Dean swallows.

‘I don’t bite brothers-in-law,’ she assures him dryly. ‘I can hear your heart going from here. Besides, I can’t move, remember? Whatever you’re worried about, don’t be.’

‘...Worried about bein’ put out like cookies for Santa,’ Dean deflects. He clears his throat and tries to make his voice come out stronger. Despite himself, he cracks a hesitant smile. ‘That was pretty awesome.’

A surprised pause. 

‘...Really?’

‘Totally. That bitch didn’t even serve pie. All this fuss for a town, and they don’t even serve pie! She was askin’ for it.’

Annabeth snorts. Dean mentally pats himself on the back for not fucking that up completely. Then he remembers they’re tied up to be sacrificed, and Annabeth can’t move any of her limbs. 

‘Don’t suppose you have a plan?’ Dean asks hopefully.

‘I’m working on it,’ she replies. Eh, he’ll take it. 

…

Except an hour and a half later, she’s still working on it.

‘I thought the blood would attract it,’ she huffs, annoyed. Dean does a verbal double take.

‘What the hell would that solve??’

‘It might’ve taken a shot at a weaker target. They were all geriatrics, I hoped it’d show up and take a couple of them.’

‘Well, he didn’t.’

‘Look, if you don’t have a better plan, will you stop distracting me?’

‘Dist– from thinking?’

‘That. And working on my rope.’

Dean leans over as far as he can and manages to get a look at what she’s doing. Her teeth glint enough in the dark for him to see that she’s trying to gnaw through her rope.

‘What’re you looking at me for?’ She glances over and does an actual double take. ‘You haven’t been working on yours?!’

‘...No!’

Annabeth makes a truly put upon sound. Dean shuffles indignantly, but after a moment he twists to start biting into his own rope. 

A few moments later, though, he stops. Something’s rustling. Multiple things. From behind him, there are footsteps. From his side, near Annabeth, there’s rustling. He squints in her direction. Her eyes snap open wide. Her breaths get heavy quick until she’s gasping for air, heaving in place. Her body suddenly moves again, crunches violently like it’s taking blows, keeling into itself. 

‘Annabeth! ANNABETH! What is it, what’s wrong?!’

‘He’s here,’ comes the responding raspy squawk. Quiet. Inhuman. 

Before Dean can parse that, a lot of things happen at once. The footsteps become louder, deafening, like something the size of a tank is scrambling desperately forth. It pushes into view all at once, and Dean only has time to understand that it’s a person before it’s slamming into Annabeth at full speed. 

Chapter Text

Annabeth’s tree shakes. Dean hears her ropes snap.

Two guttural noises spear through the night, tearing up from the source point. They blend into something throaty and raucous. Dean catches movement— instinctive, feral— flashes of black and blonde hair, limbs snapping out and hands seizing, muscles writhing like snakes under changeable skin that makes his vision swim. He can’t even parse it, probably couldn’t even through his fear for Annabeth. He screams her name once, twice, bucking like a wild thing against his restraints. Whoever slammed into her dragged her just out of sight. 

The howl breaks, and then it’s terrifyingly quiet. There’s more shuffling. Heavy breathing that stirs up the leaves around them and chills Dean to his bones. Suddenly, he remembers to be afraid for himself, too. 

Finally, there is an endlessly satisfied sigh. It’s not quite animal, not quite human. Dean watches the great shadow before him unfurl with slow relish into something massive. He can’t say how much of it is the moonlight playing tricks, but the thing looks big.

Sam takes one look at how things are going and comes to some split-second conclusions. 

I’m different than I was before. In ways Dad wouldn’t like. 

I can’t tell Dean. 

We can’t afford for our family to hate us too. 

Sam can see it all happening so clearly: Dean turning, seeing a monster, and shooting it. His body moves in protest of that eventuality before he lets it. He lunges forward and quickly pistol-whips his big brother unconscious. Dean slumps against his ropes, out cold. 

Sam immediately feels terrible. Not only has he just done that, which he’s not willing to address right now, he’s now out here on his own with a vulnerable Dean and no idea what he’s dealing with. Annabeth never said what they were hunting. And then there’s… whatever he’s looking at. Sam keeps his gun half-mast, unsure whether or not to raise it. 

‘Percy…?’ he calls uncertainly. 

Nothing.

Oh, god. He’s completely misjudged this, hasn’t he? They’re in danger, and Sam’s just knocked Dean out. Jesus, he is such an idiot, and now they’re all screwed—

‘Sam?’ 

Sam’s head flicks up, the gun reflexively lowering. That’s his brother. He can’t see him or Annabeth in the dark, but that’s definitely his voice. There’s an unfamiliar element to it, though. There’s a second dimension to it, like another current running parallel through it, blending it, shifting it. It’s still one voice, but it feels two-toned. The second tone feels familiar too. It’s hard to say with them so intertwined. It rumbles right through the ground beneath Sam’s feet.

The next moments Sam doesn’t process fast enough to participate in. In the same second he realises the presence standing behind him, the one in front of him moves. Sam drops like a sack of potatoes as the two of them clash where he was a second ago. The impact rattles his teeth in his skull just by proxy. 

He scrambles back on his elbows, putting distance between himself and the clash. The visual barely gives him any more information than he had before. Beams of moonlight struggling through the scraggly limbs of dead trees throw the violence into sharp slices of light and dark. From what Sam can tell, one of the contenders is roughly the size of Sam himself. The other one is twice the size of that. A real monster. Sam is starkly reminded of the image of Frankenstein’s creature. 

The figures grapple, hands clasped. There are too many arms for the two of them… the smaller figure doesn’t stand up to the barrage. The bigger one pushes it back the way it came, its heels uprooting the ground as it’s forced back. There’s so much force in it, Sam feels his knees weaken in the face of it. There is no ease in the contest— it’s still a fight, not a massacre— but the big one doesn’t give an inch. It throws itself at the other so violently the thing has no time to even regain its balance. Back and back and back, until things get dire. 

There’s a huge stake stabbed into the ground on the far end of the orchard. A tall black cross, decorated with limp rope like something was strung up there once. Once the altercation approaches that monument, it intensifies. The little one seems determined not to return to what must have been it’s post, and its fighting grows more desperate accordingly. The big one corners it ruthlessly, like an animal, bearing down with all its weight. 

It’s a brutal thing to watch. The little one never gives, but the ground does, failing beneath its feet. The big one crushes downward, seizing every advantage of size and forcing it further into the ground. It sinks in down to its ankles, then its knees, its waist. The big one crouches down to buckle it finally into earth up to its neck. The smaller thing scrambles, flailing, clawing at the earth around it in a final bid to survive. The big one climbs back up to its full, enormous size. It doesn’t take a moment to recover, moving instead to grab the stake in its mighty fists. Four of them, Sam realizes. 

In one great tug, the creature yanks the entire ageless thing from the earth, spraying dirt everywhere and leaving a gouge in the ground like a bullet wound. It hefts the stake up and returns in one stride to its victim, still silently scrabbling in the dirt. Sam realises what’s going to happen a second before it does. Still, he’s not ready when the greater behemoth angles the stake right above the head of the struggling loser, centres it, and drives it down in one strong motion. All that strength goes through the little one like a knife through butter, splitting its stitched-together skull and burrowing right through its body and into the dirt. Its hands stop flailing, falling limp against the ground. The sound of the stake ripping through it echoes in Sam’s ears even as the orchard goes silent. 

The victor stands alone. It jerks its head to the side, as if flicking the hair out of its face. It takes a few even breaths, and its massive shoulders settle. God, the size of it! It looks like a man, but Sam’s never even heard of a man this big. It's the size of two.

Sam’s hands raise again, gun at the ready. He tries to keep his breath even. He reminds himself exactly where Dean is and readies himself for whatever comes next. 

‘Percy?’ he tries again. 

‘Yeah, Sam.’ That voice. Percy’s voice, but more than Percy’s voice. It’s the creature’s. Sam’s knuckles whiten around the gun. 

The Percy-creature turns, slow, all four hands out so Sam can see them. It’s all very deliberate, and Sam somehow still has the wherewithal to be inwardly appreciative of its (his?) good manners.

‘What’s Percy’s favourite kind of cake?’ Sam asks. His voice comes out wobbly and nervous. Honestly, he’s impressed with himself for getting a full coherent sentence out. 

‘Blue birthday cake,’ comes the rumbling reply.

Sam’s knees nearly give out. The last wall he could’ve held against this thing being his brother crumbles like so much chalk. His hands lower the gun even as the rest of his body seems to seize up in shock and denial. He stares, gaping, at the impossible.

What is he looking at right now?

‘Percy,’ he huffs breathlessly, gun hand coming up to press against his temple, as if exerting some amount of pressure against his brain will wake him up from this bizarre dream. ‘Percy, what the shit… what …’ His other hand comes up, and he ends up doing this weird arms-over-head thing just to bring himself back down to earth. He squeezes his eyes shut once, but he opens them, and not-Percy is still there. Some lost, guttural sound comes out of his throat. He tries to compartmentalize this, tries to remind himself of what’s important right now in this moment. ‘Are you okay?’

‘We– yeah, we’re okay. You?’

‘Fine,’ Sam breathes out. He does not sound fine. He takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders. Get it together, big brother. Come on.

‘I told you we were different,’ Not Percy tries, and the tone of it is entirely Percy. Sam takes another sharp breath in. 

‘Yeah, you did say that,’ he agrees dryly. He takes a few steps forward, somewhere between cautious and casual. That’s his brother, he’s sure of it, but… ‘Annabeth, where’d she go? Did you see?’

‘Yes, we’re fine,’ Percy repeats. ‘We’ll explain… uh, we gotta torch a tree first, though.’

They do that. It takes everything in Sam’s power not to lose his shit through the process. His brain has stalled– he’s not even trying to figure it out anymore, he’s just going through motions automatically and repeating a mantra of everything’s fine in his head. Nothing changes– Percy stays the way he is, and Sam still can’t make him out in the dark. Annabeth doesn’t reappear. Dean’s still out cold, and likely will be for long enough to have a much-needed conversation. They stretch him out in the back of the Impala– an easier task with six arms than with two– and they close the door on him so the adults can talk. 

It’s the strangest thing– this Percy doesn’t look like Percy, but Sam just knows that he is. The way he moves, the cadence of his voice, everything about him is as familiar as his appearance is new. He moves his unnatural body so naturally, like he’s been doing it all his life, and it’s such a foreign and at once familiar thing to Sam’s brain that he almost feels physically ill at the paradox of it. Humans just aren’t meant to have four arms– nothing is. There’s an uncanny valley element to it that makes Sam’s head swim and relegates him to taking deep breaths in through his nose and out through his mouth to stay calm.

Percy seems to understand this. He moves slowly for Sam’s benefit, telegraphing all of his movements. Sam trusts him, that’s not the problem– he’s all too happy to let him carry Dean, because he is sure this is Percy– but there’s just a lot of new input happening right now that Sam’s trying to parse. And what’s driving him nuts is that he still doesn’t know why. 

As soon as they close the door on Dean, Sam falls back against it like a deflated balloon and pulls his hands down his face. 

‘Percy you gotta tell me what’s going on. Now, please.’

‘Yeah, uh, yeah,’ he hums. He looks behind him and takes a couple steps back to sit against his bike, which he now makes look a reasonable size. He clasps two of his hands in his lap and settles the other two beside him on the seat. Percy tilts his head back into the light, and Sam can finally see him. 

His face is framed by long curtains of hair that are an odd mix of light and dark. He flicks it out of his face again to give Sam a view of a long Roman nose, slightly crooked from old breaks, and characteristically split with scars. Two eyes just above where a regular person’s would be, and two just beneath, each set shaped around the other to fit into a face that’s mind-bendingly longer than a regular man’s. Sam can’t make out any colours in the dark, but he’s sure Percy’s skin isn’t just one shade. It’s hard to tell through the scars anyway. All in all, he's beyond creepy.

Percy’s body is deformed around the second set of arms. Sam recognizes the upper arms and chest area as his brother, but now he looks, there’s a second chest underneath that supporting the second set of arms, and the front part bulges like a woman’s against Percy’s suddenly far too tight shirt. The second set of arms is smaller– just as well-muscled, but naturally lesser, which emphasises the secondary torso’s resemblance to a woman. Percy’s thighs are huge, which Sam probably only associates with femininity because of Annabeth, but if he looks, he can’t say the waist-hip part of Percy isn’t rather feminine. Or masculine, for that matter. He’s built like an athletic freight train, in a way that somehow recalls both Percy and Annabeth.

Honestly, Sam wasn’t far off with the Frankenstein comparison. 

‘We can’t be apart, you saw what happened,’ Percy begins in that impossible dual-strain of voice. That’s not strictly masculine or feminine either. ‘We didn’t know this would happen, though. It’s only happened one other time. We have some theories, but we’re not really sure why it happens.’ 

‘Wait, wait, this— Annabeth knows? This has happened before?’

Percy purses his lips, all four eyes trained on Sam. They widen a little. Then Percy looks away as if for help, which is horrible to see, because two of his eyes look one way and two look the other. When he looks back at Sam, it’s with that wide, baby-seal look that got him through as the baby Winchester. Imploring. And calculating, too. 

‘We– we are Annabeth, Sam. And Percy. We… we’re both.’

Both. 

Annabeth’s thighs. Percy’s nose. Two tones of voice. Two hair colours, two skin colours. Two chests, a man and a woman’s. Like the two just… blended together. Like a goddamn Crystal Gem. 

‘We have some theories,’ P– he– they continue. ‘In Greek myth, there was a time when humans were merged; four arms, two faces– one mind. The gods feared the power of these creatures, though, and split them all in two. It’s the idea behind soulmates, supposedly you’re only half of yourself until you find your other half.’

Sam makes a weak sound, trying to comprehend this, attach the idea to his baby brother. ‘But… There are other demigods. At camp. They don’t ever fall in love? F-find each other?’

‘That…’ They sigh. One set of eyes fall to a middle point somewhere around Sam’s knees, and the other looks off to the side. ‘We’ve been exposed to more than the average demigod. Ancient environments that bring out– that change you. That exposure has had long-term effects. Maybe we… regressed, into something of a primal enough nature to recall that time, and echo it. Maybe it’s not that at all, maybe it’s a mistake. It doesn’t feel like a mistake, though. We don’t know, Sam. This has never happened to anyone before. We truly don’t know.’

Sam looks at his brother and sister-in-law, one great monstrous thing now, and something inside of him gives. It wells up all of a sudden, so fast, like a great wave of grief as the reality of it crashes down on him. 

Has he lost his little brother?

Their face falls in response, and they make an aborted movement to reach out, just like Percy would. The baby seal eyes are back. 

‘Hey, hey, it’s alright, it doesn’t hurt or anything. We’re fine, Sammy. Or– we will be, as long as you are. But you can– you can take your time with that.’

Something that’s half-sob, half-laugh launches out of Sam, and he sucks the echo of it back down, feeling sick. That’s Percy, isn’t it, just trying to make it better for Sam no matter what his own situation is. How cruel is it that that’s Percy, but it isn’t really him anymore? Sam puts his head in his hands. 

‘Percy,’ he hears himself huff, and the sound of that makes it all the sadder, since he can’t even call him that anymore. Them. Fuck. 

‘Hey, listen, you gotta talk to us, man. We can’t help if you don’t talk to us. Can you think out loud for us, so we’re following along?’

‘Can you go back?’ Sam blurts. ‘You said this happened before. So you managed to go back to your regular selves. Can you do it again?’ 

‘Ah,’ they grimace apologetically. ‘We don’t actually know how we did that. We just slept it off, woke up in two pieces. We don’t know what triggers it yet either, although this whole stunt gives us some more information.’ 

‘Well what triggered it last time?’

They mumble something, looking up and sideways. 

‘What?’

Then suddenly all four eyes shift to meet Sam’s gaze, half in challenge, half in exasperation, and it’s such an Annabeth thing that Sam’s brain stalls. ‘Sex,’ they announce bluntly. 

‘Oh,’ Sam says weakly. Right. Naturally. ‘Okay, so… so maybe don’t do that anymore.’

‘Why?’

Sam does a double take. ‘W-what do you mean why?!’

They shake their head, casting around for the right words. ‘Being like this is… we can’t explain it to you, Sam. But it’s so right. This is how we’re supposed to be. Obviously it’s not the most convenient form to take, and we’ll have to be practical about it, but this is something to adapt to, not cut out entirely. We can’t just not be this way.’ They pause, and they do that open-close mouth thing Percy always did when he wasn’t sure of what he was about to say. ‘We’re not afraid of it. We know it’s a shock, but… we hoped you could learn not to be afraid of it, too.’

Another broken-off sound staggers out of Sam’s throat, this one more disbelieving and borderline hysterical than anything. ‘You’ve lost the ability to be a whole person by yourself. Christ, Percy, you can’t even leave each other’s sides without losing function of your body, and now-' he gestures helplessly at the being before him. 'That doesn’t bother you?!’

They’re already shaking their head. ‘We don’t feel like half a person. That goes for when we’re together, and when we’re together. We feel like we’re finally whole. This is how it's supposed to be.’

‘Just,’ Sam presses his palms into his eye sockets, trying to force sense into this picture, trying to settle it into his skin like Percy wants. ‘Just tell me you’re still Percy. Tell me– tell me I haven’t lost my little brother.’ 

The creak of the bike’s seat says they’ve finally given in to the urge to get up and come closer. Sam looks up to find them a hovering close, unsure if they’re welcome any closer. They’re so big they blot out the moon, so monstrous they chill Sam’s blood. Every twitch of their hands sends alarm bells of wrong through Sam's brain. But when they speak, their voice is gentle, and so, so familiar.

‘We are still Percy, Sam. We promise. And we’re not going anywhere.’

Before he can chicken out of it, Sam surges forward, against every instinct, into their arms. It only takes half a moment for them to get over their surprise and hug him back. The bigger set of arms wrap around his shoulders (it’s strange for Percy to be the big one, but it makes sense if they’re two people in one body) and the smaller set come around under his arms. They smell like sweat, gunpowder, dry paper, and the ocean. Always the ocean. Their hands spread out wide against Sam’s back just like Percy’s always do when giving hugs, like he’s trying to impress himself upon Sam and Sam upon him in a lasting way. Percy always gave the best hugs. As absurd as the situation is, Sam can’t help but think that their hugs will be twice as good now, once his heart gets the memo that it isn't facing down the scariest monster he's ever seen. Especially since Sam’s the little one. Sam never gets to be the little one. 

They sit there and breathe each other in for entirely too long, but dammit, it’s warranted. The longer they stay there, the more Sam's fear seeps out of him. As long as Dean doesn’t choose this exact moment to wake up, Sam will stand by the exercise. 

‘...Sam?’ They finally break the silence. Sam barely hears them, buried as he is in their hug. 

‘Yeah?’

‘We’re not telling Dean, right?’

‘Oh my god, no.’

Chapter Text

Percy and Annabeth’s shirts are both ripped beyond repair, so they end up having to sort of wrap Percy’s around their second chest like a bandage. They’re kinda bummed about it, but not surprised. They’ve resigned themselves to losing a few shirts in the line of duty. Luckily, by some miracle, Annabeth’s pants still fit. Well, fit might be a strong word (moving is painful in these things and there are some sizable rips in the seams) but their ass is still secure, and that’s what matters. Otherwise that whole ‘we-are-your-brother’ conversation would’ve been way more awkward. They have to be relatively humanoid to fit into the clothes, though, so it’s doing a good job reigning their more monstrous nature in. They’re not sure how Sam is seeing them, but they suspect it’s much more human-adjacent than they feel they probably are. There’s enough unbridled horror in Sam’s eyes to tell them it ain’t pretty, though. That hurts a little, but they can’t hold it against him. They’re nevertheless touched to see him swallow all of this with as much consideration as he can conjure.

Sam doesn’t seem to have the energy to run around looking for a motel tonight. The next town isn’t for a long stretch, anyway. They put some distance between them and the harvest god, and then they pull over by the side of the road. 

The sun’s peeking up over the horizon as Sam drags himself out of the Impala. Dean’s still dead to the world. Sam must have been pretty panicked to knock him out this bad, they’ll have to check for a concussion. 

Percy and Annabeth settle down in the grass with their back against the bike. Their lower set of hands automatically start pulling at the grass, while their higher ones fiddle with their camp necklaces. They’re wearing both of them. Twice as much to fiddle with. 

Sam pretty much collapses against the Impala across from them. The poor guy looks absolutely exhausted, the bags under his eyes resembling darkened chasms. Sam doesn’t hide his fear particularly well, either– not from them. He’s having trouble looking at them, and he keeps taking silent, fortifying little breaths that he probably thinks they can’t see. His hair is an uncharacteristic mess from their hug earlier, but he makes no move to fix it. He might not even know. The orange of the sunrise flares through it, burnishing the side of his face in gold. It softens him, even as Sam is clearly trying not to let it. He seems to be channeling all of Dean’s big brother bravado to the best of his ability. The cracks in it steadily grow into spiderweb fissures as they watch.

‘How did this happen, Percy? Or…’ Sam casts around helplessly for the right words as he realises he has no idea what to call them now. ‘...How does this happen? Dean keeps telling me to leave it, but you know even he’d want some answers if he knew about this. What the hell happened? Was it– was it a quest? A– a curse? What? ’

Quiet falls. It stretches between them, heavy as the sky. 

‘It was that place, wasn’t it?’ Sam finally says, voice afraid. Their eyes snap up to stare at him, chests seizing. Sam said he didn’t remember. If any holy thing does exist with a modicum of goodness, don’t let him remember. 

They force themself to calm down. They won’t get through this in a panic. They shouldn’t even be saying this much, not without telling Dean as well. The last thing they need is to divide their brothers. They also just really, really can’t talk about it. 

‘It was,’ is what they finally say. 

Sam eyes them, brow creased and face pained. They’re afraid he’ll chase the topic, but he doesn’t. Instead he sniffs loudly, rubs his eyes, slaps himself lightly once, and adopts his game face. 

‘Okay. You hit the road. Head East, we’ll catch up. I’ll tell Dean… something.’

They suck in a relieved breath. ‘He saw us– uh, Annabeth, seize up. Not sure what else.’

‘I’ll say it was the scarecrow god. It was affecting you guys, its sacrifices, somehow. Annabeth’s reaction was physical, Dean passed out. Or something.’

‘Call us with the details. We can’t be caught out with our story.’ They worry their lip, looking away. ‘We want to tell him, it’s just…’

‘....Yeah,’ Sam agrees. 

When Percy-and-Annabeth disappear down the road, Sam has a full-blown breakdown. He stumbles to the centre of the field they’re parked by and screams. He goes back and hits Baby’s hood, kicks her tyres, hangs his head and sobs. He won’t get a chance to once Dean wakes up, and no one’s around, so there’s nothing stopping him. 

When Dean does wake up, he’s too concussed to notice the puffy red of Sam’s cheeks or the hoarseness of his voice. First he’s pissed that he was knocked out, then worried for Percy and Annabeth, then pissed off again. Sam barely registers any of it. He gives Dean the cover story, assures him Percy and Annabeth just went on ahead after one of their monsters and will meet up with them soon (with the full use of their extremities). Sam is mildly surprised when Dean expresses equal concern for Percy and Annabeth, but he’s too out of it himself to really think on it. He busies himself with testing his brother’s cognition and senses, and then sitting on the bastard until he agrees to follow concussion procedure.

The next few days pass in a miserable blur. Sam feels haunted in a way he never has by any other monster. Knowing the thing he let go is out there, wearing his brother’s bones, is enough to set him shaking whenever the thought creeps back and breathes ice down his neck. He’s terrified of that thing, and he feels horrible about feeling terrified because that’s his brother, and holy shit that’s his brother. He doesn’t sleep a wink, the little rest he does get infected by visions of too many eyes staring back at him and laughing coldly in his suddenly unfamiliar brother’s voice.

The thought of Dean ever finding out might honestly be worse. That’s a horrible thing to realise, but he can’t deny it. The cold wave of horror that floods his body every time the reality of the situation dawns on him again won’t let him. 

A tiny fraction of Sam had survived his attempts to purge the hope that Dean would accept his freaky dreams. He couldn’t help but think that maybe, if Dad stayed gone and Sam stuck around long enough to remind Dean what it meant to have a brother… maybe he could get Dean to come around. That fraction is most assuredly dead now. Dean will never accept this. The more Sam thinks about it, the more sure he becomes. Sam has picked his side, and he might be wrong for it, but he’s picked. If Percy is damned, then so is he. 

To think, Percy and Annabeth were here just last week, sitting in Dean’s passenger seat and throwing french fries at him, knowing he would probably kill them if he knew. Sam and Dean have been sleeping right across the hall from a monster— God, what if they’d caught them when they were combined?! Fuck! Sam can’t even imagine how Percy’s been taking that…

Thinking of Percy and Annabeth kicks up a confused blend of emotions in Sam; fear for them, fear of them, guilt, worry, anger, and about a million other things that make him sick to his stomach. Thinking of Dean isn’t much better. Sam looks at his brother and recognizes him with all the familiar love and exasperation he always has, only for images of Dean shooting their other brother to surface. Sam’s never been afraid of Dean before. It shakes him to the core. And lying to him feels disgusting.

 But what else can Sam do? Percy needs his help. To save one brother, he has to betray another. God… how long can this last? How long until something gives? And how are they gonna make it til then?

Sam just thanks Percy’s gods that Dean doesn’t remember much before he passed out. He tells Dean to give the couple their space, as if the both of them don’t need it just as much. Sam’s got a whole lot to think about now, and Dean’s still chewing through this demigod stuff. They all need a bit to breathe. But Dean can never go without shooting something for that long, so they end up taking a job in Chicago. They run into Meg from the pharmacy again (who turns out to be a demon), they get the shit kicked out of them by her evil shadow puppet, and then… dad. 

John Winchester walks back into their lives… and then he walks back out.

-~o~-

Percy-and-Annabeth make use of the time away. Now that they don’t have their brothers sleeping one room over, they can feel the situation out for themselves. And boy, is it a situation. 

Unimpeded by humanity, they are a whole other beast. This wonderful thing that has happened to merge them isn’t wholly realised yet, and neither are they. If their bodies were changeable before, they’re unidentifiable now– whether they’re sharing limbs or growing them, thinking together or both at once, seeing or smelling or hearing, it’s impossible to say. Nothing is clear. One moment, it feels as if they have one mind that speaks from one mouth, and the next, they’re functioning on two symbiotic levels at once. 

Two beings mashed together like play-doh have no right to operate smoothly, but they work better than they ever have as separate parts. It’s like the world has opened up, every cog fitting into its rightful partner, allowing them to finally function at their true one-hundred percent. They see twice as much, think twice as fast, move twice as quick. They are absolutely unstoppable. And given that, it almost doesn’t matter that they’re a monster. It’s hard to care how many limbs are responding to their instinctive commands when they respond so efficiently, achieving exactly what they mean to with a thousand times more effectiveness than they could’ve hoped to command before. They almost forget to wonder what kind of sick picture they must make with their bodies grafted together in such unlikely ways, where their feathers begin and end, if they have any hair left anywhere, if they have a mouth and if their teeth are inside or outside of it. It just doesn’t matter.  

That is, until they need to eat. 

Worried that not even the Mist will touch them now, they avoid people altogether. Lupa taught Percy well enough to survive on his own, and Annabeth made ends meet on the streets from age seven. Together they’re more than capable of managing. There comes a time, however, when they can no longer avoid a return to the humane. 

Lost in the thrall of wholeness, they’ve left it too long. Sam calls with the news that they found John. And then they have to sit there and listen to him explain why they let him go. 

‘I’m sorry, man. I tried to make him stay.’

‘It’s alright,’ they lie. It’s not Sam’s fault. ‘We’ll find him.’

‘Find him?’ Their brother’s eyes rake over their hulking shadow doubtfully. They’ve taken to Iris-messaging him in the dark, partly in case Dean is around, and partly for Sam’s own sake. ‘I hate to say it, but isn’t that kind of… dangerous?’

‘We think we can separate. We need to talk to him. We don’t like leaving you without backup, though…’

Sam snorts, and he almost sounds like himself. It gives Percy-and-Annabeth heart. ‘I know we’re not demigods, but we’re hardly helpless civilians, Perce—uh, and, um— guys.’

The fumble warms them. It would be easy for a brother to forget Annabeth in the wake of Percy, but they are definitely both. It’s very sweet, and so very Sam to make a point of remembering that. He didn’t even stumble over the d-word, either. Dean hasn’t even said it yet. 

‘Look, um… when you do… separate… call back, okay? I think Dean thinks you’re mad at him or something.’

‘What? Why?’

‘Well, you have avoided talking to him. I’ve been taking all your calls. And you know how he does his macho stoic bullshit. He won’t say anything, but he’s about as subtle as a beached whale.’ 

‘Yeah,’ they chuckle. That’s Dean. And the last time Percy spoke to his brother, they were at odds. Things were said. 

They do wonder how their oldest brother’s doing. No doubt he’s sitting on a lot of things he should be saying out loud. There’s no way he’s taking this demigod stuff as well as he’s pretending to, and the last he saw of Percy-and-Annabeth, they weren’t looking too hot. Sam said he took their cover story well enough, but all that means is he accepted it from Sam. No doubt he’ll be wanting a first-hand account from the horse’s mouth. Or at least verbal/visual confirmation that they’re okay. It’s a testament to Sam’s acting ability that Dean hasn’t demanded as much already. Percy-and-Annabeth hope he’s not taking the opportunity to turn all his brotherly smothering (appreciated, but terribly hard to bear sometimes) on Sam. They haven’t forgotten that Sam’s got his own otherness to struggle with in secret. They wish they could be there for him, but they realise the best thing they can do for him right now is keep their distance. 

‘That’s him now,’ Sam says, head snapping up at some sound that doesn’t carry through the connection. 

‘Take care, Sam,’ they implore. Sam waves his hand through the mist and it evaporates just like that. 

He marvels at the completely mundane water droplets on the skin of his hand as Dean finally wins his fight with the door, closing it behind him. They feel just like regular water droplets. God, if Sam didn’t fight monsters for a living, he’d probably never get used to that. As is, he probably will. Eventually. 

Dean must see something in his face. ‘Was that our favourite power couple?’

‘Uh, yeah, yeah. They said they’d call back when they can.’

Dean snorts somewhat bitterly and mutters his response at the floor, half-turned away. ‘Like they said last time?’

‘Dean–’

‘Nah, s’fine. They’re okay, that’s the important thing.’ He leans against the grimy door he just came through as if to physically block the sounds of drunk patrons filtering through it. Sam doesn’t understand why Dean likes bars so much. ‘Think this new job is a bust, by the way. Jenkins' friends all cited drugs. Regular old human stupidity; still the biggest and baddest killer in America.’

‘You could sound a little sympathetic,’ Sam huffs. Dean shrugs indifferently. 

‘Whatever. C’mon, they got a dart board in there. Bet I can still beat ya.’ 

Still? That implies that Dean ever could. He knows damn well Sam was always a better shot, and Dean’s wins were few and far between. It’s tempting to remind him of that, but…

‘We should get an early start,’ Sam decides. 

‘You really know how to have fun, don’t you, grandma?’ Dean rolls his eyes and props the door open, letting the raucous back out into the cold night. ‘Alright. I’ll meet you out front, I gotta take a leak.’

So Sam ambles around the establishment to the car park, half-watching the dim light from the grimy windows slide over him like so much grease. Idly, he wonders about each of the people inside: the girls leaned up against the bar like it’s the only thing holding them up, their hair falling out of their updos; the boys clearly hounding each other to go over and talk to them; the heavily tattooed bartender who looks like she lost her fight with cynicism about five rounds ago; the oldies all gathered ‘round their tables waiting for something, anything to happen. He passes by the bikers checking on their rides in the parking lot, and he wonders about them too. He wonders about the lives they’re all leading while he’s busy with his. He wonders if they’re happy. If they’ve ever known real trouble, and if they’ll ever get over it. If they’re destined to crash and burn, or remain completely, commendably ordinary. 

He doesn’t even hear the warning signs. 

Dean makes his way through the car park unaccosted. He’s thankful for his jacket— it’s cold enough now he can see his breath. He gives a nod to the orange cat licking itself on the hood of a pickup as he goes, and then freezes as he catches sight of his dad’s journal, left unattended like any old rag on a stranger’s car. He picks it up to make sure, as if he’d make that mistake… yep, definitely dad’s. He tucks it under his arm and walks faster, checking around himself. The car park’s still empty, and he checks– so is Baby. 

‘Sam!’

Nada. 

‘Sammy!’

He retraces their steps, checks inside and outside the bar until the patrons are stumbling out, leaning against each other. He practically harasses people who do not look like the type you want to harass, trying to find his brother. But he’s just gone. 

Not another one, he thinks. 

The CCTV cameras. They’re right over the parking lot– he knows, he always checks for cameras as a matter of priority wherever he goes. He just needs the footage. He’ll find his brother, alright, and then he’s gonna kick his ass for this little stunt. 

The next morning, Dean’s at the police station with a badge and a scowl. He skipped breakfast. He hates skipping breakfast, but his brother’s missing, and there’s no way he’s eating right now. He couldn’t even call Percy and Annabeth– they don’t have phones, they use that weird mist hoodoo. Dean pointedly avoided learning how that worked, and now he’s kicking himself for it. He tells himself he’ll find Sammy first, and then Percy won’t have to worry at all. It’s probably a good thing he doesn’t call yet. Yeah. 

He just needs to get this police officer lady to cooperate. They’ll find Sam, and then he can teach Dean the weird mist hoodoo. They can put it all in their rearview mirror, and Sam is going to totally lose their next game of darts. 

-~o~-

Sam wakes up all at once. It’s not a nice feeling. It’s comparable to being hit by a truck, actually. His head feels like a gong that’s been hit, the echoes of the pain emanating through his entire body. He cracks his eyes open to take stock of the situation, but things hardly make more sense. The place he’s in is dark, criss-crossing shadows eating what little light filters through from above. It’s not nice light, either– fluorescents, maybe. Faintly, he can hear them buzzing. It smells overwhelmingly of dirt, rust, and old wood. As he drags himself up, his jeans catch on the rough floor, little metal scraps and rust poking at him through the denim. 

Above him is a metal grid. To his sides, more of the same. His jaw drops as it dawns on him. 

He’s in a cage.  

For a while, the concept refuses to cement itself in his mind. The things they hunt don’t make cages. It’s an eminently human thing to do. What’s more, they weren’t even on a promising job when he got got, just following a bust lead at some roadside bar that, to his knowledge, had nothing ghoulish, ghostly, or demonic about it. It just doesn’t make sense. 

He tries the side of the cage he’s facing first. Unfortunately, for as thin as the bars look, it’s a solid piece of work. He goes to try the other sides when he catches a splotch of colour through the metal. It looks like… hair… holy shit, that’s a person. There’s another person here! Sam can’t make much out of him from here, but it looks to be a dude layed out on his side. The shine of a bridge piercing glints at his ear. White male, five-foot something, spiky black hair and short, thick eyebrows. He didn’t so much as twitch at the racket Sam made trying to bust out. Possible brain damage– it’ll be worth checking if when he wakes up.

Sam tries as many ways as he can think of to force his way out of the cage. He pulls himself up with the bars above him and tries to kick the door in with as much momentum as he can manufacture. He throws his shoulder against it. He kicks like a wild horse. The thing only rattles tauntingly at him. He’s usually prepared for anything– he’s sure he could find something in his jacket to pick the lock, but whatever took him stripped him of it, leaving him in just his shirt, jeans, and boots. It’s a dear thing he’s not out in the cold. 

A low moan. Sam snaps to attention. His cellmate is waking up.

‘You’re alive,’ he huffs in relief. ‘Hey, you okay?!’

The guy snuffles in answer, face pressing against the bars. His hands come up to hold him there. He looks dirty, but maybe that’s just the shitty lights. His eyes are squinty, barely visible– Sam can’t even see what colour they are. His hair flicks up in a douchey cowlick. 

‘’S’it look like ‘m doin’ okay?’ the guy slurs. He doesn’t seem overly alarmed at the situation. He was already aware of it, then. 

‘Where are we?’

‘I’on’ know,’ he says. ‘Country, I think. Smells like the country.’

Sam tries to focus beyond the initial scents of an old, old scrap house. He thinks he can see what the guy’s talking about. There’s an underlying scent of manure and decay that he can only pinpoint now it’s been brought to his attention. 

‘You’re Alvin Jenkins,’ Sam realises out loud. The missing druggie. He looks different from his file photos, but Sam supposes these are extenuating circumstances. He probably doesn’t look so hot himself. 

‘Yeah.’

Sam chuckles dryly. That’s so typical. So much for this job being a bust. ‘I was lookin’ for you.’

‘Oh yeah?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Well, no offence, but this is a piss-poor rescue.’

Sam shifts awkwardly. ‘Well my brother’s out there right now too, he’s– he’s lookin’ for us. So…’

‘So, he’s not gonna find us,’ Jenkins snaps. ‘We’re in the middle of nowhere! Waitin’ for them to come back and do God knows what to us!’

Sam shifts closer, nearly pressing his face against the bars. ‘What are they? Have you seen them?’

‘What’re you talkin’ about?’

‘Whatever grabbed us, what’d they look like?’

Something creaks violently in the dark, and it takes Sam a second to realise it’s a door. Jenkins shoots back in his cage, huddling into a corner and trying to be still. 

‘See for yourself,’ he says before the door opens and light floods into the space.

Chapter Text

They’re just people. 

Sam looks and looks and looks, sure he must be wrong. It makes more sense than, say, a ghost making cages and kidnapping people, but it still staggers him. The cases where the hunt and regular old human degeneracy clash aren’t all that uncommon, but Dad knew what he was doing. He’d never made that mistake on any hunt he took them on. This is a new one for Sam. 

Having said that, there is something… off, about them. There’s two of them, both massive, lumbering through the dark space like bears and making similar noises. Hoods cover their faces, but Sam gets a glimpse of a lumpy grin– big square teeth mashed unevenly into gums gone tobacco-black. 

They leave Jenkins with a grimy plate of food Sam can’t identify from here and an equally grimy mug. The hand that offers them makes them look tiny, like a little doll plate and mug. Jenkins tears into the food like an animal the second the door clangs shut behind their captors. 

‘How often do they feed you?’ Sam asks. 

‘Once a day. They use that thing over there to open the cage.’ Jenkins points at the latch they’d hit to crank the door of his prison up. 

‘And that’s the only time you see ‘em?’

‘So far. But I’m waitin’.’

‘Waiting for what?’

‘Ned Beatty time, man.’

That pulls an amused huff out of Sam. At least he doesn’t have to worry about keeping morale up. ‘I think that’s the least of your worries right now.’

‘Oh, yeah?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Whaddyou think they want then?’

Sam ignores the accusatory tone, busy trying to snake his hand around the wires just above his cage. He has to come at it from a certain angle so his forearm doesn’t get jammed between the bars. Hopefully he can still get enough leverage. ‘Depends on who they are.’

‘They’re a buncha psycho hillbilly rednecks if y’ask me, lookin’ for love in all the wrong places!’

Come on, Sam. Come on. A metallic stuttering noise answers his efforts, somewhere near the ceiling. He keeps straining, keeps the pressure, for as long as he can, but that’s all he gets. He lets the wires go slack in his hands, feeling the imprints of them dug violently into his palms, and catches his breath. The voice in his head, the Dean one, chimes in with something sarcastic. The Jess one has gone quiet. He’s not sure whether to be worried about that or grateful– he wouldn’t want her here to see this. Which is stupid. She’s not here, she’s a voice in his head… but he can’t help but treat her as if she were. Spirits exist, don’t they? Ghosts and ghouls and all sorts of undead are out there, both tangible and intangible. If portions of people can be brought back, that implies some form of existence after death. Who’s to say she’s not watching him, making faces at Jenkins as he shoves food into his gob by the handful? Sam’s confident that even if Jess were to be shoved into a dirty cage and held prisoner, she’d have something to say about the man’s tone. Jess was the sweetest person you’d find anywhere, but get short with her and she could turn into a real snarky bitch. She and Sam were perfect for each other. 

God, he misses her. But if she is still watching, he hopes she’s ditched him for the week to go sit in on an art class or something. 

-~o~-

The cameras picked up a likely lead: the shadiest, most rickety truck you ever did see, complete with a back that must’ve been made with horse transport in mind. If Dean were a horse, he wouldn’t go within ten feet of the thing. It doesn’t show up on the next camera, so it likely pulled off on one of the private driveways down the stretch of road between there and the bar. Dean’s thinking he’ll have Sam back in no time when his lady officer pulls over, explaining how she ran his badge number. 

‘It says here your badge was stolen. And there’s a… picture of you,’ she continues, angling the screen so he can see. A bald middle-aged black man stares back at him.

The silence lengthens. Her stare is like a laser in the side of his head.

‘...I lost some weight,’ he coughs hopefully. ‘And I got that, uh, Michael Jackson’s skin disease…’

‘Okay. Would you step out of the car, please?’

‘Look, look, look…’ Dean doesn’t usually do this– doesn’t even usually have any inclination to do this– but Officer Kathleen Hudak is solid. She’s got a way about her that just settles Dean, makes him want to respect her before she’s rightly earned it. There aren’t a lot of people like that, so Dean doesn’t want to do any of the stuff he'd normally leap to (lying, running, flirting, etc.). He reckons his best bet here is to level with her, so that’s what he’s gonna do. ‘You wanna arrest me, that’s fine. I’ll cooperate, I swear. But first, please… let me find Sam.’

He’s not kidding, either. He would let her arrest him. He’d even wait til he was in someone else’s custody to bust out, so it didn’t reflect badly on her. And Sammy says he can’t be nice. 

‘I don’t even know who you are,’ Kathleen snaps, unimpressed. ‘Or if this Sam person is missing.’

‘Look into my eyes, tell me if I’m lyin’ about this.’

‘Identity theft? You’re impersonating an officer.’

See? Stern stuff. Dean opens his mouth, closes it, looks away, and looks back. ‘Here’s the thing, when– when we were young… I pretty much pulled him from the fire.’ There’s no pretty much about it. ‘And ever since then, I’ve been responsible for him. You know, it’s– it’s my job to keep him safe. I’m just afraid if we don’t find him fast…’ Yeah, he can’t finish that. ‘Please. He’s my family.’

She’s looked away as he’s spoken, and now she’s shaking her head a little out the window, jaw working. ‘I’m sorry,’ she says, and she sounds hard, but her eyes give her away. ‘But you’ve given me no choice. I have to take you in.’

Dean tries not to feel like he’s having an argument with a stern but well-meaning parent. He’s not a kid, but there is something… motherly, about the way she talks to him. If Dean knows motherly at all, that is. He doesn’t. 

Again, the silence stretches, and Dean waits for the car door to open, the handcuffs to come out. But they don’t. They both sit there, and after a moment, he looks over. Her eyes flick back to him at exactly the same moment. Her lips purse. A little sigh of defeat, and another head shake out the window. And then she clicks her seatbelt back on. 

‘After we find Sam Winchester.’

-~o~-

Sam does get the wires down. Something comes with them. A bracket. Jenkins is a bitch about it until the circuit breaks or something and the door is suddenly open. Sam warns him not to go, that was way too easy, but Jenkins is the worst kind of civilian– the brash, go-my-own-way kind. The door clicks shut after him. Sam hears the screams from his cage not much longer. 

And then their captors come back. The same ones, Sam thinks, although it’s hard to tell. Again, he looks for any signs that they’re not human, but aside from their size, he finds none. They even smell human– overwhelmingly so. It’s gross.

‘It’s tha middle one,’ is the first thing they say to him. It’s the bigger one speaking, although there’s not much in it. Both of them are huge– bigger than Sam, even. The voice is loud, and the words fall blocky and misshapen from his tongue. At least, Sam thinks it’s a he. He rules nothing out. 

‘I thought ‘e was tha big one,’ the second one says. This voice is almost indistinguishable from the first. 

‘Big, yeah, but tha middle one, I fink. Didn’t Pa say?’

‘’Ow can ‘e be tha middle one if ‘e’s tha big one?’ 

‘’Es tha big one, not th’oldest. Shut up,’ they both turn to him, eerily in sync. Two of those toothy black grins bear down on him. Sam still can’t see their eyes, but their noses are as lumpy as the rest of them. ‘So?’

Silence. Sam looks between them as it dawns on him that they’re expecting an answer. He tenses against the cage walls, feet planted and weight shifted to pounce at the first opportunity he deems worth taking. 

‘...Is ‘e stupit?’ 

‘No, y’idjit! At least, I don’t fink so… Hey, are ye stupit?’

The first one launches himself at the cage, big meaty paws the size of baseball mitts landing with a horrible sound against the bars. The whole thing rattles. ‘WHERE’S JACKSON?!’

Sam freezes. Jackson. That’s what they call Percy. 

That’s why he couldn’t identify them. They’re not his kind of monster. 

‘Aww, ‘e’s scared!’ The second one croons. It’s an ugly thing. ‘Don’t worry little bunny! Just give us yer friend, and we won’t eatcha!’

‘We won’t?’

Second one stomps on first one’s foot and gives Sam another black-toothed grin. Sam swallows. 

‘Feelin’ shy?’ he asks. ‘’S’okay. Y’ain’t gotta tell us. We’ll get ‘im either way. We’d just kinda hoped you’d tell us where ‘e is so we’d know how long we gotta wait.’

‘I’m starvin’,’ the first one growls, massaging his foot. 

Sam’s brow pulls together. That doesn’t make any sense. ‘You want… but then why… why’d you take Jenkins? He was just a civilian.’

‘Ta get yew ‘ere, o’course!’ First cackles. ‘Pretty good, right?’

‘’E were a trap fer yew, and ye’r a trap fer Jackson!’ Second crows proudly. ‘And they say we cyclops’ ain’t smart!’

-~o~-

Dean wants to leave it, he really does, but by morning he can’t hold off any longer. Over coffee, he works up the courage to ask. 

‘Hey, officer? Look, I don’t mean to press my luck–’

‘Your luck is so pressed,’ she assures him in no uncertain terms, and– yeah, that’s fair. 

‘Right.’ Gonna do it anyway. ‘I was wondering… why are you helpin’ me out, anyway? Why don’t you just lock me up?’

She looks away and worries her lip in a decidedly controlled way before she makes the decision to answer. She looks him in the eyes matter-of-factly. 

‘My brother Riley disappeared three years ago. A lot like Sam.’ She takes a fortifying breath. ‘We searched for him, but… nothing. I know what it’s like to feel responsible for someone, and for them…’ Her jaw works and she looks away for a second before she plasters on a wan smile. ‘C’mon. Let’s keep at it.’

That lasts until they make it to the first turnoff, and Kathleen cuffs him to the car. 

‘Kathleen! I really think you’re gonna need my help.’

‘I’ll manage. Thank you.’

Dean checks his coat and comes up empty. 

‘I gotta start carrying paperclips,’ he says to himself. 

Still, Dean’s unscrewed the car antenna, picked the cuffs, and made it into the woods by the time someone gets back to the car; But he’s not far away enough that he can’t tell it isn’t Kathleen. 

-~o~-

The next time they come for him, Sam assumes it’s for lunch. Instead they have a woman. She goes right into Jenkins’ cage. Sam yells at them for answers, and gets summarily ignored. 

She’s out cold. Her white t-shirt is a stark sight in the dingy cells, even dirty as it is. She’s got on some kind of work pants that look like they’re supposed to come with a belt, and her dark hair falls unchecked to around her shoulders. 

Sam can’t see any injuries, but she must have a head wound or something in her veins to be knocked out like that. He doesn’t get the chance to worry too much, though– she stirs about two minutes after their captors have left, hand coming up to cradle her head. 

‘You alright?’ he asks. He finds himself trying to enunciate clearly, as if in rejection of the self-proclaimed cyclops’ terrible slurring dialect. The woman’s head picks up at once, hands going to her sides to respond to a perceived threat. She looks to be in her early thirties, with dirt streaked carelessly across her pointed face. Her head turns to one side and she repositions herself to regard him better, leaning closer to the cage bars. 

‘’R’you Sam Winchester?’ she asks with remarkable calmness. Sam’s eyebrows raise. ‘Aren’t you?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Your, uh… your cousin’s looking f’r you.’ Clear speech, with the odd slurred word. That’ll be the head wound. Beyond that, Sam snorts at the referral to what can only be Dean as his “cousin”. 

‘Thank God. Where is he?’

‘I, uh… I cuffed him to my car.’ 

Sam sighs. Yeah, that sounds about right.

The door goes. From here, neither of them can see the entrance. Sam’s new cellmate crowds back against the cage wall, looking to him with eyes full of fear in case he can see. He gives her a small head shake, listening carefully. 

Bootfalls– but not nearly heavy enough to be the captors he’s seen thus far. They don’t shuffle, they’re clear and slow and purposeful. In fact, they almost sound like Dean. They can’t be though, right? Either Sam’s projecting, or that’s his brother. And when he rounds the corner…

‘Sam?’

Sam feels the smile pull at his cheeks. Dean rushes forward, rattling the cage without nearly as much ferociousness as the cyclopses. Cyclopes? 

‘Are you hurt?!’

‘No.’

Dean slams his hand against the cage and gives him a big smile that fades quickly. ‘Damn, it’s good to see you.’

Sam just looks back at him. They both just look at each other for a bit, making sure they’re both here and breathing. 

‘How did you get out of the cuffs?’ At least their new friend is sounding better. No more slurring. She’s coming around. 

‘I know a trick or two,’ is what Dean gives her. Sam reads that as: I got lucky, because I wasn’t carrying any paper clips, because I never listen to my little brother when he makes good points. Sam’s been telling him to keep lockpicks on him forever, and does he ever listen? 

‘Oh, these locks look like they’re gonna be a bitch.’

‘There’s some kind of automatic control, right there.’ Sam points through the bars. 

Dean points back at him as he goes to check it out. ‘Have you seen ‘em?’ 

‘Yeah. Dude, they just look like people, but they’re big. They said they’re–’ Sam shoots a look at the lady in the other cell. ‘...They said they were some of Percy’s. Looking for him.’ 

Dean stalls, motions stopping as he takes this in. ‘...Jenkins?’

‘Bait for me. They wanted one or both of us, I think, to get Percy.’

Dean swears. There’s a rattle as the woman presses up against the bars, looking between them. ‘Bait, you’re bait? You know what’s going on here?’

‘Not totally,’ Sam admits. ‘We think they want our brother.’

‘Dude,’ Dean hisses. Sam gives him a look. 

‘You’re not cousins,’ she guesses. Sam bites his lip. Oops. ‘Who’s your brother, why do they want him?’

‘Not the most important right now,’ Dean interjects with yet another glare at Sam. 

‘See anything else out there?’ he asks. 

‘Uh, he has about a dozen junk cars hidden out back, plates from all over. I’m thinkin’ when they take someone, they take their car too.’

‘Did you see a black Mustang out there, about ten years old?’

Both of them turn to look at her. Dean inclines his head. ‘Yeah, actually, I did. Your brother’s?’ A slow, sad nod. ‘I’m sorry.’ That hangs for a moment. Sam says nothing. The poor woman. ‘Let’s get you guys out of there, so we can take care of those bastards.’ Dean spins around, back to work. ‘This thing takes a key. Key?’

‘I- I don’t know,’ Sam says. 

‘Alright, I better go find it.’

‘Hey!’ Dean turns back. Sam meets his gaze seriously. ‘Be careful.’

‘Yeah.’ And then he’s gone. 

Dean’s gone for ten minutes before Sam’s sure he’s compromised. On the eleven minute mark, they hear the banging. A struggle. It doesn’t go on for long. Five more minutes after that, the door reopens. Sam’s heart sinks as he listens to the uneven shuffle that in no universe could be Dean’s. He sends his cellmate a wide-eyed head shake in case she missed it, but she seems to be with the program. 

The sound of keys jingling, then the buzzer on the door. The footsteps come closer. 

‘What’re you doing?’ Sam demands. No answer. He readies himself with the bracket he pulled from the wall– it’s all he’s got. 

Closer the shuffle comes. Closer. Heavy, so heavy, reminding Sam that he’s not taking one of these down in a fight. They’re just too big, and he’s sure they’ve got some sort of powers on their side. He doesn’t know what a cyclops has going for it in that regard, but he thinks he’s about to find out. He tenses, trying not to shake. He fingers his bracket. 

Three more seconds.

Two more seconds.

One mo–

Thunder erupts inside the room. That’s what Sam’s brain tells him. The almighty growl rumbles through the floor, up through Sam’s body like an electric current, chilling his blood and freezing him stiff. The snarl that follows is worse, cut off by the sounds of an all-out animal attack. 

There’s a yell. Sam and his cellmate lock eyes as they listen to the fight. Yelping, scratching, visceral tearing and real, audible violence. Something’s in there with them and the cyclops, and it’s feral. 

It lasts for the better part of three minutes, and then it’s suddenly quiet. Panting cuts through the dark, and the dragging pad-click of wet paws on cement. The panting comes closer, and there’s another click like a belt buckle or something. Sam braces himself to defend again, and–

A bear. No, oh my god, it’s a dog. It’s a dog? It’s huge! It wouldn’t be that much smaller than Sam himself on its hind legs. It’s got several pounds worth of fur, all of it pitch black. Two sparkling eyes peer down at him from under a wrinkled brow. It stares, huge pink tongue lolling out, before shaking, sending yellow dust flying everywhere. The belt-click sound comes again, and Sam realises it must be a collar. Or, hell, given the size of the dog, it might actually be a belt. It turns and pads off the way it came. 

Sam’s head turns in horror to stare at his cellmate, silently asking her if she saw that too. She looks right back with the exact same eyes. 

Sam isn’t sure whether he’s safer in or out of the cage right now. Before he can make a decision either way, the absolute behemoth returns with something in its mouth. Sam races to close the cage door, just in case, but the bear-dog beats him to it, nudging it open with its nose and promptly letting itself in. It has to duck. It pads in as docile as anything and drops its gift at Sam’s feet with a clatter. Then it ducks back out and sits to watch him react. 

Sam looks down. 

It’s a pair of daggers. He looks between them and the dog in disbelief. Finally he picks up the bigger one to examine it. It’s bronze, of all things. A simple handle, long enough to fit snugly in his rather large hand. It looks ancient, but not done up like the old ceremonial knives he’s seen in museums. It’s plain enough, but it just feels old. Sam’s accustomed to serrated Rambo-style knives– this thing looks more like a big letter-opener. 

He looks back up and catches sight of something gleaming the same colour, nearly lost among the dog’s fur. He creeps out cautiously, holding up a hand for the thing to sniff. It goes right for it, forgoing the sniffs and instead dragging its big fluffy head against Sam’s palm for pats. He laughs incredulously. 

‘What the hell…’ He gives it a few strokes with that hand and seeks out the collar with the other. It’s a sturdy leather, with bronze studs along it that Sam recognises as matching the ones on Percy’s bike. Another disbelieving scoff escapes him. He fumbles for the tag and finds it– also bronze, with Percy’s trident on one side and a name on the other. Mrs. O’Leary. 

Sam’s face drains of colour. He knows that name. Percy had said she was a…

Mrs. O’Leary gives his hand a big happy lick. He is not proud of the whimper sound he makes. 

‘What does the tag say?’ the woman asks. Sam suddenly feels bad– he’d pretty much forgotten her. He moves to open her cage at once. 

‘It’s– she’s my brother’s. He must have sent her.’

‘Gregory’s? Er, uhm– your not-cousin’s?’

The corner of his mouth lifts as she takes his hand and he pulls her up. ‘Other brother.’

Sam hands her the other knife and turns to the remains of the cyclops. There’s a pile of yellow dust that stinks differently from sulphur. He finds his hand straying to tangle in Mrs. O'Leary's fur. 

‘Thanks, girl,’ he puffs out. He pushes down the knowledge of what she actually is for now. It’ll only freak him out, and they're not out of here yet. 

They go for the fuses first. Then they get ready. Mrs. O’Leary stands guard by the door, paws planted determinedly. Nothing’s getting through her. Sam hides in the hay, hoping to get the drop on the enemy. The woman takes up position on the other side of the barn– because that’s what it is. Apparently they’ve been locked up in a barn this whole time. You can't make this shit up.

Two come in at once, shouting for their companion. One of them Sam’s spoken to before– the one who was starving. The other one… he’s even bigger. He’s a giant. 

Farbeit for that to stop Mrs. O’Leary, though. She’s on him the second he steps in the door, teeth flashing and spit flying. Again her snarls make Sam’s blood go cold.

‘Pa!’ the starving one cries. He makes to bury his hands in Mrs. O’Leary’s scruff. Sam takes the opening and flies at his back, knife poised. He hits dead-centre, right by the spinal cord. One hard tug should sever it. Instead there’s a mighty crack, and Sam’s dagger is well and truly stuck in the flesh. As he watches, the mass around his blade starts to crumble into yellow dust. 

The cyclops howls and throws his arm back, sending Sam flying ten feet into a rotten old wooden beam. Something bites into his shoulder blade, and he vaguely recalls something metal hanging up where he hit. He cries out. By the time he’s back in the fight, the woman’s buried her dagger in the smaller one’s neck. Sam watches as the cyclops disintegrates before his eyes. His knife clatters to the floor. With another snarl from Mrs. O’Leary, the big one goes down too. 

The woman turns her big eyes on Sam. She looks shaken. Sam’s seen it before, when civilians see too much of a hunt and can’t justify it. She did just watch two giants disintegrate. He has nothing to offer her, but he tries, pulling himself up and limping over. He settles his hand on her shoulder, pressing in in the hopes of grounding her. 

‘Hey. Stay with me. We still gotta get Dean, there might be more.’

She looks back at the dust. Her mouth falls open and she stares for a few heavy seconds, looking lost. Then she nods seriously. Good. 

Dean is being watched by a little one. Sam wasn’t sure these guys got little– and arguably, six foot isn’t little– but she only seems to be about thirteen, and she goes down easy. She too turns to dust under the hellhound’s fangs. Sam looks away. Monster or not, she looked too much like a little girl for his liking. 

‘SAM, WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?!’ Dean yells the second Mrs. O’Leary’s done, scrabbling back in his chair. He nearly tips it over before Sam catches it.

‘Percy’s dog,’ he smirks. In any other circumstance, he’d enjoy watching his brother freak out, but now’s not the time. ‘Are you hurt?’

‘Percy’s–?! Jesus Christ, he’s huge! ’

‘Dean, are you hurt? ’ From what Sam can see the blood tracking down from his brow is from a superficial cut, but that’s just from what he can see.

‘I’m fine, ‘s nothing.’

‘It’s nothing, that’s what you say when it’s something.’

‘And when it’s nothing, and in this case it’s nothing. Would ya get me out of the damn ropes already?’

‘Where are you hurt?’

‘Sam–’

‘I’m not cutting the ropes ‘til you tell me.’

Dean gives him a mean stink eye, but clicks his tongue and glances down at his shoulder. There’s a burn mark right through his shirt. Sam should’ve seen it before, it’s too clean to be anything natural. ‘They got me with the fire poker.’

Ouch. Burns are nasty. Still, if he’s not screaming or bleeding, it can wait. They really do need to get out of here.

‘Was that so hard?’ Sam asks as he undoes his brother’s ties. 

‘Yeah, if you got time to be snarky, how ‘bout you explain the pooch?’ 

Mrs. O’Leary barks powerfully. Dean startles backwards, inspiring a smile from Sam. Dean glares at him. 

‘This is Mrs. O’Leary,’ he says. ‘Mrs. O’Leary, this is Dean.’

Another woof. This time Dean keeps his cool. 

‘Seriously? He named that “Mrs. O’Leary”? …Wait,  I’ve heard that name before. Why is that familiar?’

This is the hard part. Sam waits for Dean to get up and rub his wrists, one hand coming up to hover over his burn. 

‘Ah… remember when we went to that old spirit house, and we talked about hellhounds…?’

Dean’s eyes widen, snapping quickly from Sam to Mrs.O’Leary. She pants, tilting her head sideways. Her ears flop accordingly. 

‘What, are you serious? Sam, are you serious?!’

‘She’s a good girl, Dean, and she’s Percy’s! She got us out of here. Brought us weapons– I think they’re celestial bronze.’

Dean’s jaw works for a minute, staring her down, watching for any signs of a threat. Mrs. O’Leary gets tired of the staring contest quickly and pushes forward to introduce herself properly. Dean stumbles back, but Sam catches him, and by the time Dean’s whipped around to give him a look, she’s pushing her face into his hand. Dean stays frozen for a few long moments, staring with bug eyes. He’s tense, ready to react. Sam prepares himself to get between them. 

And then… Dean’s hand starts moving. Mrs. O’Leary’s tail thumps against the furniture, knocking over a coffee table. Dean’s still tense, but his jaw relaxes slightly. Sam lets out a quiet breath of relief. 

They meet the officer woman– Kathleen, Dean says– outside. She’s reclaimed her belt, jacket, badge, and radio. She’s holding it up to her ear now as it crackles, letting her know that backup units are en route. As they all file out, her eyes rake over Dean for injuries, noting him cradling his shoulder. Sam gives her a look to let her know it’s not too bad. 

‘State police and the FBI are gonna be here within the hour,’ she says instead of asking. They’re gonna wanna talk to you… I suggest that you’re both long gone by then.’

‘Thanks,’ Dean says genuinely. ‘Hey listen, I don’t mean to press out luck, but we’re kinda in the middle of nowhere. Think we could catch a ride?’

‘Start walking.’ She hands Dean Mrs. O’Leary’s other knife, handle first. ‘Duck if you see a squad car.’

‘Sounds great to me. Thanks.’ Sam gives her a nod, ready to get the fuck out of dodge, but Dean hangs back.

‘Listen, uh… I’m sorry about your brother.’ 

‘Thank you,’ Kathleen nods with a twisted sort of smile, looking around. ‘It was really hard not knowing what happened to him, I thought it would be easier once I knew the truth, but… it isn’t, really.’

A moment passes. Sam tries to imagine it– losing a brother. Losing Dean, or Percy. It’s …unthinkable. His brain refuses the approach of the thought. 

‘Anyway, you should go,’ she says. Another sad smile. 'But before you do...' she looks back to the house, and that lost expression returns. It doesn't suit her. '...They just disintegrated. Turned to dust. What...'

The brothers exchange a look. Dean's the one who answers. 

'Honestly, Kathleen... you don't wanna know.' 

She thinks about that. They let her. And after a while, she nods. Smart woman.

They take her advice and start walking.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Tracking John Winchester down is hard. For a human, it might even be impossible. But they aren’t human. And they know all his tricks. All they have to do is think like John and follow their noses, and they have him made. Even then though, it takes them a while. The man is good. Percy hates that he still admires his dad more than he’d like to admit, and so Annabeth, despite being impressed by the guy’s ability to cover his tracks, says nothing.  

Neither of them have ever been to Nebraska, but they don’t take much of it in. They’re here with a purpose. 

They track “Salvador Montgomery” to a shitty motel (shock of shocks), and it’s only then that it hits Percy what they’re doing. It’s only now, with all of a few thin walls between them, that it occurs to him that he’s going to see John Winchester again. Percy wonders if he’s changed at all. He guesses he’s about to find out. 

Gods, what does he even say? Hey, how ya doin’, I know it’s been six years but I crawled out of hell recently and figured I’d drop in to catch up. Oh, and by the way, this is my girlfriend, and we’re both monsters. Please don't pump us full of silver.

Why is he doing this again? What is he expecting to gain out of this? Does he have to?

‘We need to find out what he knows,’ Annabeth reminds him. Percy nods gratefully. He never has to tread water for long before she’s pointing him back on track, reminding him of his purpose. Physical ramifications or no, he seriously wouldn’t last a day without her. 

She places her clawed hand on his back, radiating warmth through it. It’s a gesture she’s taken up since they changed; a mimicry of resting a flat palm against his skin. It’s so Annabeth– reassuring, possessive, and threatening all at once, like the bird of prey outstretching its talons around the mouse. It shouldn’t be comforting, but nothing could settle him more. He takes a deep breath through his mouth, breathing in her scent and acknowledging the underlying one he’s been avoiding: Salt, gunpowder, metal, leather, musk, sage, rosemary, booze, blood, cheap aftershave and shit takeout. John Winchester.

‘Where do you want me?’ Annabeth asks. 

‘At the door. He won’t talk if he knows you’re there.’

She nods, and they both take up position outside room number 4. Percy stands in the doorway, and Annabeth stands between him and the window, back to the wall. She silences her breathing and goes still, which is his signal to nut up and knock already. He’ll say it again: he’d be lost without her. 

Left with no other choice, Percy raises his hand and raps slowly twice, pauses, and then four quick times. His body never forgot the specific rhythm, and it probably never will. He’ll be knocking in code til the day he dies, he’s sure of it. 

‘It’s Percy,’ he calls roughly. 

Silence. As if nobody’s home. Some things never change. Percy sits in it for a long few minutes, and there isn’t so much as a floorboard creak to warn him when the door finally does open. 

The figure in the door is shorter than him. Not by much, but it’s such a shock Percy’s heart skips a beat thinking he’s got the wrong person. But the smell of rotgut that always heralded John is as strong as it ever was– stronger, thanks to Percy’s unfortunately heightened senses. It just about drowns out the rosemary and sage completely. Percy’s nose almost can’t tell what’s Dad and what’s the motel– they sort of blend, like he’s a part of the shitty carpet and smoke-stained walls. 

Percy stares openly. There is nothing at all he can pick out as different in his dad’s face, except that the whole thing seems deeper. The lines that were always present are twice as bold as Percy remembers them, great caverns for his features to sink into. Like he’s collapsing in on himself. Dean’s nose and Sam’s dimples are as obvious as ever, although hidden amongst John’s characteristic uneven scruff. It’s carved through with marks that could be passed off as acne or pockmarks, but what to Percy is clearly a smattering of little scars. It’s the brow that Percy recognises best, creased in a permanent sort of scowl that shadows over the man’s eyes, darkening the rings around them even further. It’s like Percy pulled him right from his memories: the same choppy haircut done with whatever blade was handy, hacked off just as it’s started to curl around his ears the way Sam’s does; the same unremarkable shirt with the holes in it that was maybe a discernible colour once, dog tags tucked under the collar; and of course, the same expression of inconvenience, like, why are you here?

Or at least, that’s what Percy thinks it is. Maybe that’s just Dad’s resting face– or some biassed projection. Percy’s heart drops into his stomach as he realises he doesn’t recognise the human expression on his father’s face. Is it foreign because Percy’s been away so long, or because Dad doesn’t do human expression?

The two of them stare at each other for a heavy, heavy handful of moments. Percy has no idea how long it really is before his dad is stepping back into the room with the expectation that he will follow. Percy’s feet answer for him, stepping over the salt, and the door clicks shut. He turns and slides the bolt in place before he’s told to, safe in the knowledge that it won’t stop Annabeth.

He opens his mouth to say something, to stave off the sudden, intense craving for a cigarette. John holds up a hand. Percy’s mouth clicks shut, and he falls to attention automatically. Dad never did at ease, but attention was expected, whether he called the order or not. 

Dad’s eyes roll over Percy briefly, as if checking for injuries. Then they settle on his face, barely moving to take in the scars carving it up. Percy fights not to fidget. He always had trouble staying still, and Dad always expected nothing less than the single-minded, unsettling, and sometimes creepy focus he afforded anything he deemed worth a second of his time. It’s like facing down an animal– every twitch says something. Avert your eyes, and you’ve lost. Turn your back at your own risk. That sort of thing. 

Percy does his best to catalogue his father’s reactions, minute as they are. There’s such a jumble of emotion in the tiny pull of his brow that it gives Percy a headache and he has to give up. All he can do is stand there and await judgement. 

‘You shouldn’t be here,’ is what John says. 

Something cracks in Percy’s chest and liquid pours out, filling up his lungs. It rises quickly, and he can’t help the need to swallow it down, even though he knows John sees it and he doesn’t want him to. 

The apology is already bubbling up, and Percy’s mouth opens thoughtlessly to intercept it. ‘Hey, Percy. I’m so glad to see you! I was so worried, but you’re here now, so we can have a nice long chat about everything I haven’t told you,’ he’s horrified to hear himself babble. Thank the gods his panicked brain hadn’t said it in a Dad voice, at least. That’s absolutely something he would do, and if he’d done it in front of his father, he would probably die on the spot. 

‘How did you find me?’ John says instead of acknowledging Percy’s blathering. It inspires a lick of pride at getting the jump on him that fights the fire of shame/fear at not following orders. Percy never did well with orders, but that doesn’t mean he’s not wasn’t afraid of disobeying.

‘I’m not twelve anymore, Dad. I know a few tricks.’

John’s eyes darken further. Percy fights the urge to step back. The worst thing you can do in front of this man is show weakness. Eventually, though, John just nods, as if he should’ve known that. It takes Percy aback. He wouldn’t have said there was a shot in hell his dad would let that go. 

‘We need to talk.’

John shakes his head, and when he looks back it’s with a set in his eye that means no questions. 

‘Get out of here, Percy,’ he says, low and even. ‘Don’t come back.’

This time, Percy can’t help it. He’s out of practice. He steps back like he’s been hit, and he knows the impact shows through his weak, weak eyes. 

‘...What?’

‘That’s an order.’

The wave of hurt crashes over him for a devastating second. Then comes the second wave, and this one’s anger. It floods him so suddenly he nearly snarls aloud. His shoulders flex and he surges forward, right up in his father’s face. 

‘Try again,’ he growls. 

John’s face morphs into one of incomprehension. All these years, and he still can’t understand when Percy says no. 

‘Excuse me?’

‘Where do I fucking start? I haven’t seen you since I was twelve. Dean said you asked about me, but you didn’t, did you? You knew I was in contact with him. He wouldn’t have lied to you, Dad. If you’d wanted to find me, you would’ve. But you didn’t. Explain that.’

‘Things didn’t pan out the way I would’ve wanted them to. That’s all you need to know.’ 

‘I’ll decide that, thanks. You never asked where I was. Why?’ And the silence stretches. ‘ Answer me!’

John’s head whips up. Percy swallows. He hadn’t meant to… snarl, like that. It wasn’t quite human. A stab of fear impales him as he properly realises his situation for the first time, as John looks at him with a flash of the look he reserves for things he’s about to put in the ground. 

‘...Tell me,’ Percy says lamely in an attempt to smooth it over. 

John remains dead still, staring. His knees are bent– he’s bowlegged, but Percy recognises a fighting stance when he sees one. His momentum is coiled tangibly beneath the pads of his feet, his soles raised slightly as he tenses to move. The door is locked, but Percy will break through if he needs to. Annabeth will have his six if Dad catches up in the moment he takes to do it, and they’ll have the drop on him– they can take him out and run–

‘I knew.’

Yanked violently from his escape plan, it takes a moment for Percy to assign the words any value. When he does, cold trickles through him, seeping out from his heart into the beds of his claws, turning him to stone.

He knew.

The implications are staggering. Dad knew about camp. He knew what he was signing Percy over to. Was he getting updates from Chiron, sending him emails from burner phones to confirm his son was still alive? Did he care enough to ask? 

Percy doesn’t know why it’s that thought that breaks him. He hates that he can still feel like this, that John Winchester can still make him feel like this. He’s been through so much, he’s not even human anymore. He’s been through hell. He’s faced gods and monsters and things that don’t deserve names. John is just a man, just some guy who never should’ve been a father, and he strips Percy back down to a pathetic little screw-up of a kid with two words.

Some part of him thinks he should be happy to find out his dad hadn’t lost him at twelve and just decided he wasn’t worth looking for. That’s what he’d assumed, after all. And it wasn’t Dad’s fault that he had to go on all those quests. It wasn’t. But it feels like it was. Despite the illogic of it, Percy feels like his adopted father fed him to the wolves. Back then, it was so hard to risk his life for and beside people he’d known for all of a week with nothing familiar to ground him. The world just turned on its head, and Percy had no one, nothing that he knew. Not his brothers, and certainly not his father. And now he finds out that that was a choice on his dad’s part. He chose to leave Percy like that. Percy suddenly remembers Jason, offered to Hera by his mother as some kind of appeasement gift, and he nearly throws up.

Did he do something wrong? John Winchester may not have been cut out for fatherhood, but there is nothing he wouldn’t do for his sons (except change). If it had been Sam or Dean, there’s just no way he would’ve let it happen. Why was Percy the exception? Because they weren’t blood? Because Percy was always such a screw up, because he couldn’t sit still on stakeouts or read hunting notes? Because he’s not human? Why does Percy care so much? He’s a big boy now, he shouldn’t feel the need to prove himself to this man who apparently gave him up as a bad job and handed him to the hellhounds six years ago. 

‘I knew you found others to have your back,’ John admits. ‘I knew I raised you to be safe, to protect yourself, and anyone else that needs it.’

Percy’s shaking. His knuckles clench white, his claws digging into his own flesh. It feels like the biggest failure of his life when he can’t fight back the tear that falls down his face. 

‘Percy,’ his head comes up automatically. John doesn’t seem to be able to look him in the eyes. That’s so wrong it shocks him into listening. ‘Whatever you were doing these past years, whatever you got into… you keep it to yourself. Whatever it is, I don’t need to know. Your brothers don’t need to know. D’you understand?’

It’s how he says whatever that makes it click in Percy’s mind. 

Dad doesn’t know. Not really. He just knows enough to know that he doesn’t want to know any more, because he knows. He suspects, but he really knows. Deep down. And if Percy confirmed it, then Dad would have to kill him. 

Dad’s offering him an out. Pleading the fifth on his behalf. He gave Percy up… to protect him. 

Because Percy’s not human, and John Winchester knows it. 

‘...Yes sir,’ he breathes. 

John stares at him while he tries to get his breathing under control. Percy stares back. 

‘...It’s good to see you, Percy.’

Another round of staring. Gods, Percy forgot how much Winchesters rely on body language. Aside from Sam, none of them were ever good at speaking with their big boy words– and is it any wonder? This guy raised them. 

‘We can talk more in the morning,’ Percy says. Seeing John tense, he continues quickly. ‘About the hunt.’

‘No. You need to go.’ 

‘Like hell. This isn’t about me, dad, it’s about the family. You’ve got Dean running around after your breadcrumbs like a puppy, and worse, Sammy’s tagging along. Do you know how close he was to graduating? He was killing it, he was getting everything he’d ever dreamed, he was right there! And his girl– they were perfect. She was it for him. And he’s not gonna be able to live again until the thing that got her is dead. He’s gonna become you, dad.’

John takes that like a bullet– which is to say, his eyelids flutter and his jaw tenses. Stoic as ever.

‘This isn’t just your fight. So we will talk more in the morning, and you can catch us up to speed,’ Percy states, and he’s proud to say that it comes out like an order. He doesn’t even waver under the stare he gets back, because he might’ve been twelve once, but he’s not anymore. It’s about time Dad got that memo. Still, it’s hard not to flinch as the man’s face closes off, brow darkening. 

‘Us?’

Right. Moment of truth. Percy kicks the door without turning around. The deadbolt rattles loose that easily, so he doesn’t even have to slide it back. The door creaks open with a quiet whine, all by itself, and only the slightest displacement of air heralds Annabeth’s arrival. That, and the warmth he can feel from her as she settles beside him, slotting into place like a limb and finally evening him out. He makes a point not to watch her as she creeps up at his back. Dad’s eyebrows twitch.

Percy watches him darken even further. He stares her down, only raking his eyes critically over her form once she meets his gaze with equal coldness. He takes in her stance, checks her for weapons, hesitates over her scars and the way Percy leans into her automatically. It occurs to Percy that he’s been standing a little to the right so that she could take his left, and he wonders if Dad picks up on that, too. 

‘Annabeth,’ she says evenly. 

She doesn’t say she’s his girlfriend. It’s such a pitiful term for what she really is, it doesn’t say nearly enough. Not even wife would suffice (as if Annabeth would ever put herself under Hera’s jurisdiction anyway). 

John turns his head to Percy with such a reproving glare he doesn’t even need to open his mouth. Percy’s not about to start explaining himself, though. If there’s one thing he should never have to explain, it’s Annabeth. Dad can glare all he wants, Percy’s not budging. 

‘Did you learn nothing from me? Did I not drill anything into your thick head all those years?’ Percy tries not to bristle as his dad’s voice raises. ‘What were you thinking, bringing her here?!’

‘It’s none of your business who I bring into my life, and how,’ Percy says coldly. It comes out of him low and dangerous. He’s not defending Annabeth, she can do that herself, but the familiar surge of anger at anyone questioning her crests anyway. ‘She’s family, whether you like it or not. You treat her like family.’

‘Maybe you’ve forgotten since you’ve been away so long, but you watch your tone with me,’ Dad shoots back. ‘That girl is nothing but a liability!’

‘ Annabeth has more experience than you, Sam and Dean put together, and she has nothing to prove to you! I’m vouching for her, and if you won’t take that, then tough, because she’s staying.’

A tic goes in John’s jaw. He glares Percy down for what must be a minute straight. His eyes travel, again slowing over the scars, and for a moment he seems to be looking at a stranger. Then, finally, he snaps back to Annabeth. 

‘You a hunter?’

‘After a fashion.’

John meets Percy’s eyes evenly, the shadows around his eyes so dark he resembles a skull.

‘When she dies, you’ll learn.’

They take the room across from John’s. Percy mows through a cigarette the second he gets the chance, but his chest doesn’t untighten until Annabeth kisses him. He knows she wants a shower, but she doesn’t say anything, sitting beside him on the bed as he finishes. She takes a couple drags herself and then puts it out on the ashtray. Without saying anything, she hands it over and grabs the lamp on the table, angling it until it hits the glass just right. Percy barely has to concentrate to pull the moisture in the air together to make the rainbow. Annabeth flips her last drachma through the mist. They’ll have to get Mrs. O’Leary to bring them some more. 

‘O Fleecy, do me a solid. Show me Sam Winchester.’ 

The rainbow ripples and coalesces its colours into a familiar side profile, currently yelling at someone offscreen. Three guesses who.

‘--ot just leaving her here, she’s not a– Percy! And– wait, Annabeth?’ Sam’s face brightens as he looks between them for the first time since they left. ‘You guys are…!’

‘Hi, Sam,’ Annabeth intones with mild amusement. 

Dean’s forehead suddenly makes an intimate appearance, close enough that Percy worries he’ll disrupt the connection. It’s kind of funny that he’s a little too short for the image though, given that it’s focussed on Sam. There’s a minor scuffle as the brothers fight for a better view. 

‘Percy! Annie B! Where ya been?’

‘Dean, get– I can’t see!’

‘Move your ass!’

‘-Stupid–’

‘-Bitch–’

‘Guys, get it together! The connection won’t last forever, and if we wanted to see you fight we would’ve stuck around,’ Percy barks. ‘We found Dad.’

That gets their attention. The brothers immediately go still, and Percy hates that there’s an echo of attention in their postures. 

‘You found him? Like you actually found him? How the hell’d you do that?’ Dean demands, voice gone a little soft in wonder. 

‘We found your dog,’ Sam blurts. It’s not a smooth subject change. He must’ve had a long night. Either way, it makes Percy grin. 

‘Yeah? You playin’ nice?’

‘Are we– she’s the size of my car!’ Dean chokes, staring accusingly offscreen. 

‘We could’ve used a warning, but honestly, I’m just glad she came when she did. You sent her, right? How’d you know we needed backup?’

‘We know you,’ Annabeth shoots back. ‘What happened?’

‘Cyclopes,’ he says. Percy and Annabeth tense, sitting up and forward. Sam frowns. ‘Or cyclopses. Cyclops-ees?’

Percy frowns too. He’s never thought of that. What is the plural, actually? 

'Cyclopes,' Annabeth says. 'What happened?'

Sam explains the whole affair with input from Dean and Mrs. O’Leary. Percy makes sure to give her lots of praise through the screen and tells Sam to pat her for him. 

‘Did you get your knives?’ Annabeth asks. 

Sam holds his up proudly. ‘Celestial bronze?

Percy nods. ‘If you want something else we can make it happen, but you guys are trained with knives, not swords, so we’d recommend just sticking with that. Do they work? Balanced right, not too short, not too long?’ 

‘They’ll do us just fine,’ Dean assures him. ‘Good craftsmanship.’

‘The very best,’ he grins. ‘Tyson made them special for you guys.’

Dean’s head snaps up a little too quickly, brow coming together. ‘Tyson? Like…’

‘My brother on my biological father’s side,’ Percy confirms. Sam’s eyebrows shoot up, mouth opening in a little o. ‘He’s next level- like, got-Gods-on-his-waiting-list level. I told him all about you guys, and he made them with your measurements, fighting styles, and personalities in mind. They’ll work on Greek monsters, but they’ll pass right through mortals. I’m not sure about other kinds of monsters, actually, we’ll have to test it.’

‘You never mentioned him,’ Sam says quietly.

‘Yeah, he did. Remember, when he told us about everything.’

‘I’d love for you to meet him,’ Percy admits, trying to hold back on gushing about his little brother. ‘And he’d be over the moon, seriously. You know he made my bike?’

‘WHAT!’

‘He’s incredible,’ Annabeth nods. 

‘Yeah, but no pressure or anything. You didn’t answer my question by the way, how’s Mrs. O’Leary?’ 

He’ll admit to the relief that floods him as Sam’s face tugs into a grin almost at once. He wasn’t sure if it would be okay sending a hellhound after his brothers, friendly or not. ‘She’s awesome.’ 

‘She’s not getting in the car, Sam.’

‘It’s alright, Dean, our girl can handle herself,’ Annabeth chuckles. 

‘Is she really a… y’know?’ 

Percy sucks in a breath. ‘Yeah, she is. But she’s lovely, Dean, really, she’s– she’s one of the good ones. She’d never hurt anyone without reason, she’s as much a part of the family as Tyson and I.’

‘Perce, relax, man, take a breath. If you say she’s cool, I’ll… survive,’ Dean says in his best big-brother’s-here voice. It settles something in Percy he hadn’t noticed rising. He deflates. He thinks about pushing it, trying for some more of that oh-so-rare Winchester communication, but he realises he just doesn’t have the energy to fight that battle tonight. He’s going to have to save it for Dad. 

‘She doesn’t…’ Dean shuffles nervously, shooting glances at the hellhound as he speaks. ‘She doesn’t, like, kill people, does she?’ Percy and Annabeth can’t say no fast enough, arms waving about in such a vehement no that they nearly break the connection. Even Sam’s looking at Dean in adamance. ‘Alright, okay, just checking! She's a freakin' hellhound, I had to check,’ he huffs, jerking his jacket collar defensively.

Sam doesn’t let the silence sit for long, but Percy almost wishes he had when he asks, ‘ So… Dad?’

Percy sighs. ‘Dad,’ he agrees. ‘He hasn’t changed a bit.’

‘Did you expect him to?’ the middle brother asks dryly.

Dean jerks his chin up. ‘What’d he think of Annie?’ 

‘About as much as I thought of him.’

Percy chuckles. ‘Yeah, that’ll make this interesting.’

‘Wouldn’t wanna be ya, lil’ bro,’ Dean hisses sympathetically. ‘But hey, maybe–’ 

The image flickers in the way it does when it’s about to fade. 

‘Listen, we’re about to lose you. We’ll call when we can. Mrs. O’Leary doesn’t need a ride, but she’ll come if you call,’ Annabeth cuts in. 

‘What’s the command?’

‘Just call for her. She’ll follow at a distance until you dismiss her or she's needed elsewhere.’

Dean and Sam both look down at the dog at the exact same time, rather comically. Did they expect her to need walks?

‘We can’t exactly drag her around the states, Perce,’ Dean argues, pointedly ignoring puppy dog eyes on two fronts.

‘You won’t have to, but– look, just keep her with you for now, please? For us? It’ll make us feel better.’

Dean makes a faux noise of exasperation, clicks his tongue, and ducks out of frame to sulk. Sam lights up like a Christmas tree. 

‘We got her. Hey, good luck with dad. we’ll see you–’

The mist evaporates, falling over them gently. 

-~o~-

Percy half-expects Dad to sneak into their room in the middle of the night as some kind of training drill, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t even come check their wards. Most baffling of all, he’s still in his room come morning. Next Percy’ll find out he actually slept. 

If Dad is surprised to find them up and dressed by four o’clock, he doesn’t say so. Nor does he mention it when Annabeth opens the door before he knocks– if he was going to knock. 

‘Where’s your car?’ he grunts. Percy bites down a sarcastic good morning, Dad. 

‘Bike’s out front.’

‘That’s yours?’ Percy nods. ‘No trunk room for supplies.’

‘You’d be surprised.’

Dad eyes him critically for a moment before turning back toward the door. Again with the expectation to be followed. ‘C’mon, we’re wasting time.’

‘Yeah, we are,’ Percy calls after him, pointedly not moving. John turns imperiously. He won’t even look at Annabeth. ‘Tell us what we’re hunting.’

‘You know what we’re hunting.’

‘Indulge us.’

‘We don’t have time for this.’ 

‘Alright, how about this: where are we going?’

‘Colorado.’ 

‘Why?’

‘Because I said so. Get going.’

‘You can either give us the information you have and give us a better chance of keeping Sam and Dean alive, or you can accept that you’re willingly sending your boys in blind. They’re in this fight, Dad. We’re in this fight. The only thing you’re doing by trying to keep us out is raising the chances of one or more of us dying.’ Percy huffs, suddenly out of breath. It’s too early for this. ‘Tell us why we’re going to Colorado.’

‘...Daniel Elkins is dead,’ comes the monotone reply. 

‘Who’s he?’ 

‘Old friend. Taught me a hell of a lot about hunting. He was… he was a good man,’ John admits, looking down at the floor briefly. ‘And he had something that’ll help me kill this thing once I find it.’

‘Once we find it,’ Percy corrects. 

Annabeth finally deigns to interject, tying her ponytail. ‘What are we looking for?’

‘A gun.’ 

-~o~-

They stop in for lunch on the way, which Percy finds suspicious. He and Annabeth can’t eat on the road like Dad can in his truck, but he didn’t expect Dad to take that for an excuse. He figured they’d just have to go without today. Instead, Dad turns into a roadside diner with semi-clean floors and every light working. What is it, Christmas?

It’s only when they sit down at the booth on the end– John on one side, Percy and Annabeth on the other– that he puts it together. Dad’s eyeing them over just like they’re eyeing him, now that he gets the chance in the light. It's an interrogation. 

‘You still like burgers, son?’ he asks, eyes flicking from Annabeth to Percy halfway through the question. 

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Good. We’ll get two of those, extra fries,’ he tells the waitress who’s just rocked up and barely had the chance to open her mouth. She’s a dumpy old lady with frizzy red hair and large hoop earrings. She starts scribbling things down with a little huff. ‘And…’

‘Same,’ Annabeth says. 

‘No worries, dearie. I’ll just take your menus. Coffee?’ 

John gets a black. Percy orders a vanilla coke, and Annabeth sticks with water. 

‘Those are some serious scrapes you’ve got there,’ Dad notes once the waitress is gone. It’s not clear which of them he’s talking to, even though he’s staring at Percy. They both know he’s noticed Annabeth’s scars peeking out from under her tan too. Percy’s are just more obvious. ‘You get the thing that made ‘em?’

‘Yes sir,’ Percy repeats. 

‘How long have you two known each other?’ is his next question. 

‘Six years.’

‘Then I’ll bet that’s in part thanks to you,’ the man says, turning on Annabeth. ‘Right?’

‘In part,’ she says diplomatically. 

Dad grunts into his coffee. ‘You’ve got each other’s backs, huh?’

Percy nods just to avoid saying yes sir again. He hasn’t missed it, but it seems he still can’t answer his father any other way. 

‘That’s good. That’s good… I was hoping… I mean, I knew you were among allies, but I still couldn’t help but wonder if you had someone at your six.’

‘How did you know?’ Percy blurts. ‘I mean, how much did you know?’

‘Too much. Not enough.’ Dad shakes his head and trails off, looking out the window for a second. In the light, his eyes are the same shade of hazel as his sons’. He looks back thoughtfully. ‘Dean ran away. When you disappeared. To look for you. He tell you that?’

Percy’s breath tightens. He did? Dean? Sam was always a flight risk, and still it took him eighteen years to actually leave. To think that Dean would ever even consider it… 

‘Really?’

Dad nods. ‘Fought like a mother when I came and got him. Didn’t stop until I told him you were safe.’

‘You lied to him?’ It’s out of Percy’s mouth before he thinks. Dad’s eyes gain an edge of warning. 

‘How are the boys?’ he asks instead of answering, the same edge in his tone. 

Percy shakes his head. ‘Sam’s… not doing so great. Seems there’s a new thing every day, but him… I’m worried, dad.’

‘This girl was really that special to him?’

‘He was gonna marry her.’

The coffee cup stops halfway to Dad’s mouth. Slowly lowers, hits the table with a quiet thunk. 

‘Her name was Jessica,’ Percy continues. ‘She was a riot. A real people person, sweet as pie with a sharp tongue. Clever enough to keep up with Sam, and put him in his place when he needed it. Rock solid. He couldn’t have found a better woman.’ He purses his lips, taking a moment to think of her. ‘He’s really hurting.’

‘Dean will take care of him,’ John fires back automatically. But then he softens minutely. ‘I would’ve liked to meet her.’

Percy chuckles at the image: Dad breaking in in the middle of the night to demand why Sam’s not put out salt lines; Jess throwing him out on the fire escape to be dealt with at a decent hour, probably chucking the salt out after him. That certainly would’ve been something. 

‘I’m glad, at least, to have met you,’ Dad continues to Annabeth. ‘I know I’ve been… harsh. But I’m glad Percy’s found happiness.’ 

‘Well, I’m not Jessica,’ she states plainly. ‘I’m not a people person, and I’m certainly not sweet. But I love your son, and so long as I’m breathing, he’s safe with me.’

Dad might have something to say to the subtle jab in that statement, but the waitress is back with their burgers, so he lets it go. 

-~o~-

Mrs. O’Leary leaves them just before they reach Elkins’ place. God knows how she’d followed them this far, but she had, appearing like smoke from nowhere whenever they stopped for a minute. Dean doesn’t realise it until they reach the car, but this time she hasn’t come back. He really hopes he hasn’t just lost his little brother’s dog, but at the same time, it’s a hellhound, so losing it’s probably the less traumatic outcome to his relationship with the thing. 

A hellhound. What is his life coming to?

They tracked Elkins’ message down to a locker and ended up with a letter for a J.W.. Sam turns it over, about to rip into it, and Dean watches closely. 

The knock on the window startles them both. Dean turns to a sharp, achingly familiar grin, cut up in places. 

‘Percy?’ he hears himself say. Percy jerks his head back in a signal for them to get out, so they do. 

Their little brother straightens beside his girlfriend, clapping Dean’s arm in greeting. Annabeth gives them each a nod, and Dean can’t help but look her over. Last he saw her, she wasn’t doing too hot. He’d shocked himself with how scared he’d been. Looking at her now, though, you’d never know it– she stands tall and broad beside Percy, hair up in a practical ponytail and eyes as stormy as ever. He catches her doing the same thing to him, and when they meet each other’s eyes, they make a silent pact not to acknowledge it. 

A few paces away stands Dad, a smile slipping onto his face. 

‘We saw you up at Elkins’ place,’ Percy says.

Dad nods. ‘Nice job covering your tracks, by the way.’

‘Yeah, well, we learned from the best,’ Dean says, staring at his father like he might disappear if he looks away. 

‘What are you guys doing here?’ Sam asks, looking between them. ‘You didn’t call.’

‘We were going to. We’re here for Elkins– did you know him?’ Annabeth asks.

‘No,’ Dean shakes his head, ‘He was in the journal. We read he’d died, so…’

‘I haven’t– hadn’t, seen him in years. We had… we had kind of a falling out. But he was one of the best hunters out there, and a good man besides.’ Dad nods at the letter still gripped in Sam’s hand. ‘I should look at that.’

Sam hands it over and they all stand around to listen. 

‘If you’re reading this, I’m already dead…’ Dad reads out. He trails off, reading on in his head. ‘That son of a bitch.’

‘What is it?’ Dean asks, curbing the urge to read over Dad’s shoulder. 

‘He had it the whole time.’

‘The gun?’ Annabeth asks. Sam and Dean exchange a confused look. Dad ignores all of them, snapping up instead to interrogate his eldest sons.

‘When you searched the place, did you see one? An antique, a colt revolver, did you see it?’

‘Uh, there was– there was an old case, but it was empty,’ Dean reports.

‘They have it.’

‘You mean whatever killed him?’ Sam guesses.

‘We gotta pick up the trail.’

Dad’s already turning away to stomp off, shoulders hunched. The back of him is more familiar than the front, honestly. 

‘Woah, woah, what trail? We don’t even know what killed him,’ Sam calls after him. Dad half-turns with an exasperated frown. 

‘They were what Danny Elkins killed best. Vampires.’

‘Vampires?’ Dean echoes stupidly. 

Percy’s brow scrunches up in time with Annabeth’s. ‘Like empousai?’

‘Em- who -sai?’

‘Nevermind.’

Dean puts that aside for now. ‘I thought there was no such thing.’

‘You never even mentioned them, Dad,’ Sammy adds. 

‘I thought they were extinct,’ he admits. ‘I thought Elkins and others had wiped ‘em out… I was wrong.’

He gives them the skinny there by the side of the road. Apparently, most well-known vampire lore is crap; A cross won’t repel them, sunlight won’t kill them, and a stake to the heart is more of a mild inconvenience than anything. The main thing is the blood– they need it to survive, and it has to be human. Fresh, too. Each vamp was originally a human, so it’s impossible to tell one from an innocent on sight. You need evidence. You need to catch them in the act. 

The closest motel in their price range only has one room left, and it’s a double. It’s late anyway, not all of them will end up sleeping. Dad doesn’t even pretend to try, taking up post at the table with his police scanner in hand. He knows all the call codes, so he’s listening out for their case. Talk about a professional. That’s real hunting, right there. Dean takes notes. 

Percy and Annabeth take the right bed. They don’t say anything, but Dean’s fairly certain one of them’s awake at all times. The rest of them doze lightly in their clothes and boots on top of the beds, ready to go. With Sammy taking up more than his fair share of the bed, it’s just like old times. Well, plus Annabeth. But Dean’s decided she’s a permanent fixture now, so she can stay. 

Somewhere around five, Dad wakes them up. A couple found a body in the street, the cops found no one. It’s the vampires. Dad drags them out to the scene so they can all wait in the car while he checks it out, and he comes back with a lead he won’t explain until Sam doubles down on his questioning. 

‘We just wanna know what to look for, Dad, in case we come up against vampires again in the future,’ Percy offers, despite the fact that he’s firmly on Sam’s side. 

The little brother charm wins out again, and Dad softens minutely. He pulls a little white something out of his jacket pocket and hands it to Dean, who turns it over curiously. Percy squints at it over his shoulder.

‘Is that a…?’

‘Vampire fang?’

‘No fangs. Teeth,’ Dad corrects. ‘The second set descends when they attack.’ He turns and starts marching back to his truck, calling over his shoulder as he gets further away. ‘They’re heading West. We’re gonna have to double back to get around that detour. And Dean, why don’t you touch up your car before you get rust? I wouldn’t’a given you the damn thing if I thought you were gonna ruin it.’

As Dean deflates, Percy swells like a bullfrog. Dean would take a bullet for that car, and they all know it. He gives them an attempt at a joking smile, like he’s laughing along, but it dies before he ducks into the front seat. 

The comms crackle on almost the second they’re on the road. Sam’s voice blares to life in Percy’s ear. 

‘Alright, what do you guys know? What’s this about a gun? Did Dad tell you anything?’

Percy can practically hear the look Dean is giving him, but he’s glad Sam asked. They were going to tell them the second they got a chance anyway.

‘We’re hunting the thing that killed your mothers. This gun– the colt– he thinks it’s going to help us kill it,’ Annabeth provides.

A moment of silence as the boys take this in. Then Sam again. ‘How does he know it’ll do the job?’

‘Sammy,’ Dean warns. 

‘We don’t know. That’s all we got out of him,’ Percy says, equal parts frustrated and apologetic. ‘Well, that, and…’

Another long silence. Should Percy even say anything? They should focus on the job, shouldn’t they? It’s not his brothers’ problem.

‘That and what, Percy?’ Dean asks. 

‘Nothing. Nevermind.’

‘...Will you tell us when we’re not on the job?’ Sam tries. 

Percy smirks bitterly. There’s no off the job. And now they’re running with Dad, they can kiss privacy and healthy communication goodbye, too. But whatever keeps his middle brother happy.

‘Sure, Sammy.’

‘If he said something to you–’

‘Sam, just let it go, would ya?’

‘Dean, he’s clearly–’

Percy switches his comms off. He doesn’t need to hear the rerun of this fight for the eight thousandth time. It never goes anywhere.

The comm crackles back on, but instead of fighting, there’s a quiet chirr. Just Annabeth. She doesn’t say anything, but having the comm open makes her feel closer. It makes a difference he truly appreciates. He sends her back a grateful rumble. A while into the drive she starts up a little song– more of a crooning warble than anything, really. It helps keep his mind off the truck in front of him and the Impala behind him. 

At least, until the Impala suddenly overtakes the both of them and all but runs Dad’s truck off the road. Percy swears and pulls the bikes over, dismounting and pulling off his helmet as fast as he can. Annabeth’s a step behind him, and they reach the squabble just as Sam’s getting up in Dad’s face, all but chest-to-chest, Dean calling after him. Percy can smell the testosterone from here. 

‘What the hell was that?’

‘We need to talk.’

‘About what?’

‘About everything. Where we goin’, Dad? What’s the big deal about this gun?’

‘Sammy, c’mon, we can Q and A after we kill all the vampires,’ Dean tries from the sidelines, as close as he can be to the both of them without getting in between.

‘Your brother’s right, we don’t have time for this,’ Dad says. As if that’ll help. He’s barely got it out before Sam’s spitting back. 

‘Last time you said it was too dangerous to be together. You didn’t even ask about Percy, and now out of the blue you waltz on back with him like you’re best pals, like you haven’t treated his name like a bad word for the last six years, and say you need our help. You owe us some answers!’

Dad, not even blinking at the yelling for a second, speaks low and even. It’s a dangerous tone, one Percy’s learned to equate with fear for his brothers. Mostly Dean. Dean took the shit for everything. ‘Get back in the car.’

‘No.’ Percy’s hair rises, heart jumping. All of their heads snap to Sam at once. 

‘I said get back in the damn car,’ Dad repeats.

‘Yeah. And I said no.’

Dean picks his jaw up off the ground first, leaping in to take the hit once again. Fear tinges his voice a little high, and he’s too desperate to stop this car crash of a conversation to keep it from showing. ‘Alright, you’ve made your point, tough guy, look, we’re all tired, we can talk about this later– Sammy, I mean it, c’mon–’ 

Dean manages to squeeze himself between them and shove Sam back towards the car, but they don't get far enough away that the rest of them don’t hear what he says under his breath. 

‘This is why I left in the first place.’

Again with the low voice, Dad take a step forward. ‘What’d you say?’ 

Percy’s stomach flips as Sam rounds back on their father, and he feels himself shift into fight-or-flight. 

‘You heard me.’

‘Yeah. You left. Your brother and me, we needed you. You walked away, Sam, YOU walked away!’

Maybe it’s the fact that Dad actually touches Sam– shoves him right in the chest. A lesser man would stumble back. Maybe it’s the yelling. Whatever it is, it escalates the situation from dangerous to volatile. Dean can’t get between them fast enough.

‘Stop it, both of you!’

‘Like you needed Percy? Have you even asked him where he’s been? You didn’t even look for him! You said he was safe! You don’t care about him! You don’t care about any of us!’

They’ve got their fists snarled in each other’s collars, wrestling to be heard. Percy drags Dad back and Dean grabs Sam. They have to fight to separate them. ‘I said stop it, STOP IT! THAT’S ENOUGH!’ And Dean, ever the big brother, stands between them, facing their father down. ‘That means you too.’ 

Percy wordlessly hands Annabeth his keys. She stands with him until Sam and Dad have both gone back to their cars, and then brushes past him as she goes. Percy takes a big deep breath. Dean squeezes his arm, making sure he’s okay before heading back to the driver’s side, demoting Sammy to passenger. Percy gets in the back. 

There’s silence as Dean pulls out of the sharp turn Sam drove them into, letting Dad and Annabeth pass before following. Then Sam scoffs, shaking his head and looking out the window in disbelief, his tongue pressing hard against his cheek. Still biting at the bit. 

‘This is my fault,’ Percy sighs. ‘I should’ve told you before.’

‘Told us what, Perce?’ Dean asks for them both. He checks on his little brother in the mirror. Percy meets his eyes. Sam’s looking too. 

‘I asked him,’ he admits, swallowing thickly. ‘When I found him, I asked him what you asked him– why he never looked for me. He said he knew I had people to look out for me. And he said whatever… whatever I’d gotten up to in my time away… he didn’t need to know. And you didn’t need to know either.’ 

Sam scoffs again, but Dean puts a hand up. ‘Woah, woah, woah, wait, he said it like that? Exactly like that?’

Percy nods, looking between his brothers. Sam’s already gearing up for another explosion, so Percy leans forward and puts a hand on his shoulder. ‘Think about it, Sam. He said that, and then he said it was good to see me. But he didn’t wanna know what I got up to.’

‘You think he… you think he knows?’ Dean asks, eyes wide. 

Sam looks between his brothers like they’re suggesting that Tinkerbell exists. ‘You guys can’t be serious. There’s no way! Percy, he’d– I’m sorry, but he’d kill you on sight.’

‘He’d have to if he confirmed it,’ Percy agrees before Dean can argue the point. ‘That’s why he let me go. That’s why he doesn’t want me around. He doesn’t want to know, and he doesn’t want to admit that he already does.’

That settles heavy in the air. Percy falls back in his seat, staring blankly out the windshield. 

‘Still think he doesn’t care about us?’ Dean asks quietly. 

There’s no answer to that.

Chapter Text

It’s a messy job. They end up with the colt and all family members accounted for, but it was still messy. The vampires nearly opened their fat mouths in front of John and outed Percy and Annabeth for what they are. And they couldn’t move at their full potential, too worried about letting him in on their true natures. They cut it too close too many times in such a short period for it to be sustainable. They can’t be around John. 

The logical thing to do is leave, but they can’t bring themselves to. Not now, not with Jess’ loss so fresh, Sam still wandering aimlessly with a head full of revenge. Percy’s been away from his brothers far too long, missed far too much. He can’t just leave them. He won’t. Neither will Annabeth. 

Maybe Sam can sense the problem too, because when Dad starts packing up his truck alone, he doesn’t stop him. Dean clearly expects him to, but no one says anything as it happens. John slows down as if he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

Dean’s the one to say it, in the end. ‘We made a good team back there, huh? The whole family back together again.’

Sam and Percy both chuckle, exchanging mildly amused looks.

‘Yeah, we did, didn’t we?’ Percy offers. John nods with an almost-smile. 

‘You boys look out for each other, y’hear?’ he orders, looking between the three of them. His eyes meet Annabeth’s last, and the silent you too is apparent. 

‘...Yessir,’ comes the staggered answer from the boys. 

‘You’ll tell us, Dad,’ Percy calls just as the man’s about to turn, ‘If you find it. We’ll do our best to track it down on our end, but if you find it first, you call us.’

John hesitates, but that’s Percy’s condition. He’s not letting Dad go just so he can disappear back off on his lone-wolf cross-country field-trip, no strings attached. Percy will look for him again, and now John knows he’ll find him. He seems to recognise this. 

‘Alright, Percy, you win. I’ll let you know if I make any progress,’ he almost laughs. For the briefest of moments he gets this look that on anyone else Percy would call sentimental. His eyes rove over them, Percy and Sam especially, and he shakes his head a little in disbelief. He has to look up at them now. What a mindfuck. 

‘Stay safe,’ Sam says.

‘Happy hunting,’ Dean adds. Happy hunting. It’s what they always said when one of them walked out the door. It covered all the bases: come back in one piece, kick ass, don’t get caught, come back soon. It’s about as close as the Winchesters ever got to I love you.

Dad grips Dean’s arm with one hand, Percy’s with the other, and squeezes. He pats Sam on the chest once, giving them each a nod. Then he turns, gets in his truck, and goes. 

They all stand there in a trance, watching the truck disappear into the night. Percy hates to see him go off alone again on the trail of what’s possibly the biggest bad any of them have ever faced (bar him and Annabeth), but– and he hates to say it– it’s easier to breathe with him gone. 

Percy and Annabeth wait until they’re alone in their own motel room to send Mrs. O’Leary after the colt. They make sure she has it before they send John the text to let him know it’s safe. They have her take it to camp. It would just be stupid to leave it with John– if the demons didn’t descend on him all at once over it, then he’d probably find their prey and go after it himself, no matter what he promised. That’s not going to happen, not on their watch. It’s safer under their protection, and so is he. 

-~o~-

Meg’s about to close in on Daddy Winchester when her Sire stops her. In person. She hasn’t seen him in a meat suit in… who even knows how many decades. 

‘Don’t bother,’ he tells her in the too-breathy voice of some pot-bellied truckie he picked up somewhere. When he finds a host he likes, he sticks with it, but between those special few he’s never picky with who he uses. Meg always hates to see him choose bodies so beneath him. Latin comes out of them wrong.

‘Don’t bother?’ she repeats incredulously. Is he serious?

‘The colt’s already gone. The Aianspetos have it.’

Meg whips back to stare through the brush at the obnoxious truck of horrors she’s been stalking, like she’ll be able to see through it to confirm. She can’t, of course. But if her Sire says it’s gone, then it’s gone. With the Revenants. 

‘You should’ve said so before,’ she huffs. ‘Now I’ll have to trek all the way back to the dream team and pay them another little–’

‘No.’

She whips back again to stare at him. His yellow eyes burn, and she instinctively lowers herself in supplication. 

‘I don’t want you anywhere near those freaks. We are now the hunted, do you understand? This is not a game anymore. We have to play this right. Draw it out… keep him on the line, but never close enough to bite. As for the sons– stay away completely.’

‘Why?’

As soon as she’s asked it, she wants to take it back. She’s never asked stupid questions before, and doing so now will only lose the favour she’s worked so hard to curry. 

Her Sire is merciful, ignoring the slip-up. ‘You can have a little fun, but just a little. Keep him busy. Do not engage yourself. Understood?’

She tamps down on the tidal wave of bloodlust that swells in her. Her hands shake with it, and she squeezes them into fists, playing with the cuts in her hands that never really heal over before she opens them again. 

‘Yes, sir.’

When he goes, she screams. She crashes a fourteen-wheeler into an unconsecrated church, kills every survivor, and sets the place on fire. Her anger isn’t even close to sated. 

We are now the hunted.

What a load of shit.

-~o~-

When Bobby claps eyes on Percy, his eyes go wide as dinner plates. He makes a sound like a deflating balloon. He’s so stunned he actually pokes Percy in the chest to make sure he’s real, and still it only seems to sink in when Percy speaks. He plies them with question, his phone number, and reheated chilli con carne before they're on their way again. On to the next job.

And then, there’s Gordon. 

The man seems nice enough. He’s adamant that he won’t accept help on his hunt, which sets off muted alarm bells in Percy’s head. The way he’s brought his pride into it, getting territorial over earning his prey like it’s some kind of sport, doesn’t sit right with Percy. It’s not that Percy thinks he’s hiding anything, it’s just– shouldn’t a hunter’s priority be civilian lives, not the thrill of the hunt or pride in the kill? Isn’t the important thing that the threat is dealt with, regardless of who’s the one to deal the final blow? 

Sam and Dean don’t feel right sitting out of a hunt, so they follow Gordon as backup anyway. If Gordon thought he could tackle the job on his own, three grown hunters should be more than enough, so Percy and Annabeth take the night off.

Sam comes back early and alone. He’s obviously hesitant to knock on their door, hovering outside uncertainly for long enough that Annabeth makes the call for him and opens it. He looks back at her like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. It’s adorable. Annabeth checks, and Percy has the exact same look on his face even though he finished his cig an hour ago and there were already enough butts in the ashtray for his to blend in. He surreptitiously opens a window, ignoring his girlfriend’s eye roll. As if Sam’s not going to figure it out sooner or later. 

‘Hey, Sammy,’ Percy greets with his guiltiest face. It shifts a little with his attention as he realises he can’t smell Dean. ‘Let me guess, the waitress was hot.’

Sam scoffs in the petulant way of the middle brother. ‘Try our new friend.’

‘They’re hitting it off, huh?’ Annabeth notes, shrugging on one of Percy’s flannels over her tank top. If he insists on airing the room out, she can at least keep his scent on herself this way. 

‘I guess I can kinda see it?’ Percy offers doubtfully. ‘His beard is… sexy…?’

‘It’s a goatee, Percy,’ she reminds him. He grimaces. 

‘...Yeah, okay, I don’t see it. But good for Dean.’

‘Maybe it’s a DILF thing,’ she suggests. 

‘He’s a dad?’

‘No, but he’s older.’

‘That’s called something else, I think.’

‘Guys!’ They both turn to Sam, who looks a little wide-eyed at the exchange. ‘Not like that! Why would you put that visual in my– nevermind. He’s just being all buddy-buddy with the guy, bro-ing it up, y’know.’

‘Ohh,’ Percy nods. Then shrugs. ‘Okay then. What’s the problem?’

‘Problem?’

Annabeth gives him a look that says he can’t be serious. Sam purses his lips. 

‘It’s not… nothing.’

‘Sam. What did we say about communication?’ she lectures. Is this how Dean feels when Sam asks him to talk about things?

He shakes his head, grunting dismissively. ‘It’s just… we saved his life tonight. Our feeling was right, he was being too cocky, slipped up and would’ve died if not for Dean and me. Dean cut the vamp’s head off, and Gordon, he… laughed. Slapped Dean’s chest like a proud dad and promised to buy him a round. Now they’re yuckin’ it up at the bar like old pals. It’s just… I know it wasn’t… it was a vamp, but he still cut its head off, dude. I wasn’t laughing.’ He sits down on the sole chair by the table, bouncing his leg. ‘I called Bobby. He says Gordon’s no good, and we should keep far away.’

Percy’s head whips over to him ‘She said that?’ 

Sam nods. Percy and Annabeth exchange a look. They both got the ick before, this is as good as confirmation. 

‘Alright. We’ll go get him,’ she decides, rising to grab the keys from the table. Percy’s already moving to grab his jacket.

Sam half-rises in his seat, looking between them. ‘What? Really? Just like that?’

They both meet his eyes, and Annabeth can see Sam is taken aback by how seriously they’re taking him. Still not used to what family means. Well, they have time to reteach him. 

‘There’s something not right about that guy,’ Percy says for the both of them. ‘We both agree, and if you and Bobby think so too, that’s enough for us.’

‘Good luck convincing Dean of that.’

‘We can at least convince them both to come back to the motel where we can keep an eye on them,’ Annabeth says. 

Slowly, Sam sinks back down into his seat. He lets them go, neither of them holding the door open for the other, both of them slinking through like a mellifluous thing. He’s left alone in the motel room with their few belongings and the pungent smell of Lucky Strikes. 

Wait, Lucky Strikes? Sam sniffs again to make sure he’s not projecting his memories into the air, but he’d know that smell anywhere. Dean’s brand. Always has been, always will be, even though he gave into Sam’s begging and quit years ago. Has he started again…? No, he hasn’t stepped foot in Percy and Annabeth’s room since they’ve been here. The smell is so strong, though, even with the windows… cracked…

…Which had been closed when he walked in. 

But that doesn’t make sense. Percy would be as adamant about getting Annabeth to quit as Sam had been about Dean, if that’s what was going on. She wouldn’t be lighting up in the middle of their shared room. Percy might’ve been through a lot and changed through the years, but there are some things Sam’s sure of. There are some things at the core of Percy that Sam still knows, will always know. Right? That’s what a brother is. 

Right?

He scrubs a hand over his face, sighs, and remembers the soda machine he saw on the way in. He decides he could do with a sugar kick while he waits for his brothers (and Annabeth (there’s got to be a better way to refer to her, but he’s not quite ready to say sister yet)) to get back. 

-~o~-

They’re not hard to find. There’s only one bar of the sub-par Winchester standard in town, and Gordon and Dean are right in the middle of it, laughing too loud and waving their drinks wildly with their speech. The crowd is louder, of course, so it’s not like they’re attracting undue attention, it’s just not like Dean. And Annabeth can tell he’s not drunk, despite the evidence of several rounds littering the table. He’s just happy. It pains her to know it’s a poisoned moment. 

Dean’s delighted to see them, gripping both Percy and Annabeth’s forearms in turn. He’s surprisingly touchy with his brothers, and being included in that proves that Annabeth’s earned her place. She’s glad. It reassures her of her right to drag Dean back from danger like any good sister would.

Neither of them even have to make the suggestion; Dean’s already inviting Gordon back to the motel, talking about this nest they’re apparently both after now. After a silent conversation, Annabeth takes shotgun in the Impala and Percy follows on the bike, putting himself between them and Gordon’s truck as well as giving him a clear view through their back windshield. Dean doesn’t hide his surprise as she gets in, turning around in his seat to see if Percy’s about to get in the back. He raises an eyebrow at her, but the stony gaze she returns gives him nothing, so he lets it go and pulls off onto the road. Annabeth momentarily thinks about asking to swap places, but immediately dismisses the idea. He’s clearly not even tipsy, and he’d probably kick her out without stopping for the suggestion. 

‘What, didja miss me?’ he asks a few minutes into the car ride, unable to keep a lid on his curiosity. 

‘I just wanted to let you know that we don’t trust Gordon.’

His voice sobers immediately, shooting her a frown. ‘What? Who’s we?’

‘Sam, Percy, Bobby and I.’

‘Bob– you called Bobby?’

‘Sam did,’ she confirms. ‘He says the man’s bad news. Dangerous.’

‘You’re damn right, he’s dangerous– to evil sons of bitches, that’s the job.’

‘To everyone around him, and himself,’ she corrects. ‘Percy and I got bad vibes from him from the beginning. Sam agrees. Bobby knows the guy, so he’s a character witness, and his input confirms–’

‘What, is he on trial, now? Look, Bobby's great, but we can make our own minds up about people, alright? Where the hell is this coming from?’

Annabeth sighs. This is why she went instead of Percy; It would turn into a fight. Annabeth doesn’t take part in fights she doesn’t see the point in. ‘You can disregard all of our opinions if you want to. We just wanted to let you know that none of us trust him from κορωνίς, and you should be careful. That’s all.’

Dean’s annoyed ‘yeah, whatever’ is all that’s said for the rest of the drive. 

Only, something’s wrong when they get there. Someone’s been in the motel– in their room. And Sam is walking in as if he’s been out with a slow, cautious tread, like the carpet’s a minefield, his gaze flicking between everyone nervously. Percy and Annabeth both give him wide what’s-happened stares and he shakes his head a little at them; go-with-me. 

‘Dean, can I talk to you outside for a minute?’

Percy and Annabeth try, they really try to keep Gordon out of the fight. But the motel walls are as good as paper maché, and they all hear every word. And when Dean punches Sam in the face, none of them can keep up the pretence that they’re not listening. Percy and Annabeth have both gone still in place, tensing with the urge to go out there and get in the middle of it. Percy flinches whenever he’s mentioned. 

‘How can you say that, when right in the other room, Percy–’

‘They’re not like Percy, Sam, they’re fucking vamps! I can’t keep doing this, man. First it’s Percy and Annabeth, okay, obviously I had to rethink some things, but then it started getting crazy. I let a fucking hellhound go, and now you want me to let some bloodsucking killers walk because they told you pretty please?! Where’s it gonna end? Where’s the line, Sam?!’

Percy’s too caught up in the argument going on outside to catch it, but Annabeth’s head snaps to where Gordon’s staring at them with wide eyes gone dark, putting pieces together. Without looking away, she yanks the door open and shoves Percy out, his momentum going along as if he’s following through on her motion. 

‘Hey!’ he snaps sharply. Both his brothers whip to attention as he stalks over to them, hissing about keeping their voices down. Sam’s eyes widen guiltily, getting that puppy-dog sheen in them, and Dean’s eyes flick back to the motel room door. ‘Gordon’s still listening, asshats. What the fuck is this about?’

‘Sam found the nest.’

‘I–’ Sam looks between them defensively, trying to explain himself and convince them of something both at once, while still maintaining that he’s mad at Dean. What else is new? ‘The cattle mutilations. They’ve sworn off humans. They’re peaceful.’

‘And you know this how?’ Percy asks in a much more reasonable tone than his brothers have been yelling with.

‘They took me. Just to talk.’

‘They took you?’

‘Just to talk! See, look–’ he flaps his enormous arms up and turns around, ‘-not a scratch on me!’

‘That’s great Sam, but don’t think–’

‘Shut up, the both of you!’ Percy hisses, some of his deep-set growl coming out between his teeth. ‘This is a conversation to have when a volatile hunter’s not listening to every word. Come on, do you want us on a hit list? Hunters talk, dude, you could’ve just blown our whole operation out of the water! Keep a lid on it!’

They both look like Percy’s just shot them in the heart, which looks completely different on each of them. Dean hangs his head and curses quietly, which says enough. Percy sighs and softens. 

‘Whatever we do, we’re gonna decide to do together. But we gotta deal with Gordon first,’ he says, looking between them for agreement. He gets a nod from Dean and a croaky ‘yeah’ from Sam. And because he can’t stand to leave his brothers miserable for long, Percy throws his hand in the middle. ‘Alright, what team?’

‘...Wildcats,’ Sam mutters with a glimmer of humour. Percy throws his arm up like the team captain and cheers. He’s still got it. Dean’s rolling his eyes like he always used to when Percy made them do that. Mission accomplished. 

When they duck back into the motel room, Annabeth’s got Gordon in an efficient hold, keeping him in place with his back to the open door. When they can all see her, she lets him go. Gordon goes straight for her throat. 

Sam and Dean have their guns out that second. Annabeth smoothly redirects Gordon’s momentum and has him in the same hold again before they can blink, having elbowed him hard in the ribs for good measure. Gordon wheezes, eyes bulging at the force of the hit, jerking wildly in her arms in a doomed attempt to break free. He almost topples over, and Annabeth doesn’t even budge. He could probably hang himself by the crook of her elbow if his feet left the floor long enough. 

‘He’s not ​​φίλος,’ she states matter-of-factly. She’s not looking, but they all know she’s talking to Dean. He might not understand the word, but the message gets across. 

‘What do you think you’re doin’, Gordon?’ Dean booms, glowering over the struggling man. His face has gone dark, jaw set like stone, and for a second– for a second he looks like Dad. 

‘I thought we were alike,’ Gordon huffs. His darkness falls short. ‘But you… you’re runnin’ with monsters. Your daddy would be ashamed.’

For that, Annabeth cuts off his airflow with a violent tug, only letting up the slightest bit after a long moment. Gordon gasps, sucking in what shallow breaths he can grasp. 

‘Who says they’re monsters?’ Dean barks, alarm clear as day in his voice. If Gordon wasn’t sure before, that reaction will have confirmed it.

‘I-I…’ Annabeth lets up just a little bit more so they can understand his choking. ‘I h- heard you. Hellhounds… and these two… she’s too st-strong… she ain’t right, neither of ‘em… you know…’

Dean surges forward, grabbing Gordon by the collar. Annabeth lets him go and Dean’s already throwing the man up against the nearest wall. Gordon sucks in more air, throat sounding painful. 

‘Now, you listen good, ‘cause I’m only gonna say this once,’ he growls low into Gordon’s face, eyes scorching. ‘There are no monsters in my family. That’s my little brother, and that woman’s as good as my sister-in-law, so you watch your fucking tone.’

‘If they ain’t human, they ain’t your family anymore,’ Gordon hisses. Dean cracks him across the face with the same fist he hit Sam with not five minutes ago, and even that doesn’t shut him up. ‘I know how you feel, Dean! I lost my sister, same way. Fuckin’ animals bit into her, turned her… so I did what I had to. You know what you gotta do!’

Dean hits him again, and again, and again, until Sam’s catching him by the wrists and pulling him back. Gordon crumples, lip split something awful and nose crooked. Blood gushes steadily down over his mouth and chin, staining his shirt and spattering the carpet. Percy hefts him up by the back of his shirt and holds him in place until his brothers sort their shit out. 

‘What do you think?’ he asks his girlfriend.

She shrugs nonchalantly, making no move to help Sam. ‘We could give him to the vamps as a gift, they seem nice enough.’

‘Annie.’

‘Just sayin’...’

When Dean finally throws his brother off and huffily resituates his jacket on his shoulders, Percy asks the question again. 

‘Uh… the vamps should be gone by now,’ Sam pants. ‘They said they’d be out by the morning, at least. That means the warehouse will be empty. We could tie him up there, call someone in a day or two to come get him.’

‘Why bother? Let’s just leave him here,’ Dean argues. ‘Even if someone calls the cops, he’s not gonna press charges. Not unless he wants the five-oh all up in his business. You got as many fake badges and guns in your car as we do, Gordy?’

‘He’ll be found too soon after we leave, he might follow us,’ Annabeth refutes. ‘Sam, can you find the warehouse again?’

He nods. Gordon scoffs, looking between them with a disapproval that probably only hits at all because it looks like Dad’s. Percy shakes him by the scruff like a misbehaving cat and growls.

‘Easy, Perce. He thinks he’s doing the right thing,’ Sam reminds him. Percy’s eyes flick to Dean’s back, his shoulders looking like they’re threaded through with a steel rod, and softens. 

Sam tells them exactly how to get to the warehouse, as if he got there by GPS and not by being thrown in the back of a truck and blindfolded. Even Gordon seems begrudgingly impressed. Sam goes in first to make sure, and thankfully, the occupants of the place have made themselves scarce. They make short work of restraining Gordon and assuring him they’ll call someone to pick him up in a few days. All the while, the man’s gaze glitters darkly with barely withheld disgust and contempt, following Percy and Annabeth most closely. They can feel how badly this guy wants to gut them. It goes beyond obligation. Gordon clearly finds a little too much joy in his job. Ironic that he’s hunting vampires when he’s got such a bad case of bloodlust himself. 

They drive back to the motel in silence. They all pile into Sam and Dean’s room. Dean makes to start packing as if he can’t feel the weight of anticipation in the air, can’t see how Sam takes up post by the door to discourage any mad dashes for freedom. Percy pulls his eldest brother back to face them a second before Annabeth can.

‘We gotta talk, man.’

‘Again?’

‘Yeah, again.’

Dean exhales deeply through his nose in surrender. He looks between them all for a while, and then makes a vague motion with his hands. 

‘I didn’t hit ya too hard, did I?’ he asks Sam. It’s as good as an apology. Sam seems surprised, like he forgot about that. 

‘No, no.’

‘Glad we got that sorted, ‘cause that’s not what I had in mind,’ Percy coughs awkwardly. ‘I mean, I figured I’d let you sort that one out between you. I meant the whole all-monsters-are-evil thing.’

‘Look, I am trying, okay? I’m trying, Perce, seriously, I am, but it’s getting harder,’ Dean bites. ‘This one– this wasn’t one of yours. It wasn’t Greek. It was a fuckin’ vamp nest.’

‘I get it,’ Percy assures him with as much earnestness as he can convey. ‘I know how Dad raised us. But you know by now he’s wrong. Knowing that and accepting it are two different things, and it’s gonna take time, but we’re gonna make sure you get there. It is so important , Dean. It’s the difference between killing innocents and sparing them.’

‘There’ve never been innocents before! That weren’t human, I mean,’ he amends. 

‘There have,’ Annabeth says.

Dean winces. ‘That’s worse.’

‘It makes the job a hell of a lot harder,’ Percy agrees. ‘But it just isn’t black and white, Dean. We have to take into account shades of grey, because the fact is, not all monsters deserve to die.’

‘...How can you tell?’ Dean asks quietly. ‘I mean… monsters lie, man. They’ll say anything to get what they want, they’ll mess with your mind.’

‘So will humans,’ Annabeth offers. ‘It might not make it easier, but think of it that way. Some people need to die, for the good of the many that would otherwise be harmed. You can’t tell those people from sight, or trust what they say. You have to be sure of the bad guys before you start swinging. It’s the same thing with monsters.’

‘We usually go with, “if it’s going for our throats, kill it”,’ Percy adds, injecting a modicum of lightness into the stilted conversation. 

And finally they’ve hit the crux of the matter. It feels like a physical thing before Dean even opens his mouth to address it. 

‘So how do I know that I haven’t fucked up before? Anything supernatural that I found, I killed. It’s always been that way. How do I know I was right to do all that?’

The air thickens with the weight of that. No one moves. Percy picks at a scab on Annabeth’s knuckle and tries to think of any way he can put it that doesn’t sound awful. 

‘You don’t,’ Sam says. His head raises belatedly, arms uncrossing as he levels Dean with a deep, dark look, and Percy realises Dean’s not the only one who’s thought of this. ‘We don’t.’

Silence. Annabeth’s talons snake between Percy’s, brushing along his scale-rough skin in an approximation of human hand-holding. She squeezes him, eyes never leaving the tense line of Dean’s shoulders. 

‘We can’t do anything about the way we were raised,’ Percy says quietly. ‘But we can change going forward. Monsters are rarely on the side of the good guys, but on the rare occasion, they can be. We know that now, we account for it.’

Dean nods slowly, staring into the ground. After a few long seconds, he straightens and resumes packing his duffel bag.

‘You guys go get your shit together, we’ll hit the road in ten,’ he throws over his shoulder without looking back. Sam hesitates, gaze flitting to Percy as if for help. Percy sends him back a little nod before slipping out with Annabeth in silence. 

Fifteen minutes later, on the road, it’s Annabeth that opens the conversation up. She switches on her comms and barrels right over whatever dumb argument Sam and Dean are in the middle of to speak. 

‘Has Percy told you about Grover yet?’

The squabbling dies at once, and she can clearly see all three Winchesters snap to attention like little kids. Percy’s eyes will be sparkling, and if he had a tail he’d be wagging it. He loves talking about Grover.

‘His right hand, right?’ Dean ventures cautiously. ‘I think so, a while back.’

‘I met him when– at the last school we went to with Perce. They were, like, glued together, if I remember correctly,’ Sam offers.

‘Oh, is this the kid with the– the crutches, and–’

‘-enchiladas,’ both brothers chorus together. Percy cackles, and Annabeth cracks a smile.

‘ Enchilada kid!’ Dean gasps, ‘ I remember now!’

‘Didn’t he used to eat napkins?’ Sam asks.

‘You sure can pick ‘em, Perce!’

Percy and Annabeth snort in tandem. 

‘Oh, you have no idea.’

‘Do you remember that month he was obsessed with Just Dance?’ 

Percy and Annabeth both laugh at the memory. Grover had convinced himself he’d never be any good with his pan flute, and somehow his alternative to this was Just Dance. He thought it would help him with rhythm or something. It decidedly didn’t. 

‘The arcade game?’ Sam asks. 

‘Yeah, and he had, like, three songs that he’d put on over and over, no other ones. Oh my gods, that Katy Perry one–’

‘You’re hot then you’re cold, you’re yes–’

‘That’s it! That’s the– holy Hera, that was horrible! He SUCKED!’

‘I’m never gonna stop hearing it. Was that the one that he–?’

‘ NO, it was– guys, guys, listen to this– Grover– hahahaha, he, he was doing, uhm, Who Let the Dogs Out, and he– he dipped, like, too low, and his weight sent him back and he was like almost doing the splits but not quite, it was so weird, I can’t even explain the pose he was in. And we just hear this huge riiiIIIIIIP! And we look over, and–’

‘-His pants–’

‘-He fucking split his pants down the middle!’

‘He was looking at us upside down, like he was playing Twister or something, eyes like dinner plates.’

‘ And we just stare at each other for a second, and he goes, “I think I let the dogs out”.’

They all laugh at the visual. Percy always delivers that line perfectly. Annabeth used to think it was his and Grover’s empathy link, but now she wonders if Percy’s not just a good storyteller. He was always good with people in a way she wasn’t, charming and charismatic as anything, and he didn’t know it. He still doesn’t. 

‘We had to get him out of there so fast,’ Annabeth recalls. 

‘Oh yeah, his girl– he had a big fat crush on her at the time, this was before he asked her out, and she came in looking for him, like, right then. Worst timing. He just looks at us like, HELP ME. So I threw him over my shoulder and fucking ran.’

‘Pants flapping in the wind. They were trailing after you like denim streamers, it was so funny.’

‘I know, his bare ass was like, in my face, but you do what you gotta do for a brother.’

‘I don’t even remember what I told Juniper. The song was still playing, I had to convince her I’d put it on for… research? Or something? I have no idea what I said.’

‘Yeah, and like, everyone saw. So we went to all that trouble covering it up, and Juniper takes one step outside and Katie asks her why I just streaked by with a bare-assed Grover over my shoulder, pants flying behind us.’

‘She still doesn’t believe me when I say I’m doing research. She gives me weird looks.’

Percy giggles, high and breathy, over the line. Dean’s cackling, and Sam’s low chuckles thread underneath both of their voices. 

‘Not that he needed our help. He literally couldn’t do anything to turn Juniper off him, and he tried.’

‘He was not built to woo.’

‘He was not. One week, he got it into his head that he had to serenade her. So he picked out his best Celine Dion number and practised all week, and by the end I was ready to strangle him to save us all the embarrassment. I was already like, whatever happens, I’m not letting him sing to her.’

‘We were convinced that would be the nail in the coffin, weren’t we?’

‘It SHOULD have been! He sounded like eight cats in a bag! I wasn’t gonna let my man go down like that!’

‘You did everything you could, Percy.’

‘Oh, I’ve gotta hear this,’ Dean goads. 

‘I tried. Hestia knows I tried– bribed him, distracted him, tied him to a chair at one point– but that sly little shit slipped out while my back was turned eventually, and he went straight to Juniper. And like, the whole camp knew at once, of course. Everyone was glaring at me, but like, come on, what was I supposed to do? He was gonna get out eventually, he’s the most horn-headed little himbo you ever did meet, that’s not on me.’

‘You said you could handle him.’

‘Duh, that’s my boy, if anyone’s tying him to a chair it’s gonna be me.’

‘What happened?’ Sam asks. Annabeth can hear the smile in his voice. 

‘I ran over there, expecting to find G-man in pieces and Juniper storming off. I thought I was gonna have to scoop him up and take him for ice cream and let him cry it out or something. I get there, and Juniper’s crying– and I’m like, yeah, makes sense, his singing makes me wanna cry too. But then he finishes and she launches herself at him and starts trying to pull his soul out through his mouth!’

‘She loved it,’ Annabeth confirms. ‘Olympus knows how, but it worked.’ 

‘We never questioned his wooing methods again.’

‘Well, not out loud.’

‘What a legend!’ Dean crows!

‘I would never let him live that down,’ Sam adds.

‘Never,’ Annabeth assures him. 

‘So he was with you at camp?’ Sam continues. ‘You’re telling me Enchilada Kid’s the son of a god?’

‘Try the Lord of the Wild,’ Percy shoots back proudly. 

‘He’s a satyr,’ Annabeth corrects. The whole Pan thing is a whole other story, they should probably start with the basics. ‘Half-man, half-goat. They follow the teachings of Pan, and they help demigods make it to camp safely. Grover was Percy’s protector.’

Silence as that sinks in. This was what Annabeth was angling for when she brought him up, but now she’s almost sorry to dampen the mood. It’s a necessary evil, though. They won’t normalise inhumanity by avoiding the subject. 

‘I miss him. We should give him a call when we can.’

‘We should,’ she agrees. ‘I want to know how he’s going with the Amazon.’

‘What about Tyson?’ Dean interjects. It sounds a little too casual to not be forced, and it drops like a stone across the line. ‘Got any fun stories about him? You should, he’s your brother.’

‘Dean,’ Sam hisses. Percy might not notice, already falling over himself with a proud response. 

‘Do I got any stories on Tyson,’ he echoes mockingly, and Annabeth can feel his flashing grin. ‘ Hell yeah, I do. Let’s see, there was this incident with a pelican…’

So Percy excitedly tells his brothers about how he came back to the Poseidon cabin one day to find a pelican in the fountain, half-tangled in a pink and orange sweater Tyson had knitted for it. He’d been feeding it peanut butter and fish food for the past week. He’d proudly introduced it as “Om-Nom the Birdie.”  Percy had to smuggle it out before the harpies came around for inspection and made Om-Nom into dinner, all while handling his crying big-little brother and assuring him that the bird would be better off elsewhere. Tyson had knitted pelican-sized sweaters in mourning for the next week until Chiron suggested he make sweaters for the harpies, of all people. They were as shocked as anyone to receive a gift, but they still wear their sweaters, and they have a soft spot for Tyson that even Chiron says he’s never seen them have for any camper, ever. Everyone can tell them apart now with the sweaters, too, so it’s easier to call them by name. Eema, Neema, and Jeema are a fraction less scary in colourful knitwear. They will still steal your shoes if you leave them out, though. 

That story leads into another, and another. They talk about Chiron and his terrible mixtape selection, Ella and her excruciating sex-ed course that’s set to be implemented as a mandatory activity for campers at a certain age, the naiads and the dryads and the nymphs. Percy tells them about Blackjack, Bessie, Seymour and Mr. D. Impressively enough, he steers clear of any quest or danger-related stories, sticking to the silly moments they managed to claim in between quests. Annabeth can feel the turns he takes to avoid those truths, the points he edits out of the stories as he usually tells them. They would think nothing of laughing over a close call, but Sam and Dean don’t want to hear about Percy being in danger. If they had been there, they might be able to laugh along, but they weren’t. Annabeth’s sure Sam and Dean chuckle over old hunts between themselves when she and Percy are away, unwilling to confront him with the fact that one or both of them could have died and Percy hadn’t been there. 

Annabeth’s not sure what it does for the Winchesters. John is still out there, haunting them like a prophecy. They’re still a million miles from home with no plans to go back or settle anywhere else. They’re still on a quest, although an unsanctioned, unholy one. They’re still strangers as much as they are family.

But maybe they’re headed in the right direction.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Bobby calls. Apparently it’s not the first time, this just happens to be the time they’re free to pick up. With a guy as surly as Bobby, it shocks Percy. Maybe it shouldn’t, though. The old guy was so happy to see them all alive and well that he almost didn’t let them go, threatened them with the old guest bedroom they used to share and his miserable cold chilli recipe. He kept looking at Percy like he might disappear if Bobby lost sight of him, pretending not to be cataloguing each and every new scar on his incongruously young-old face. 

It’s the novelty of someone calling to check up on them just to make sure they’re okay that gets Percy to reconsider the picture. He hates to say it, but he’s still missing a lot of the life he had before his amnesia. There are and will always be gaps in his memory. It’s easy to forget that other people have context about his life that he doesn’t– that he’s expected to. If he has cornerstones, and if he takes the time to chip away at them, he can sometimes recover bits and pieces. But that’s a dangerous game. It’s like trawling the sea for the catch of the day– sometimes all he gets is a boat full of small fry, and sometimes he finds himself woefully unprepared for what he drags up from the depths.

He brings up his hazy memories of Bobby with some difficulty now as Sam answers the phone. They’re good ones. Percy remembers the excitement most; going to Bobby’s was always a treat. Dean would pretend not to care, but Sam and Percy made it difficult with how contagious their enthusiasm was. Going to Bobby’s guaranteed a full dinner (with seconds and thirds if they wanted!) and a warm, clean bed to fall into afterwards. It meant a house with enough rooms that they didn’t have to share their father’s dark cloud as he worked, but could still be nearby if they were needed. Percy remembers wondering what one man could possibly do with so many rooms, why he needed more than one if it was just him and he had no Dad to avoid.

The car yard was Dean’s favourite. Sam liked the library. Percy had his own place– the barn. There was all kinds of cool junk back there, and Percy could hide in amongst it all and disappear. 

The man himself, Percy has trouble recalling much of. He remembers Bobby’s gruff drawling accent, the little double takes he used to do when one of them surprised him. Percy remembers thinking the guy probably didn’t know much about kids, but he was kind and good to them anyway. Percy remembers him and Dad fighting. Bobby never liked it when Dad raised his voice in front of them. He asked Sam why, once– Dad yelled all the time, so he didn’t really understand why it bothered Bobby. 

Percy remembers that chilli– terrible cooking, but such a treat to have so much food! Bobby cooked once a week, but he cooked enough for India, and he let them mow through it all in one sitting when they came around, always making up some excuse about having nothing to do tomorrow but make more anyway. And then Dad would get him mixed up in arguing or hunting again, and there’d come more excuses over how he wasn’t hungry. Basically, Dad would go over to yell at the man while his kids ate him out of heart and home and scampered through his house like feral rats. Bobby was very particular about his systems and where he put things, and they no doubt got screwed up whenever the Winchesters blew through, too. 

Percy can only recall one specific memory of interacting with Bobby himself. It was the very first time they stayed over. 

‘Even one of them books ends up in a place other than y’found it in, I’mma tan your hide fer leather, y’hear?’ he’d warned Sam just as the middle brother had worked up the courage to touch one of the shelves. His hand snapped back and they both whirled around like they’d been caught with a hand in the ammo jar. Sam snapped to attention, and Percy hid behind him.

‘Yes, sir,’ they both chorused. Bobby’s eyebrows descended and Percy worried they were about to be in trouble. 

‘Sorry, sir,’ Percy added before he could stop himself. Dad always said he didn’t want them to be sorry, he wanted them to be better, but Percy still hadn’t quite trained the instinct out of himself. Sam squeezed Percy’s hand as he inwardly cursed. 

Bobby shifted uncomfortably in place, once again making the out-of-his-depth face that gave Percy the idea that he didn’t know much about kids. ‘You don’t gotta… I didn’t mean… jus’... forget I said anythin’. Y’can read the books, ‘s fine.’

Carefully, Sam took his eyes off Bobby. Percy wasn’t willing to just yet, so Sam spoke quietly to the side of his face. 

‘You hear that, Perce? We can read ‘em. But they have to go right back where they came from, okay? So just take one out at a time, be careful with it, and remember where it goes. If you need one from up high, I’ll get it for you, Dean wouldn’t want you stretching with your ribs still healing. If you pick one in English, I’ll help you read it, okay?’

Percy didn’t think much of reading, but he liked Sam reading to him, and he knew he had to learn if he wanted to be helpful on hunts. So he nodded, but he stayed glued to Sam’s back with his eyes on Bobby. Momentarily brave, he gave the old guy a gap-toothed smile.

‘Thank you, mister Bobby!’ he squeaked.

Bobby blinked and got all flustered, shaking his head and making a lot of grumbling noises. ‘Where the hell’d ya git manners like that, son? It weren’t yer daddy, sure as sh– ahh, ta be sure.’

‘I’m teaching him, sir,’ Sam said. Again, he turned to Percy, putting on his teaching voice. ‘Manners are important. We gotta make up for the other two, don’t we, Perce? Always be polite when you can.’

‘That’s what I’m doin,’ Percy said proudly. Then he turned and thanked Bobby again, hoping the guy would just say you’re welcome and go away already so they could read. He didn’t know how long they’d have access to such a cool library. Being polite was taking way too long!

‘We promise we’ll be careful,’ Sam pronounced gravely. Bobby nodded uncertainly.

‘Right… well, erm… have fun, I guess.’

He shuffled off. Dean darted in a second after to make sure they were alright, shooting suspicious glances at Bobby’s back. 

The guy was good to them. His place became one of their safest headquarters over the years, easily preferable to the others. Percy had caught him yelling right back at Dad a time or two, but only ever when he thought they couldn’t hear. Bobby was definitely a bright spot in their childhood. It must be strange for him now, seeing these three grown men and opening his home to them same as he did when they barely reached his knee. And Annabeth, while he’s at it.  Percy decides they should make a point to visit him properly when they can. 

They all stand awkwardly around while Bobby blusters about his excuses for calling. 

Dean quirks one of his shit-eatingest grins and leans in. ‘You can say ya missed us, Bobby, no one could blame ya.’

‘Ahh, ta hell witchu, boy! Nevermind. Didja find yer daddy or not?’

‘We did,’ Percy responds. ‘We struck an accord, but we all decided it was best to separate again. Hit this thing from two sides.’

‘Really? Well… if that’s how ya figure it,’ Bobby grunts, clearly figuring there’s more to the story and holding back his opinions. ‘So he ain’t witchu anymore, then?’

‘No sir,’ Dean confirms. 

‘Sir,’ Bobby echoes hatefully, ‘that’s tha stupidest thing… well, nevermind then. Not like the damn bastard answers his phone…’

‘What’s wrong?’ Sam asks, half a smile on his face. 

‘Oh, nothin’. Just, Ellen’s wantin’ ta talk to ‘im, is all.’

All four of them share a look, and as one, ask, ‘Ellen?’

‘...Ellen.’ A beat of silence. ‘Ellen Harvelle. …You ain’t tellin’ me you don’t know Ellen goddamn Harvelle? What kinda hunters are ya, anyway? Yaknow, hunters can be tough company, but even we know it ain’t a job ta do alone! There’s a community o’ support behind this thing, whaddyou think I do answerin’ phones all day, ya think I’m a telemarketer? It’s hard makin’ friends with civilians, but yer not tellin’ me yer daddy dragged you up and down tha country all yer life with no backup at all?!’

They exchange another baffled look. 

‘Uhm… that’s what we’re telling you, yeah,’ Percy offers. 

Some almighty scoffs take over the line for a minute, and Bobby has another half-conversation with John Winchester, wherever he may be. They let him have it out. By the time he gets back to them, he’s worked himself out of patience.

‘Git over ta tha roadhouse pronto, ya idjits! Now! Not one more job ‘til you’ve made nice with folk worth havin’ on side!’ There’s a moment where Percy’s sure he’s about to hang up, and he probably almost does. But then he huffs out a big sigh over the line. ‘Yer daddy had an… inadvisable way o’ doin’ things. I thought he’d at least had tha sense ta recognise that and teach yew better. Listen here and listen good: ta do this job and stay sane, ya gotta rely on a few people ta have yer back when shit turns to trumps and ta have a beer cold fer ya when it don’t. Lord knows how ya made it this far! I don’ care what yer father taught ya, yew go out there and make some goddamn friends or so help me god there will be hell ta pay!’

And then he really hangs up. Dean mouths the word friend as if it’s foreign to him. 

‘I have friends,’ Percy says defensively. ‘We have friends, right Annie?’

Sam’s phone pings with a text message. Bobby’s sent them an address. It's in Nebraska. You know, the Nebraska they just left. Percy rolls his eyes as he realises they gotta go all the way back. Annabeth just sighs and takes the keys, preparing for another long drive. 

-~o~-

Six and change hours later, Dean slaps Sam’s leg to wake him up. 

‘C’mon, up. Attaboy, daisy. We’re just about there. Comin’ up to it… now.’

'The Roadhouse', as the sign proclaims it, looks like a long-dead tumbleweed in the shape of an establishment to Dean. Easy to miss. Still, it’s the first thing they’ve seen in God knows how long, so he’s not expecting Annabeth to drive right past it. Neither’s Sam.

‘Is it–’

‘Are they–?’

‘Yeah, they’re still goin’. Get the comms.’

Sam jabs the grey light on the dashboard and immediately noise explodes inside the car. Sam yells and ducks for cover under his collar as if that will save him. Dean near crashes the car until both of them manage to shut the damn things off. 

‘WHAT THE FUCK!’ Dean snaps.

‘I don’t know, would you stop fucking yelling! God, I just woke up!’

Sam cringes again as Dean leans over and stabs the light back on. 

‘-NO DOUBT ABOUT IT, WE WERE DOUBLY BLESSED; CUZ WE WERE BARELY SEVENTEEN AND WE WERE BARELY DRESSED. AIN’T NO–’

Now that they’re ready for it, they both take a second to appreciate what’s actually happening. Sam gapes like a fish. Slowly, Dean turns Percy’s comm on as well. 

‘-DOUBT ABOUT IT, BABY GOTTA GO AN’ SHOUT IT, AIN’T NO DOUBT ABOUT IT, WE WERE DOUBLY BLESSED–’

They both stare incredulously between the comms and the motorcycle eating up dust ahead of them. Sam laughs first, but Dean laughs louder, and Percy hears him. 

‘-GOTTA– wait, Annie–’

‘GO AND SHOUT IT, WE WERE–

‘Annie, Annie, shhh, stop, Dean’s talking at us–’

‘DOUBLY- What? Oh, Styx. Dean? Whaddyou want?’

Dean’s too busy cackling to answer. Sam throws his head back against the seat, laughing. He points Dean back to the road so they don’t crash in between laughs. 

‘Nothing, noth– please, continue, I have nothing to say!’

‘Well then why’d you interrupt? That was the best part!’ Percy whines. They watch Annabeth hit him and hear his ‘ow’ through the comms. Sam starts laughing all over again. 

‘Sorry Beyoncé, but, ah, we passed the Roadhouse a few miles back. But please, that can wait, I wanna hear more of this–’

‘We passed it? Did we actually?’ Annabeth’s head whips around like she’ll be able to see it. She huffs and starts turning around. 

‘What were you singing to? You don’t have a radio!’ Sam reminds them. 

‘We are the radio, brother.’ 

‘Shut up. Shut up, all of you,’ Annabeth clicks her tongue. ‘We were great.’

‘Yeah we were!’

‘Oh, yeah. I thought Madonna herself had come back for a second,’ Dean wheezes. Then he clicks off the comms. ‘Wow. Who knew she had it in her?’

‘It’s good to hear Percy sing like that again,’ Sam sighs happily. Dean shoots him a dry look.

‘It’s never good to hear Percy sing, Sam.’

‘You know what I mean. He used to drive us crazy with that. Figures he’d get his girlfriend in on it too.’

‘Those two were seriously made for each other,’ the older brother agrees, reflecting on just how true the statement is. It is good to hear him being his loud, obnoxious self. The world would be a much more miserable place without Percy screaming lyrics at the top of his lungs. And Dean knew Annabeth wasn’t all death glares and killer instinct! Anyone who sings Meatloaf with that much passion is someone Dean can proudly call family. 

They pull over at the Roadhouse this time. Percy and Annabeth are already talking amongst themselves as they’re pulling their helmets off. Dean jerks his chin up at them as he passes. Annabeth sends his teasing expression right back to him. 

‘You like that?’

‘Yeah, that was unbelievable. Unbelievable vocals.’

‘First show’s free.’ She hangs her helmet off the handle of the bike and sets the pace, marching up to the corpse of a shed with the big unlit sign that reads THE ROADHOUSE.

She checks around the back first. Sam takes the other side, calling out to see if anyone’s home. Second glance confirms the first: this place is as dead as the dodo.

‘Hey, did you bring the, uh–’

‘’Course.’ Sam throws Dean the lockpicks. Dean can hear him bitching in his head about how Dean never carries them on him, and he’s right, but Dean will die before he admits it. Besides, Sam’s always right there, so who cares which of them’s got them on hand? 

Honestly, they’re hardly necessary. The door would probably give with one good shove. That’s bad etiquette, though, and Dean does have manners, whatever his brothers say. So he takes the extra time to jimmy his way in, opening the door with a mighty creeeeak . They all shuffle in except Percy, who stands guard outside. 

The inside is more glamorous than the front, but only just. The floors are scuffed all to hell, but recently cleaned. A modest bar takes up most of the entryway, covered on all sides. You’d be able to see the whole room from behind there. Good position. Hats and coats hang forgotten by the door, bracketed by windows with moth-eaten lace curtains over them. Little splashes of colour dot the place– the purple jukebox facing the bar; the mismatching barstools, one red, one green. Actually, looking around, none of the chairs really match. A shock of electricity sparks through some wires and rains down in the open area. It’s a shithole, but it’s a shithole with character. Dean immediately likes the place, granny curtains notwithstanding. 

Annabeth weaves around the two of them, striding across the place while they look around. Apparently she’s already found her target. Dean follows her path to a pool table that some schmuck’s using as a bed. It’s hard to make out much beyond one hell of a mullet, a grungy red flannel with the sleeves torn off, and bootcut jeans. Beside him, Sam chuckles.

‘What?’

‘He looks just like you when you were fifteen.’

‘Shut up!’ No he doesn’t. Dean never looked like that. Okay, he had the mullet…and the flannel… and the jeans… but he made it look good, okay? At least he’s not however old this guy is and still rocking the trucker look. 

‘Excuse me,’ Annabeth says sharply. When that doesn’t work, she clears her throat. The guy doesn’t so much as twitch. 

‘I’m guessing that isn’t Ellen,’ Sam offers. 

Annabeth opens her mouth again, but stops. She tilts her head to the side as if listening for something. The second she falls into a defensive stance, Dean’s following her lead on instinct. In a second they’re all at each other’s backs with their guns out. They pass a few moments there. 

‘What? What is it?’ Sam asks without turning around. 

‘Someone’s here,’ Annabeth replies steadily. ‘Sam, you clear the bar. Dean, take the back room. I’ll circle around.’

Dean and Sam both open their mouths to agree when muffled voices trail in from that shitty door. They don’t have time to make another plan before it opens. Percy sends them a grin.

‘Hey guys! I think I found Ellen!’

From behind him steps a pale girl who can’t be older than twenty. Her hair is a different shade of blonde to Annabeth’s and much straighter, falling down around her face in long curtains that curl up at her shoulders. She’s got Sam’s big brown doe eyes, but they’re set under a steady brow and framed by bags that darken them. And they’re sharp, too, flicking from one potential threat to the next in a decidedly practiced way. 

Oh, and she’s got a gun pointed their way. 

Dean puts his hands up, at a fucking loss. ‘This is what we get for trying to make friends! Next time Bobby tells us to do something, remind me to tell him to stuff it.’

The sound of Annabeth’s gun cocking cuts through that line of thought pretty quickly. Dean whips around to face her point of focus: a second woman walking in from the backroom he was about to search. This one’s older– 30s or 40s, with plain brown hair let loose to her shoulders. Dean can sense the take-no-shit energy from her in waves. Everything from the lines between her brows to the hard set of her jaw screams confidence and experience. The discordance nearly makes Dean do a double take, wondering if there aren’t three Annabeths in the room. 

‘Bobby told you what now?’ the older one demands in a raspy voice. 

‘He told us to go make friends, but I’m sensing this is a bad time,’ Percy responds easily. 

‘Cut the shit. Why are you here?’

Percy frowns at her, confused. He exchanges a look with Annabeth, shuffling awkwardly. He gives no outward sign that he’s aware of the gun pointed at his gut. 

‘That’s… why.’

A few beats of silence. Then the blonde one seemingly can’t take it anymore. ‘Seriously?’ she snaps, looking between all of them somewhat incredulously. ‘That’s actually what happened? He told you to find us for a beer, and you broke in in broad daylight? We’re closed! You could’ve just come back later!’

…Oh. Well, now Dean feels dumb. He just genuinely didn’t think about it before he did it, he was just going through familiar motions. And to be fair, nobody stopped him! Sam sends him an oops look. Percy suddenly becomes very interested in the floor. Even Annabeth looks a little chastised. 

‘We’re not that great at making friends,’ Percy admits guiltily. Up come the baby seal eyes. The young one, the blonde, melts a little. The older one pauses.  

‘What’re yer names?’ she sighs. 

‘Dean,’ says Dean. ‘That’s Sam, that’s Percy, and that’s Annabeth. Think you might know our dad– Bobby said you were lookin’ for him.’

‘Who’s yer dad?’

‘John. Winchester.’

Her eyes widen fractionally, running them all up and down another time as if seeing them anew. ‘Son of a bitch. Sam, Dean, and Percy. I remember now.’

‘Mom, you know these guys?’ asks the blonde one. Daughter, huh?

‘Yeah, I do,’ she chuckles, lowering the gun. Her smile changes her whole face, adds crinkles around her eyes and mouth that brighten her more than a few shades. Even her posture loosens. The hardness in her jaw stays, though. ‘Hey, I’m Ellen. That’s my daughter, Jo.’

Jo lowers her weapon and raises her eyebrows. Percy sticks a hand out like she wasn’t just threatening his life. 

‘Hey. Sorry I thought you were your mom.’

‘Sorry I thought you were unwanted here,’ she offers, shaking his hand. 

They all settle around the bar, Ellen behind it, the rest of them all lined up in front. Annabeth and Jo strike up a side conversation about their weapons, trading them to feel the balance of each. 

‘Don’t see a lot of women in this business,’ Jo says. 

‘You don’t?’

‘Mm-mm. You just startin’ out?’

Annabeth weighs that up. ‘Hunting? …Sort of.’

‘How’d it happen?’

Annabeth nods Percy’s way as answer. Jo’s tongue flicks out over her teeth as she considers them both. 

‘So what is it you wanted to talk to our dad about?’ Sam asks Ellen. She looks surprised he has to ask. 

‘Well, the demon, o’course. I heard he was closin’ in on it.’

All four of them exchange a shocked look. To say it so casually– how does she even know?

‘What, is there an article in Demon Hunter’s Quarterly that I missed?’ Dean demands for all of them. ‘I mean, who are you, how do you know all this?’

‘Hey, I just run a saloon,’ she says calmly. ‘But hunters have been known to pass through now and again. Including your dad, a long time ago. John was like family once.’

‘Oh yeah? How come he’s never mentioned you before?’ Dean shoots back.

Percy stomps on his foot and gives her an apologetic grimace. ‘Sorry about him. He got the asshole genes. What he means is, Dad hasn’t mentioned jack about jack in recent years, least of all to us, so we’re wondering how he made or kept any friends at all.’

Jo’s mouth lifts on one side. 

‘So, what, you wanna help him?’ Dean continues doubtfully. Percy raises his arms and looks away, accepting his brother as a lost cause. 

‘That is what friends do, since you seem to need pointers,’ Jo snarks. 

‘We’re actually hunting the same thing,’ Sam interjects. Dean shoots him a look, but he barrels on. ‘The demon. He might not want to accept the help, but if you’re offering…’

'We'll take it,' Annabeth finishes for him.

‘Well, we probably can’t help,’ Ellen admits. ‘But Ash can.’

‘Ash, who’s Ash?’

Ellen leans ever so slightly to the right, arms crossed, and shouts the name across the bar. For someone with such a raspy voice, she sure can yell. 

The lump of dead redneck passed out on the pool table snuffles awake, disturbing pool balls that clack together gratingly. The hollow table thumps as he levers himself up on his elbows, hair flying as his head whips around to find them.

‘What? Closin’ time?’

They don’t have John’s research, but they have tidbits they picked up while he was around– signs he mentioned to Percy and Annabeth before they met up with Sam and Dean. They know roughly where he’s been recently, so following that trail makes it easier to identify leads and trace them the way he probably did. It’s piecemeal, but they have just enough when they all put their heads together to give Ash a starting point. Ash, who’s apparently a genius of the hunting variety. And the general variety. Go figure. 

By the time they look up, it’s nearly sundown. The Roadhouse will open soon. With Gordon still fresh in their minds, they agree to split up: Sam and Dean will stay and make friends, feel out the environment and see how safe it is for Percy and Annabeth. The couple, meanwhile, will busy themselves with a job that Ellen has hanging around behind that bar of hers. She has it all done up in a nice little file, says she was going to give it to a friend. 

‘As long as it gets done,’ she shrugs, and Percy has to agree. 

-~o~-

It ends up being a very good thing that Percy and Annabeth take the job. It’s a clown thing. Like, at a circus. Sam hates clowns. And Percy had always wanted to run away and join the high tops as a kid. Really, it’s a win for everyone except the killer, which ended up being something from Hinduism that Percy’s already forgotten the name of. Ellen is impressed with them for dealing with it so quickly. She gives them lunch on the house while Sam and Dean explain that they made no progress at all on their end, being far too socially inept to interact with peers of any kind and far too paranoid to actually instigate conversations. The whole thing’s been an exercise in anxious brooding, and from the way Ellen tells it, they were so tense that anyone who would’ve normally approached them was put off at once. Well, such are the consequences of little outside interaction throughout childhood. Percy and Annabeth certainly can’t talk. 

But they can’t say they come out of it completely friendless. Ellen offers her spare beds while they hash everything out with Ash, and Jo doesn’t audibly complain. In fact, she gives Annabeth a smile. 

‘I got one condition,’ Ellen snaps, eyeing Percy and Annabeth. ‘No gettin’ freaky under my roof. Not sure if you’ve noticed, but these walls ain’t much thicker ‘n my thumbnail, so I will hear you, and I will kick you out on yer asses.’

Annabeth blinks twice fast. Percy looks like he just got smacked in the face, making a high wheezing noise and starting up another staring contest with his shoes. He scratches his nose, rubs the back of his neck, ruffles his hair, clears his throat, and by the end of it all he’s done nothing but make his brothers laugh harder. 

‘Don’t gotta worry about that with them,’ Dean chuckles. ‘Honestly, they’re all but celibate.’

‘Everyone looks like a celibate when compared with you, ’ Sam shoots at the side of his face. Dean just looks proud of himself. He licks his teeth and slides his eyes Jo’s way like the tool he is until Ellen pointedly steps in front of his line of sight. 

‘I told you he got the asshole genes,’ Percy sighs. 

Ellen’s only got the one spare bedroom, but it’s got a bed, a couch, and a floor, so they make do. It’s similarly designed to the bar, with little pockets of personality in an otherwise rather bare and uninspiring frame. There are circular stains from glasses on the surfaces and sigils carved in key places. Salt at the entrances, of course. An old green blanket with some of the fringe worn off or coming loose. No windows. It’s a hunter’s home, without a doubt. 

Percy and Annabeth call dibs on the bed, and no one’s willing to really fight with them on it– honestly, the couch looks comfier. Dean loses yet another rock paper scissors game and takes the floor, leaving Sam to try and fit on a couch half his size. It’s more of a love seat, honestly, and Sam’s spilling out of it on all sides. 

Sometime during Annabeth’s shift, Sam shoots upright and the rest of his leg, which was slowly losing a battle to gravity, finally slips all the way down to the floor. The sudden weight shift and him bolting up all at once has him following it off the couch in a mess of limbs. 

Annabeth quietly slips from Percy’s arms across the room. She keeps herself low to the ground, both to better assess the situation and in case Sam’s not lucid enough to recognise her as not being a threat. The middle brother’s skin shines with sweat, his eyes wide on nothing at all. He smells of panic, urgency, and adrenaline. His heartbeat is like a kick drum in her ears. Annabeth makes as much noise as she can without waking anyone up as she approaches, but Sam still doesn’t notice her until she says his name. He looks up and, wow, Percy wasn’t kidding about him not getting bedhead. Annabeth’s jealous. 

‘We need to go,’ he pants. ‘We need to go now, now– we might be too late–’

‘Can I touch you?’

‘What?’

‘Can I touch you?’

‘S-sure. Why? What are…’

Annabeth holds his shoulder. Dean is very touchy with his family, and she can see the advantages to that, so she’s been trying to apply touch more with them herself. It seems to be a dialect in the Winchester family, and the best way to learn a language is to speak it. Sam responds, pulling himself back to the present moment somewhat and stilling under her hand. He meets her eyes. He’s still clearly distracted, but the touching worked better than she guessed it would. She files that away for later. 

‘What’s going on, Sam?’

‘I saw… I h-had…’ his gaze drifts to Dean, face pulling into a grimace. 

‘A dream?’

‘No. It wasn’t a dream.’

‘Dream is an umbrella term, it doesn’t just refer to the neurological state of passively processing information through sleep. What did you see?’

Sam’s forehead wrinkles even further. It looks painful.  He’s clearly not in any state to wade through the whole statement, but he latches onto the end bit and answers. ‘Ugh… ahh, a vision. It was a vision. It happened– it’s going to happen. It could be happening now.’

Annabeth pauses. She’s hesitant to take that at face value. She’s been burned before; had a dream vision she was sure was a warning and followed it right into a trap. But she knows the feeling, and she knows no one’s going to be able to convince Sam of that, at least not until he’s calmed down. So she’s going to have to calm him down. Easier to do one-on-one. She’s already speaking gently so as not to wake the others. The dark will minimize stressful sensory input further. What else can she do? After a moment’s thought, she puts her right hand on his other shoulder. He shuffles himself up a little straighter and swallows, trying to get his breath back. She’s got his attention. 

‘I know your vision felt real,’ she says, keeping her voice low and even. ‘I believe you when you say it could be happening. But there are other possibilities. This could be a vision of the past, present, or future; or it could be a complete fabrication. Real or fabricated, we don’t know why you received it, from who, or through what means. Do you understand what I’m saying?’

He winces. It’s dark enough that he probably can’t see her, and the betrayed look he sends her way lands somewhere at her ear. ‘What, so we just ignore it? Someone’s in trouble, I’m telling you–’

‘I told you, Sam, I believe you. But remember that there are forces in this world, many forces, capable of sending a vision like this to you for their own purposes. Good friends of mine have followed their dreams right off cliffs. So tell me what you saw and we’ll figure it out together. Okay?’ She follows his gaze as it once again strays to Dean. ‘Would you rather I not wake Dean? Percy and I can check it out, we can be gone before he’s up and he never has to know that’s where we went.’

He looks at her like he’s never seen her before. ‘You’d do that?’

‘If that’s what you want. We won’t tell him.’ 

He huffs out heavily, and his shoulders slope in relief. Just as quickly, though, he schools himself, taking in a sharp breath through his nose. ‘No. I’m not– we need to go. We’re wasting time, it’s– just tell him. We should just tell him. But–’ 

Sam’s hand comes up and grips her elbow seemingly without his permission. It’s too dark for him, but she can clearly see his distressed face. So plain. Like a panicking child begging her not to wake up any adults. Annabeth puts that touch language into practice again, squeezing his shoulders. 

‘We have got you, ’ she says. 

He stares back at her, eyes finally adjusted enough to meet hers. Big wide puppy eyes. Just like Percy’s. He nods. 

‘Are you sure, Sam?’ Sam’s eyes snap up as the littlest brother joins them on the floor, his voice deep with sleep and quiet. Sam obviously hadn’t noticed him wake up. 

‘...Yeah. Yes, I’m sure.’

Annabeth releases her grip on him, lets him pull himself back up onto the couch. His head falls into his hands, and he sits there massaging his temples as the panic disperses. His leg starts jiggling. 

Percy slips over to Dean and hits him on the chest until he’s snuffling awake. Dean’s protests are loud in the quiet room, irreverent, and something in the air breaks under them. It’s enough to settle Sam’s leg down from its frenzied pace down to an impatient one. Wordlessly, Annabeth hands him the Advil pack. 

‘What the hell, we havin’ a family meeting or somethin’? Could we do it not at ass-o’clock, please?’ Dean grunts thickly, rubbing his eyes. He definitely gets bedhead. 

‘Sam had another vision,’ Annabeth informs him plainly. That wakes him up. 

‘What, like the one about Lawrence? A dream?’

‘Yeah,’ Sam confirms. ‘Well– sort of.’

Percy pops a squat beside Annabeth and settles in to listen. ‘Tell us, bro.’

So Sam describes it: The shooting up of a gun store by a middle-aged black man, about 6”, 260 pounds. The way he tells it makes it seem like it came in flashes: a phone call, the rounds being loaded, a bus passing with the sign Blue Ridge emblazoned on the front. He spares no details, going through it like a proper witness. None of it sounds fuzzy or unclear, and Sam confirms this when they ask. 

‘There were no inconsistencies? No illogical leaps?’

‘No, it was pretty straightforward.’

‘And was it first person? Were you the shooter, or a bystander?’

‘Neither. I was– I don’t know. No one. I was just there. Or– not, there. I don’t know.’

‘Did you feel any emotion?’ Percy tries. 

‘Just… horror, I guess. My own. I was me, I just wasn’t in the picture. I just saw it. Couldn’t do anything.’

Annabeth chews her thumb thoughtfully. ‘Maybe we should talk to Nico.’

‘Wouldn’t Clovis be better? Or Hallie, from Hecate?’ Percy asks. 

‘Maybe. But Nico’s been getting better at dream walking, and he knows about it firsthand. He might even be able to enter Sam’s dream in person, check it out himself. If he doesn’t know we can try the others.’

‘Woah, what?’ Sam and Dean ask at the exact same time. 

‘Nevermind. We should focus on the content of the vision first, if it’s time-sensitive,’ Annabeth decides. ‘We don’t have much to work with. Blue Ridge is our biggest clue.’ She takes her laptop, which Percy’s already handing her. She starts tapping away, letting him take over the conversation. Sam snatches up a paper pad and pen from the side of the bed and starts sketching the logo for her while Percy explains.

‘Nico is a friend. Well, cousin, but, y’know, everyone’s a cousin. Doesn’t matter. Anyway, he knows about this stuff– his dad’s got close ties with memory…sleep… stuff. I don’t really know, he’s got a lot going on. But he knows his way around dream space, so he might have an idea what’s going on with you.’

‘Woah woah woah, slow your roll, there, Perce,’ Dean interjects. ‘Putting aside the fact that you’ve just got guys like that on call, from where I’m sittin’, it looks like Sam’s got enough freaky shit goin’ on without some magic man pokin’ around inside his head.’

Percy puts his hands up. ‘Hey, it’s just a suggestion. We happen to have an expert who might be able to diagnose the issue, or, you know, confirm that there’s an issue at all. Look, in my experience, funky dreams are never the sign of anything good. Seriously, take that from me. The more information we have, the better. But it’s Sam’s thing, so it’s up to him.’

‘That’s great, Perce,’ Sam finally says, handing Annabeth his masterpiece. ‘But, uh, I don’t think he can help.’

‘Why not?’

Sam’s eyes cut between them nervously. ‘It wasn’t a dream. I was awake.’

‘You-?’ Dean gapes. 

Percy frowns. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Positive.’

Annabeth’s hands still on the keyboard. She and Percy exchange a look.

‘You got a guy for that?’ Dean says into the ensuing silence. No one answers him.

‘Okay, I’ve found the bus line. Guthrie, Oklahoma. Nothing jumps out at me…’ Annabeth clicks her tongue unhappily. ‘I can’t check for the less usual stuff from my laptop. We need Ash.’

Dean’s already disagreeing. ‘Uh-uh. No way, man. We are not just gonna tell the whole bar of hunters Sam’s gone full esper. Did we learn nothing from Gordon?’

Sam swallows. ‘You really can’t find anything?’

Annabeth shrugs apologetically. ‘I’ll check for the usuals, but the usuals don’t instigate visions in mortals. Unless you’re an oracle candidate –and with Rachel, that’s out– I think we’re looking at something bigger. That, I can’t check for.’

Seeing as it could be happening now, they can’t waste time. They all file out of the room and make their way down the hall to Ash’s, which he rents from Ellen on the condition that he helps as needed. They passed it on the way in. His door has a sharpied wooden block that says DR. BADASS IS and a changeable sign underneath that can be flipped to say IN or OUT. It currently says IN. Muted TV blather filters out into the hallway, not quite loud enough to be annoying. Maybe he’s awake?

Annabeth knocks. Sam leans on the other side of the doorframe. Dean wipes his brother's sweaty hair out of his face. They all wait for a bit. Annabeth knocks again to no answer. Dean finally huffs and shoulders his way between them, banging it with the flat side of his fist a couple times. Percy hisses for him to be quiet, and Sam looks around the hall nervously, hoping they haven’t woken anyone up.

‘Hey, Dr. Badass!’

Finally, a groan cuts through the TV chatter. A few muffled thumps from the room, and then the door opens a crack. They’re all hit by the strong stench of sex, musk, and stale beer, as well as a full-frontal assault in the visual sense. Percy and Annabeth are both sorry for their eyesight, as even in the dark they get a great view of Ash’s pale, flabby body from top to toe. Because of course he’s naked. 

‘What the fuck, man, whaddya… think yer doin’?’ Ash asks through a yawn. ‘It’s fuckin’... I dunno, actually, is it mornin’ yet? It don’t feel like it’s mornin’ yet. Unless it's tha next mornin'?’

‘It’s not. Sorry to wake you, man, but uh, we need your help. It can’t wait,’ Percy says. 

Ash rolls his head around and several concerning cracks sound out. ‘Alright, then. Whatever. You guys wanna come in?’

A beat of awkward silence. Dean takes this one. ‘How ‘bout you put some pants on and meet us at the bar, Ash?’

‘Heh. Suit yerself.’

The door closes, and Annabeth starts breathing through her nose again, which clues her into the presence behind her. She turns to face Ellen as she shuffles up to the group, hands tucked under her arms. She’s wrapped up in an old dressing gown, like the kind only grandmas and Ebenezer Scrooge wear. It doesn’t suit her fierce personality, but it matches those odd lacey curtains around the place. She’s even got matching slippers on.  

‘What the hell’s goin’ on?’ she asks. Despite the hour, her tone is as sharp as ever. ‘Y’all better have a damn good reason fer makin’ a fuss middle o’ the goddamn night.’

‘We didn’t mean to wake you,’ Annabeth says apologetically. ‘It’s just business. Something’s come up, it can’t wait.’

Ellen’s brow contracts, leaning around her to catch a look at Sam. Dean’s blocking him partially on instinct, but clearly she gets a look at him: pale and sweaty, still leaning against the doorframe like it’s holding him up. He straightens under her gaze, but obviously too late. 

‘Sam, y’okay?’ she asks. 

‘He’s fine,’ Dean replies. 

She doesn’t even look at him. ‘Wasn’t askin’ you.’

‘I’m fine, Ellen.’ 

She stares him down for a few heavy seconds. They all await her verdict. 

‘I’ll get us a case o’ beer.’ 

They all watch her march down the hall to the store room. If any of them want to argue, her tone stopped them. They exchange a few looks, but all they can do is shuffle off to wait for Ash at the bar. 

‘Great. It’s a slumber party,’ Dean grumbles under his breath. He’s probably just mad that he’s gotten to see every member of the Roadhouse in their pyjamas (or lack thereof) except Jo. Poor baby. 

-~o~-

Ash, now in an unbuttoned flannel and boxer shorts that crunch when he moves, sets up at his usual table. Sam and Annabeth sit on either side of them, trying to ignore it, and Dean hovers with his arms crossed. 

‘Okay, we need you to check for any demonic signs or omens in Guthrie, Oklahoma,’ Sam starts as Ash boots up his laptop. He pulls out his notes –which he was apparently storing in his waistband– and leaves them on the table, flipping through them with his free hand. 

Percy keeps an ear on his progress, but stands back and opens the door for Ellen as she comes through. True to her word, she’s got a case of beer. She ducks behind the bar and starts unloading it into the fridge. She moves as easily and confidently around the space in her dressing gown at one in the morning as she does at happy hour in her jeans. Unflappable, this woman. She makes no pretence that she isn’t listening to the discussions taking place, either. 

‘So y’think the demon’s in Guthrie?’ Ash inquires innocently without looking up. 

‘Yeah, maybe,’ Sam replies, since no one else seems inclined to.

‘Now why wouldja think that?’

‘Just check it, alright?’ Dean grouses. 

Ash gives him a look and goes back to tapping away. No one interrupts. Eventually, he speaks up. ‘No, sir, nothin’. No demon.’

Sam breathes out through his nose. He’s massaging his left palm with his right thumb, a tell Percy doesn’t remember him having but has noticed recently. ‘Alright, try something else for me. Search Guthrie for a house fire. It would be 1983, fire’s origin would be a baby’s nursery, night of the kid’s six-month birthday.’

All five heads, minus Ash’s, whip to attention. 

‘Sam, what?’ Dean hisses. Annabeth shoots an assessing glance Ellen’s way. Percy’s arms fall to his sides.

‘Annabeth was right, we have to think big picture,’ Sam explains. ‘This isn’t some minor thing. Maybe there’s no connection, but I’ve got a feeling– I just want to be sure.’

Dean’s jaw sets. He sends Ash a nod, face set as grave as death, and starts pacing, worrying his lip. That’s his tell.

‘Okay, that is just weird, man, why the hell would I–’

‘Just do it,’ Dean bites with a little less patience. 

‘There’s a PBR in it for you,’ Percy offers. 

‘Give me fifteen minutes,’ Ash says, shooting Dean another look and leaning in to get to business. 

For ten minutes, they all sit in stifling silence. Dean paces a hole in the floor. Percy helps Ellen unpack the beer, and then for lack of anything else to do, cleans the counters. Annabeth battles her hair into twin braids, and Sam just sits there, massaging his palm. 

‘What is this about?’ Ellen finally demands. It sounds casual, but in a way that says she knows they’ll tell her one way or another. 

‘Nothing,’ Dean responds. ‘Look, we’re sorry we woke you up, but it’s sort of a family thing, okay?’

‘Not anymore. If it’s about the demon, it ain’t just your business.’

‘Yeah, and how d’you figure that?’

‘Dean,’ Percy warns. 

‘It’s none of her business,’ the eldest argues.

Percy’s about to answer, but Ellen does instead, turning her piercing gaze on Dean. It’s no less scary when she’s wearing a dressing gown. ‘You mind your tongue with me, boy. This isn’t just your war. This is war. Now somethin’ big and bad’s comin’, and it’s comin’ fast, and their side holds all the cards. At best, all we got is us. Together. No secrets or half-truths here.' 

Sam turns in his seat to face her and sighs, finally letting his hand go. ‘We don’t have much. Really, it’s a shot in the dark. We don’t know if it’s connected, but… it’s the only thing I can think of. I mean, this isn’t something I picked up from a hunt, it’s way too big for that. So it’s not a curse, or anything. The only thing I can think of, the only catalyst we haven’t considered, is the demon.’

‘Percy’s mom died the same way, Sam,’ Annabeth reminds him. ‘He hasn’t…’ She trails off with a glance at Ellen.

‘I know, okay? I just…just want to be sure.’

Annabeth meets his gaze and shoots another pointed look Ellen’s way, then looks back at him questioningly. He gives her a nod. Permission.

‘Sam had a dream a while back,’ Percy explains to the barkeep. ‘It came true. He had another one tonight.’

No one speaks up about the stuff he doesn’t say. Sam’s right, they don’t know nearly enough about this. It could be a greek thing, and the last thing they need is hunters sticking their noses in that business, or making the connection at all.

‘What was it about?’ she asks, surprisingly nonplussed. 

‘Guthrie, Oklahoma,’ Annabeth responds. 

‘Okay, sweet thangs, y’all got yer ears on?’ Ash calls out a little too loudly, breaking the tense atmosphere. The guy can’t read a room for shit. At least it means he probably wasn’t fully paying attention to the conversation, but then again… secret genius. ‘Melanie Gallagher, died in a fire originatin’ from her adopted son’s nursery in ‘83. Helluva way ta go. That whatcha wanted t’hear?’

Everyone goes quiet again. Percy blinks. It just doesn’t make sense. This has something to do with the demon? What purpose could it possibly have for leading Sam to another survivor? That would make three kids the demon’s killed the mothers of and left alive, two of which came from the same year. Smells like a ritual to Percy, and that’s never good. But then, he’s a break in the pattern, isn’t he? He’s younger than the other two kids. The fire that killed his mom happened on his six month birthday, but that was years after Mary Winchester, and apparently Melanie Gallagher, were killed the same way. On top of that, Percy feels he would’ve noticed getting visions like Sam has; they look painful. But then, would he have? Did he have some, but just forgot, or mistook them for regular nightmares? He doubts it, considering how random and specific they are. Someone shooting up a gun store and a random bus going by would stand out amongst his nightmares, he thinks. 

More than anything, though, this is just typical. As if his birth father’s lineage wasn’t enough of a problem, his mom’s death came with a whole host of other issues that are coming back to bite him in the ass now. Seriously, what did he do in his previous life to deserve this?

‘What was the son’s name?’ is the question he voices.

Ash turns his laptop around to show them a picture of a guy Sam's age with black-brown hair and some gnarly eyebags. The text underneath reads Andrew Gallagher.

Chapter Text

Sam gives them the skinny on Gallagher as they drive. No current address, no current employment, and bills stacked to Olympus. Weirdly enough, there are no collection agency flags about that. No one seems worried that this guy’s living for free. The best they’ve got is a work address from his last W-2, so that’s where they head. 

Sam and Dean go into the dime-a-dozen coffee shop in their monkey suits and come back with instructions to check Orchard Street for a van with a barbarian queen painted on the side. Riding a polar bear. Dean and Percy already like this guy. 

Sure enough, there is a vehicle by just that description on the curb of Orchard Street. As you’d expect, it’s kind of hard to miss, but Percy would like to rescind his respect for the thing. Don’t get him wrong, the barbarian queen lady’s badass, and that polar bear? Totally cool. But the artist was sort of liberal with the design for her armour, or, um, lack thereof. It’s reminiscent of a certain scene from a certain Star Wars movie, is all Percy will say. Kinda cheapens the otherwise awesome scene.

They don’t have to watch it for long before the guy from the picture emerges– not from the van, but from the house it’s pulled up to. He saunters down the block in an untied silk robe that’s falling off his shoulders and nondescript pyjamas. He looks up in time to catch a flirtatious smile and wave from a resident on the second floor, a bleach-blonde woman with a lacy black nightgown on and not much else. She giggles down at him before ducking back inside.

Gallagher continues on his way. He’s got quite the swagger to him, but then, Percy would feel pretty awesome in a robe like that too (it’s hard to tell from here, but he’s pretty sure there are dragons on it). He stops someone halfway down the street. They don’t react as if they know him, but they must, because Gallagher’s exchanged all of a few words with the guy before he’s handing over his coffee just like that. They give each other friendly nods and smiles and both go on their separate ways again.

‘What the fuck?’ Percy asks quietly. Annabeth moves against his back, and the comms crackle on in his ear.

‘That was weird. We can all agree that was weird, right?’

‘Super weird,’ Percy agrees. 

‘Okay, we’ll keep on him. Sam, Dean, you guys try and find that gun–’

‘That’s him,’ Sam cuts right across her. ‘That’s the shooter, that guy Gallagher’s talking to.’

Well. That saves time. 

‘You guys take him, then,’ Percy suggests. 

‘Roger that.’

The Impala peels off after their mark, leaving Percy and Annabeth with their own. Gallagher gets into his sick ass van and soon it’s driving off down the road as well, Tyson’s bike rumbling quietly behind it. There’s got to be a better way to refer to the bike. Maybe it needs a name, like Baby. He voices this thought to his girlfriend as they drive. 

‘A name? Like the Argo III?’ she snarks.

‘Ha-ha. She’s not a boat, Wise Girl, so that wouldn’t work. What about something classic, like, I don’t know. Old Faithful?’

‘By the gods, Percy, no.’

‘She’s faithful!’

‘Penelope, then.’

Percy grins. ‘For her loyalty. Damn, girlfriend, you’re good.’

She clacks her helmet softly against his in answer, since she can’t with her beak at the moment. 

The snow warrior van squeals to a stop on a notably empty gravel road, an offshoot from the main stretch. There’s nothing here but a busted chainlink fence and the remains of an abandoned construction site. Percy and Annabeth tense as one. 

Gallagher steps out of his van and makes right for them, bold as you please, still with that pleased smile on his face. Has he made them already? Whether he has or hasn’t, the confidence isn’t putting Percy at ease. 

He sends them a smile, running his fingers along the front of the idling bike and finally coming to a stop beside it, giving them their first good look at him. 

Well, even if Percy couldn't smell the human on him, a child of Aphrodite would be out. If there was ever a person that perfectly embodied a middle ground, it’s this guy. His smile is friendly and completely unremarkable. His stubble isn’t thick enough to be flattering, obviously more of a forgot-to-shave thing than any kind of planned style. His nose isn’t particularly sharp or flat– neither are his cheekbones, or his ears, or his chin. He’s got dark brown eyes set not so deep or shallow in his skull, and above that, eyebrows neither thick nor thin. To Percy, there is no part of him that stands out at all. That doesn’t quiet any of the alarm bells going off in his head. If anything, it sets a couple more off. Maybe it’s the Annabeth in him, but if something seems too normal to be true, it probably is. It’s pretty sad, if you think about it; with the amount of normal in the world, that rules out a lot that they can trust. Percy swears he used to just be happy to see a smile, used to just be able to smile back genuinely… used to, used to, used to.

‘Now this is a cherry ride,’ Gallagher notes appreciatively. His voice is as bog standard as everything else about him. ‘I’ve never seen a thing like it!’

‘Yeah, she’s one of a kind,’ Percy hums, allowing himself a moment of pride. ‘Custom job.’

‘Yeah, no kidding. I’ve never tried out a bike before… can’t ride myself, of course… but hey, you’ll take me for a spin, right?’

Percy frowns. ‘Uhh… I don’t think that’s really–’ 

He freezes mid-sentence. Annabeth has shifted to get off. She could have a million reasons for that, but Percy knows it’s none of those. She didn’t telegraph her movements at all, didn’t give any sign, subconscious or otherwise, that she planned to move. Her movements stutter to a stop in time with his voice, half-off and half-on, and it’s so unlike her that Percy knows before she says anything: she doesn’t know why she’s moving either. 

In a heartbeat Annabeth regathers herself and slips the rest of the way off the bike with her regular surety, leeching some of the worry from Percy. Her movements are her own again, and the first thing she does with her regained control is punch Andrew Gallagher in the nose. He doesn’t get to stumble back before she’s catching him in a mute hold, arms behind his back and jaw forced shut by the force she applies down on his skull and up on his chin. It’s more effective than holding a hand over someone’s mouth– less chance of them biting you. Besides, some words of power don’t need to be heard, so mouthing them against someone’s palm would still put them into effect– or worse, screw the hoodoo up in some new and unpredictable way that no doubt would end up Percy and Annabeth’s headache rather than the speaker’s. The way Annabeth holds Gallagher’s jaw in place means he’d be lucky to be able to move his tongue in any useful way, nevermind his lips. His bitten-off scream doesn’t make its way past his teeth. 

‘Sorry, one sec,’ Percy holds up a finger for them to wait and leans down to unsheathe one of the more subtly placed knife holders on Penelope’s undercarriage. He checks. Celestial bronze. Damn. He checks the next holster, and that one’s knife is silver. It would work, but that’s their werewolf knife, and it’s a bitch to clean, so he’d rather not if he doesn’t have to. He curses and twists around to flip open Penelope’s right saddle bag.

‘Left one,’ Annabeth offers. He swaps to the left saddle bag, and lo and behold, a regular mortal-steel knife. 

‘I swear it didn’t used to live there,’ Percy grumbles defensively, levelling the blade at Gallagher’s navel. 

‘It’s lived there since we got it,’ Annabeth disagrees tiredly. Addressing her hostage now, her tone turns to flint that buries its icy shards into the guy’s ear. ‘I am going to let you speak now. If you try any mind games again, my other half will gut you. You’ll speak when spoken to, and you will be honest. Do you understand?’

She loosens her grip enough for him to nod frantically. His eyes look like they’re trying to escape his skull, and his face is an ugly red gone white where Annabeth’s gripping him. The stink of the urine sliding down his leg and staining his sweatpants is unusually strong– if Percy were the type to guess what people had eaten from their piss smell, he could probably write a novel on this guy. He wrinkles his nose. 

‘Dude. Ever heard of electrolytes? I hate to say it, but I can smell your vitamin deficiencies. Try a Gatorade or something .’

‘Focus, please, dear,’ Annabeth hums. 

He gives her a nod and scratches his head with the hand not holding the knife.

‘What were you attempting to do to us just now?’

Gallagher’s eyes fly around to where Annabeth’s head is once before landing on the knife and then shooting back up to Percy. He fights to swallow, and his mouth moves around some gibberish words before he stammers out an answer. ‘I-I-I don’t know! I don’t know, please!’

Percy touches the tip of the knife to his shirt and twists, bunching the fabric up around it without drawing blood. ‘I’ll give you some time to think about it,’ he says kindly. 

‘Th-thank you.’

‘You’re welcome!’

‘Look, I’ll tell you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean– I don’t– I always give everything back! It’s not my fault, people just agree to things when I say them–’

‘You are fully aware of what you’re doing,’ Percy corrects gently, the hint of a warning in his tone. Just steering him back onto the right course. He doesn’t think this guy really wants to lie to them, he’s just scared right now. And you know, he seems the type to blather. 

‘I am! You’re right. I am,’ he admits. To his credit, he genuinely sounds like he’s sorry for suggesting otherwise. And he is thinking about what he’s saying, so, bonus points. ‘I j-just… I don’t know how it works. Okay? Six months back, it just started happening.’

Percy looks him up and down and decides he believes him. ‘Alright. Well, if you were wondering, there is a reason it started happening. We’re here to help you figure it out. You seem nice enough, and we’ve got nothing against you, you just freaked us out a little trying to mess with our autonomy. Understandable, right? So here’s a deal: if you sort of sit on that, you know, no more mind juju on us, we promise not to hurt you without good reason. Sound good?’

‘Yeah!’

Percy raises an eyebrow, stowing his knife as a sign of good faith. ‘Are you sure? ‘Cause I know we all sort of made a bad impression here, but–’ 

‘We could make a worse one,’ Annabeth promises Gallagher quietly. 

‘I was gonna say we’re trying to make friends,’ Percy says with a shrug. 

Annabeth carefully lets her hostage go. He remains frozen to the spot, although his hand does come up to massage his poor jaw where she gripped it. ‘How’s… how’s that working out for you?’

‘It’s harder when you can’t just force people to do things against their will,’ Annabeth snaps. Percy blinks. Gallagher raises two incredulous eyebrows at her and coughs back a statement of the obvious irony there. She catches on and tilts her head with as much sheepishness as she’s capable of, conceding the point.

‘So, just to check, you’re not gonna run?’ Percy asks. 

‘You’d just catch me, right?’

‘I mean, yeah, but we wouldn’t feel good about it.’

‘Oh. Thanks.’

‘We really didn’t mean to scare you, man. It’s just that… well…’ he tries to think of a way of wording it kindly. ‘There’s some evidence to say you’re bad news.’ 

‘Okay, look, I get it, making people do things isn’t super morally sound, but–’

‘No– I mean, yeah, but aside from that.’ He’s really not sure where to start with this next part, so Annabeth takes over.

‘I’m Annabeth. That’s Percy.’ He raises a hand. ‘His brothers are Sam and Dean. In 1983, on the night Sam turned 6 months old, his mother died in a fire that originated in his nursery. That same year, you turned 6 months old and your mother died the same way. Two years later, when Percy hit the age, it happened again. About six months ago, Sam developed a power of his own. That’d be the same time you started being able to use charmspeak, right?’

Yeah, that’s a lot to take in for a mortal. Percy does not begrudge the guy his spluttering, and splutter he does, for about a full five minutes. He talks to himself for a while, telling himself how crazy this is. He runs his hands through his hair, paces around, tugs on the belt of his dragon robe. Eventually, he asks his first question.

‘How did you find me? How do you know this?’

‘Sam had a vision. That’s his power,’ Annabeth reports. 

Gallagher’s gaze flicks to Percy. ‘And- and you? You said it happened to you too. If that’s the case, then do you have something going on as well?’

Percy gives him yet another shrug, blowing a raspberry against his cheek. ‘Nada.’

‘Not that we know of yet,’ Annabeth corrects, turning to her boyfriend. ‘Which could be because of the two year gap. Whatever it is might need roughly twenty-two years to incubate. It could also be due to your… special blood type,’ she says lightly, rolling the beads on her necklace together thoughtfully. ‘But we need to consider the possibility that it has manifested, it just hasn’t been made apparent yet. It could be latent, slow-acting, or just subtle. We should scan over the last six months again for anything we’ve noticed out of the usual with you at all.’

Gallagher’s hands come up a little, then slap back down against his thighs. He has a slouch to him, which becomes more noticeable as he looks between them in confusion. ‘I don’t get it. This is all very weird, but it doesn’t explain what you have against me. I haven’t done anything to you. I don’t think. I haven’t, right? But you said I’m bad news. What gives?’

Percy and Annabeth exchange a look. Sam described his vision in detail– the way the shooter’s eyes glazed over as he listened to someone over the phone, the way his speech patterns changed, the robotic tone to his movements. All signs of mind control. They made the connection as soon as Gallagher confirmed his ability.

‘You’ll notice that Sam and Dean aren’t here. That’s ‘cause they’re currently trying to prevent what Sam saw in his vision. The star of the show was a man you spoke to about twenty minutes ago on the street. According to Sam, he’s going to shoot up a gun store later today,’ Annabeth explains flatly. 

Gallagher’s face morphs into horror so plain you’d think he’d never hidden a thing in his life. Or he’s just that good. Percy reminds himself that just because this guy seems every bit the innocent mortal, he could just be anything that can act the part convincingly. That stuff about being able to tell a lie from a heartbeat only works sometimes, when someone’s pulse is blatantly at odds with their act. So far, Gallagher’s heart has acted in all the ways you’d expect. Method acting is a thing though, right? Ugh. Percy’s just talking himself into paranoia. His gut’s telling him the guy’s good, but it would be a hell of a coincidence if he was. They need more info before they land on one side or the other. 

Annabeth scoops her helmet off Penelope’s handle, switches on the comms, and speaks into it. Dean answers immediately. 

‘Where are you? We’re done here.’

‘That was quick.’

‘Yeah, well, guy didn’t last long. Two blocks up he tried to hit the store. We set off the alarm before he got there, and he just gave up.’

‘The spell wore off, just like that?’

‘Judging by the way he walked into a bus, I’m guessing no.’

‘Oh my god,’ Gallagher gasps, fist coming up over his mouth. 

‘I think it did, actually,’ Sam pipes up. ‘He was just getting off a call when he did it, got that glassy-eyed look again.' 

Percy straightens in his seat, shooting a look at Gallagher.

‘Yeah, about that. We might have some new info. Meet us–’

Annabeth cuts herself off as a groan sounds over the call. Some shuffling, and then a concerned Dean. ‘Sam. Sammy? Sammy! Hey, look at me!’

Another vision. They all listen in silence as Sam wrestles with it. It only takes about a minute before he comes back to them, voice strained through the pain. 

‘Andy. Are you still on him?’

‘Yes.’

‘Stay on him. Don’t let him make any calls! Do you hear me? Snatch his phone if you can.’

‘What did you see, Sam?’ Annabeth demands.

‘A woman. Caucasian. Blonde, shoulder-length hair. Black trench coat and gloves. She’s gonna fill up her car, but she’ll get a call, and then she’ll douse herself with the gas and ignite it.’

The sound of sirens almost drowns out the end of his sentence. All of them look up as down the empty street, a fire engine rockets by. 

‘We’ll watch Gallagher. You’d better follow the fireies we just saw go by.’

Both brothers curse over the line, and then the connection cuts. 

‘Is someone really dead?’ Andy asks tremulously, looking like he doesn’t want the answer. Percy's not sure what to tell him.

Over by the chain link fence there are a few stumps arranged around a barrel, likely for construction workers to take breaks. This place looks half-finished, even if no one’s here doing the job on a perfectly good weekday. They take advantage of it instead, sitting down to wait for Sam or Dean to call them back. There are a few wadded up papers in the barreltop that Percy contents himself with flicking around. Eventually Andy joins in and they get a little game of paper hockey going. 

‘Man, you’re good at this,’ Percy comments as their third paper ball sails past his hands.

‘Me? You’ve got crazy reflexes, that was a lucky shot. You know I’m like the arcade king in this town? You got no right to be keeping up with me on my turf.’

Percy smirks, happy to meet a worthy opponent. Annabeth gets restless too fast to play stupid games for long, but he grew up hustling pool and cards and anything else he could get his hands on. He needs a good game every now and then. 

‘So I got a question,’ Andy starts. Probably thinks Percy will be more likely to answer honestly if he’s distracted. Smart. ‘What exactly are you guys? The ESP police? Criminals?’

Fair guesses, given their less than stellar introduction. ‘We’re just trying to get the bottom of this thing. For me, for my brother, and now for you.’

‘Yeah, but c’mon. You had that knife at me in a heartbeat.’ Andy’s eyes flick up nervously. He seems to talk himself into continuing. ‘You don’t have to tell me, but you– you wanna work with me, right? We’re in the same crazy boat. Might as well get along.’

Percy eyes him for a moment, then looks over at Annabeth, who’s listening in from her perch on Penelope. She’s eating an apple with their knife. She gives him a fractional shrug. 

Well, what the hell. The guy’s been nice enough. 

‘I’ll tell you, but only because you’re a beast at paper hockey, and I feel bad about making you piss yourself,’ Percy says, leaning back. ‘Since you’ve got impossible powers, you’ll appreciate the fact that similarly freaky shit is out there. Not all of it’s good. You just use your charmspeak to get a free coffee every now and then, but imagine what something with bigger ambitions and fewer moral qualms would do with it. Thing is, Andy, your powers don’t freak us out because we’ve seen a whole lot worse. What makes you special, is you’re the first human being we’ve found who has them.' 

Andy cracks a smile like he's waiting for the punchline. ‘What, uh… what do you mean?’

Percy levels him with a serious look. ‘There are things out there that you wouldn’t believe. Evil things. They’re all different– some are animalistic, some were human once, some are… well. Some weren’t. We deal with ‘em. ESP cop has a nice ring to it, I like that, but what we do is a lot less glamorous than that. Criminals is closer, we are technically career criminals–’

‘We’re hunters,’ Annabeth cuts him off succinctly. ‘We hunt things that hunt people.’

‘And some of those things use powers a lot like yours,’ Percy concludes. ‘So you see why we were a little jumpy about you using ‘em on us.’

Andy looks between them and makes another choked sound, waiting for them to tell him they’re joking. His smile dies when they don’t. ‘You’re kidding, right? You guys are… monster hunters? Like the ghost busters?’

‘It’s the family business,’ Percy confirms. 

‘Holy shit,’ the dude breathes out. ‘Are there– I mean, are there a lot of you? There must be, right? Otherwise the chances of this weird psychic shit happening to you, when it also happens to be your job... but if monster hunters are, like, a dime a dozen where you’re from, that would make sense.’

‘Funny thing about that,’ Percy laughs humourlessly. ‘Our dad got into the business because of what happened to his wife. The whole burning thing…’

‘...Was not a coincidence,’ Andy finishes, face falling. 

‘Demon,’ Annabeth informs him. 

Percy nods. ‘We’ve been after the thing all our lives.’

'Like, an actual demon?'

Another nod.

‘...Shit dude, that sucks.’ Even Annabeth has to smile at that. Andy sure has a talent for understatement. ‘But I don’t get it. Why would a demon wanna kill my mom? I’m not a ghost buster. I’m as normal as it’s possible to get, I– I live out of my van, I dropped out of college!’

‘We don’t know,’ Annabeth sighs. She hates saying that, but she’s getting better at it. Percy’s proud of her. ‘We don’t know why you and Sam are developing powers. We don’t know why Percy isn’t. And we don’t know why two people have committed suicide today, seemingly not of their own volition.’

‘And that’s why we’re in town. To figure it out.’

Andy ruminates on this for a bit in silence. Behind his back, Annabeth gives up the game and just snaps up what's left of her apple, core and all. Paper hockey game abandoned, Percy contents himself with chewing on his necklace and spinning riptide around with his fingers. When he looks up again, Andy’s watching him. He meets his gaze, stowing his pen and deciding he should do this now.

‘I got a question for you now,’ he says, tone carefully neutral. ‘I said you use your powers for menial shit. Is that true?’

‘...Yeah. Coffees and stuff, like you said.’

‘So that woman who waved you off this morning from her window. You didn’t screw with her upstairs brain at all?’

Andy pales, physically cringing back. ‘No! No, of course I– no! You saw that? I–’ he huffs out a breath. ‘I got her band a sweet gig down at Louie’s, on the main drag. She wanted to say thank you. We had a couple of drinks, you know how it is. I swear that’s the truth.’

Percy considers him for a few beats. Listens to the unsteady thump of his heart, acknowledges the stink of sweat gathered at his brow. And then he settles, mollified. 

‘Had to check.’

‘I know she’s the bad cop,’ Andy breathes out in relief with a nod Annabeth's way, ‘but you can be kinda scary too, dude.’

Percy sends him a grin. ‘No idea watcha mean.’

They both look over as Annabeth’s comm once again blares to life. 

‘Yep, one dead woman here, extra crispy,’ Dean reports. They all hear Sam hit him over the call. ‘Ow. Bitch. You get Andy’s phone?’

‘It’s not him, Dean,’ she replies. ‘He’s been with us the whole time, never made a call.’

‘With you?’ Sam echoes.

‘He’s got powers like we’ve been thinking. Real silvertongue. Tried to talk Annabeth into something.’

‘Is he still alive?!’

Percy laughs at his brother’s frantic tone and the scared look Andy sends her way. ‘Andy? Still breathing over there?’

‘For the record, I am sorry,’ he says loud enough for the comms to pick up, not quite able to meet Annabeth’s eyes. Few men are when they’ve wronged her. ‘I said that before, but like, you have no idea.’

‘It’s not him, he hasn’t even picked up his phone. Percy likes him,’ she adds as if that’s crucial evidence. 

‘I have met very few individuals this chill,’ he confirms. ‘He uses his powers for, like, free snacks. Hardly the heartless murderer we’re looking for.’

‘You said yourself that what I saw sounded like mind control,’ Sam reminds him. ‘What are the chances he’s got mind control powers and isn’t involved?’

‘He didn’t make any calls,’ Dean argues.

‘Not this time. He could be working with someone with the same powers as him, or recording messages for them to pass on or something.’

Percy looks over at Andy doubtfully. His eyes are like saucers, his posture atrocious. He’s hunched over at the edge of his seat, hanging onto every word exchanged and sending the two of them nervous looks. He’s sweating again. Dude definitely hasn’t had a shower today, still out in his silk robe and pissed-in sweatpants, and it’s starting to become apparent. He shakes his head frantically at Percy in denial. 

‘I guess,’ the little brother allows, ‘but I would be real surprised. Do you guys have any ideas?’ He addresses Annabeth and Andy now. 

‘Let’s start with the victims. Maybe there’s a link we can follow, at least track a motive,’ Annabeth hums. ‘Who were they?’

Andy apparently knew the first guy, a Doctor Jennings. When Sam says his name, Percy’s new friend stands up and suddenly has to sit back down again, disbelief all over his face. Percy chases the aftertaste of grief across his features. They give him a few moments, but they need to hear the rest.

The second woman Andy says he doesn’t know, has never heard of. He doesn’t recognise her description either. They’ll have to dig deeper to find a connection, if there is one. Meanwhile, there’s another clue staring them in the face that they’ve got to be able to make something of.

‘Means,’ Annabeth barks. ‘Something with the exact same power as Andy has been killing people through verbal commands. Let’s work off the hypothesis that this is an isolated party for now.’

‘ Why?’ Sam asks curiously. 

‘If it was a human, like Andy, they likely would have made contact with him by now– he hasn’t exactly been quiet about his abilities. Very few beings of talents such as these work in packs, and even fewer leave a small enough trail to remain inconspicuous for long. If there were more than one of these things, this town would be crawling with Hunters on the job. We would’ve heard about it at the Roadhouse. We didn’t. That tells us this is most likely an individual party. It’s most likely got some degree of intelligence, which we know from its methods and subtlety. It’s also likely to be killing for reasons other than to further its own survival since there’s no consistency between the official causes of death and no evidence of collection of any kind of matter, metaphysical or otherwise, post-mortem. This is something with an agenda.’

‘...Holy crap, she’s good,’ Dean mumbles into the ensuing stunned silence. By the way he says it, Percy can tell he doesn’t know he’s spoken out loud. Andy’s jaw is hanging open dumbly, and Percy absolutely beams. He loves it when his girlfriend gets to show off. No one ever remembers just how smart she is, because even when you know it, you talk yourself out of it. No one’s that good, I probably hyped it up in my head, yadda yadda. And then she goes and proves it again, and it’s rinse and repeat until you just accept that she’s a bonafide genius. Percy lets himself bask in smugness for a second before refocussing on their active case. 

‘All those things sound pretty human to me,’ he says, clicking his tongue. He turns to Andy. ‘You sure you don’t have an evil twin running around?’

‘No. I mean, I don’t know. I’m adopted.’

Another stunned silence. 

‘...Adopted,’ Annabeth repeats, turning over the new theory in her head.

‘Do you know if you had any biological siblings, Andy?’ Sam asks. 

He huffs a laugh that dies as he looks around at their faces. ‘...Wait, you’re serious?’

-~o~-

After a quick stop by Andy's van so he can change his pants, they get to work. They can’t get birth records over the phone; apparently they’re hard copies only, sealed in the county office. That proves no issue for them with Andy on side. They all just look the other way while he works his magic on the desk clerk.

‘That is handy as hell,’ Dean whistles. ‘Imagine how much easier our job would be if we could do that. Sammy, why couldn’t you get a cool power, huh?’

Sam scoffs. ‘Why don’t you cross your fingers for Percy?’

Percy spreads his arms. ‘Hello, is waterbending not enough? My killer guitar hero skills? I got talents!’

By the time Andy gets back from distraction duty, Percy and Dean have fallen into an actual slappy fight, and Sam’s catching strays. Oh, and Annabeth’s found his records. 

‘Holly Beckett,’ she reads out, and Percy is momentarily distracted enough to get slapped in the face. A hissing sound escapes the side of his mouth and he abandons the fight. All of them approach where Annabeth’s hunched over the papers. 

‘That’s the woman who tried her hand at flambé,’ Dean shrugs, ‘we know that. I thought you were looking for Andy’s records.’

‘These are his records. Holly Beckett was his birth mother. She gave birth to twins, both of which she put up for adoption. Dr. Jennings was her doctor, oversaw the whole process.’

‘...Holy shit,’ Andy gasps. His eyebrows go up so high his forehead wrinkles triple. His mouth is once again hanging open. ‘Does anyone have a Vicodin?’

‘So you have a solid connection to both of them,’ Sam accuses gently. Only Sam could accuse someone gently. 

‘Dude, weren’t you listening?’ Percy unfolds his arms. ‘Twins. We’ve got an actual evil twin situation. I never thought I’d see one in person.’

Dean’s got that obnoxious grin on again. ‘It’s kinda cool, right?’ 

Andy levels him with a flat stare– or as flat as he can manage while his world’s shifting on its axis. ‘Dude.’

Dean gives him a sheepish nod. 

‘They could still be working together,’ Sam reminds the room, but it sounds weak, even to him. Every emotion Andy has paints itself over his face with a big fat brush, and then goes over it with a roller. It doesn’t even seem to occur to him that he could filter his expressions. He’s like a giant walking billboard for humanity in its most unremarkable state. And yeah, they’ve been burned before, but c’mon. If it smells like a duck down to its molecules…

 ‘I didn’t kill them,’ he says like a twenty-two year old child. 

‘We believe you.’

Sam looks at Dean, and Dean looks right back, challenging him to argue. After a two-second staring contest, Sam backs down. 

‘...Yeah.’ He leafs through the file on the desk, scanning it with his finger. ‘You went to the Gallaghers, and it looks like your brother went to the Weems family from upstate.’

Silence is pretty common in Winchester conversations, but Andy must’ve grown on them more than they thought, because all of them immediately notice that there’s no awkward stammering filling up the space. Percy puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezes. Andy, arms above his head, doesn’t even seem to feel it. 

‘Hey man. Still with us?’ 

Andy has a tremor in his voice as he answers. ‘Um… what was my brother’s name?’

‘Ansen Weems,’ Annabeth announces. 

‘Oh, yikes,’ Percy says before he can stop himself. Once again, Andy doesn’t seem to hear him. 

‘He’s got a local address,’ Sam says. 

‘He- he lives here?’

‘Let’s get a look at ‘im. Got his picture coming over from the DMV now,’ Dean calls from over by the printer. The light from the little screen turns his chin green. The obnoxious sound of the machine stuttering through its work settles over the room until with one final cough, the printer spits out their prize. 

Dean snatches the papers up, shuffling through them. His brow unknits as he looks, and then reknits differently. Slowly he sidles over, gravitating towards Sam, as he’s the closest. Sam looks over his shoulder and does a double-take. 

‘Uh… hate to kick you while you’re freaked…’ Dean trails off for a moment. Then, ‘Take a look at that.’

He sets the paper down flat on the table so they can all see.

Percy’s not sure what the big deal is. The guy looks every bit as ordinary as Andy, if a little elfish. No, not elfish– what are those little hairy guys with big feet? Hobbits. He looks hobbit-esque. His hair is lighter than Andy’s by a shade or two, stuck up in an understated quiff. His eyebrows are patchy, slanting downwards to match his eyes, which might be grey or blue or something but kinda just look brown. Percy guesses he can see the relation– take away Andy’s dark patch of scruff and they might look alike. Similar jawlines, noses. It sounds stupid even in his head, but Percy can’t help but think that he can tell this guy’s no good the same way he could tell Andy wasn’t just from looking. Andy’s friend shaped. This guy with the same jawline, nose, and boring features, is not. The hobbit look is a lie. 

‘Am I supposed to see something in this guy I’m not seeing? Why are we all being weird?’ Percy asks the room at large. ‘Not you, Andy, you’ve got leave to be weird about it.’

‘This guy works at the diner we scoped out before, when we were looking for Andy. The girl there called him Webber,’ Sam explains. He says this next to Andy. ‘He seemed to know you pretty well.’

‘Okay. Come on, we can debrief on the go. The diner will close soon, we’re losing our window,’ Annabeth barks, already up and sweeping out of the room. They all fall into line behind her on instinct, Andy in the middle and Percy watching his back. Poor guy’s having a hell of a day. Percy hates it when civilians get involved in hunts. 

They pile into and onto their respective rides, Andy taking the Impala with Sam and Dean. Percy would love to give him that ride he wanted on Penelope, but he thinks now might be a bad time. Besides, he knows where the knives are. Percy likes the guy, but he doesn’t trust him that much. Being at the handlebars of a fast-moving motorcycle with an unknown variable at your back in arm’s reach of weapons is about as vulnerable as you can get. That’s why he likes Annabeth being there. Really, it says more about Percy than about Andy. 

The comms switch on before they’ve even pulled out onto the road. 

‘Alright, Andy. Tell us everything you know about this guy,’ Sam orders.

Andy’s voice comes through a little more quietly, him being further from the comms. Percy can still hear him loud and clear, though. He sounds lost. 

‘Well I mean– I… not much. Webber shows up one day, like, eight months ago? Acting like he’s my best friend in the world. Kinda weird, like, trying too hard, y’know?’

‘He musta known you guys’re twins,’ Dean concludes. ‘But why the change in name? Why not tell you the truth?’

‘I’d change my name too if it was Ansen Weems,’ Percy throws out there. 

A pained grunt comes through the connection. Percy hates how he can identify his brothers by their pained grunts as easily as their names. 

‘Sam. Sammy?’

‘It’s happening again?’ Annabeth asks.

‘Another vision,’ Dean confirms. ‘Sammy, stay with me!’

Percy’s stopping before Dean is. In the middle of the road, Baby’s driver door opens and Dean dashes around to Sam’s side, ducking down to catch his little brother. Sam sort of falls halfway out, his legs spilling onto the road, body curled nearly in half as he holds his head. With his hair hanging down in front of his face, Percy can’t see much. But he hears.

‘Hey. Hey!’ Dean barks, gripping Sam by the shoulder and uncurling him enough to see his face. ‘You alright? Look at me. Answer me.’

‘Tracey,’ Sam pants, ‘from the diner. He’s got her. At the dam.’ 

They kick back into gear pretty quickly after that, Andy rattling off directions. Sure enough, when they squeal to a stop on the bridge overlooking the dam, there is one lone car parked dead center. 

Dean, Sam, and Andy all get out of the car. Sam and Dean immediately make for the trunk, retrieving their weapons of choice. Dean’s on overwatch tonight. They need him out of range of the charmspeak. Percy hears Andy inform Sam he’s coming with them, but he doesn’t stay to listen to the fight. He takes the driver’s side, Annabeth flanks shotgun. 

Weems is looking away from the window. Percy breaks it with his fist and reaches in, hooking an arm around the guy’s neck before the guy can jump. He doesn’t bother opening the door, just drags Weems out through the window. Bits of glass rain onto the pavement, Percy’s target following shortly behind. He doesn’t bother with a fancy mute hold like Annabeth; she always makes them look better. His methods are more crude. The way he figures it, Weems can’t squeal if he’s too busy trying to breathe. Percy just has to make that his priority. Annabeth will surely come around and elegantly crush the asshole’s larynx or something in a minute. 

Weems struggles, of course, but he can’t do anything about Percy’s vice grip crushing down on his windpipe except turn progressively redder. Percy takes stock of everyone else. The girl, Tracey, has run into Andy’s arms, sobbing loudly. Annabeth is reaching into the car to turn it off. Sam is racing over with his gun out to save them from the big bad loser suffocating in the grip of Percy’s elbow, and despite being told to stay back, Dean is right behind him. Between Dean’s yelling and Weems’ choking, Percy catches some of Tracey’s terrified babbling.

‘I couldn’t, I couldn’t stop, I couldn’t control myself, I was gonna do it, I was gonna jump, he was gonna make me jump!’

Percy’s gaze slides over the soul-black water glittering impossibly far down below. He barely has time to think, this brings back memories, before something happens. 

No. It would be more accurate to say something happens again. 

I sway on my two booted feet as pain floods my every cell. The boots were someone else’s once, someone dear to me– I can tell by the scuff marks at the lip of the sole where he always dragged his feet. Or, I can usually. I’m having trouble telling much of anything with my vision so spotted. But I know that’s where the snake got me, right through my borrowed right boot. I’m not sure, but I think the twin holes it now sports are smoking. The hiss of fabric being eaten away blends with that of the snake. I can’t believe I forgot about the snake.

I look up past my current predicament into the eyes of a young boy. The kid can’t be older than six, with a vice grip on his father’s leg, hiding and screaming, screaming, screaming. 

The agony rips up my calf in a way that feels slow. It’s like time extends itself just for me, just to stretch out the torture for as long as it can, even as I know it’s acting fast. It’s killing me. My heart beats faster to make up for lost time, like it can sense the poison encroaching. In a matter of seconds, it will stop. My stomach seizes, and I can feel the distinct screaming of organs I didn’t even know I had. Through that, I feel the cold, thin air against my back. 

There is a monster before me. There is death behind me. The flames approach, and the water calls. 

I turn and see the whole world beneath me, a desert of cold grey water as good to me as asphalt now, 630 feet down. 

I pray to my father. 

I jump.

Someone is calling Percy’s name. There’s yelling and crying. His head aches like something exploded in there. Most confusing of all, he can feel his foot. With his vision swimming back into focus, he checks it. Wow, his feet sure are big. And there are no holes in his boots. 

He pulls his brain into place, focussing on the voices. 

‘-ercy. Percy, report! Percy!’

‘Yah,’ he manages. The bruising grip on his arm grounds him, pulls him back to… Annabeth. She’s staring at him with those wide, wide eyes, and then tilting her head to put him right in the centre of her range of vision. It’s one of those bird-like things she tries to suppress and won’t admit she does. To see it so blatantly applied sets off alarm bells in his head. A rush of awareness crashes over him, turns his perspective right side up, and his head swims with it.

He grabs for her clawed hand, missing on the first try. With great effort, he raises his head off the ground. He’s horizontal, he realises. He uses his elbows and Annabeth to leverage himself up, looking around. Weems lies crumpled against the side of his car, dead to the world. His nose looks a shade beyond broken, although it’s hard to tell under all the blood. His chest rises and falls, though. Dean is right beside Annabeth; Percy hadn’t noticed him through her feathers, but he’s there, eyes bright with worry. Sam is just behind the both of them, crouching awkwardly in the street. The crying’s still going on somewhere, and Percy remembers Tracey was the one doing that. 

‘What happened?’ Annabeth snaps.

‘I w’s… g’nna ask you th’ same thing,’ Percy slurs. That doesn’t sound good. He hopes he doesn’t have a head injury. Those are the worst.

He goes through the events that led him here. He can’t see anyway he would’ve been hit. Tracey had just explained that she was going to jump, and he’d looked over the edge, and then he was twelve years old and falling to his death. Again. 

Was it a flashback? He’s had those before. He’s never had one about the arch before, but there’s a first time for everything. More worryingly, he’s never had one in the field before. Something about battle focusses his mind to such a degree that it almost sinks beneath the level of consciousness required to remember the past. He becomes some base thing, and he forgets everything that isn’t either happening to him, or that he isn’t currently happening to. But this wasn’t battle, was it? This was one measly mortal. It figures he was distracted enough to fall into one of his many traps.

‘It was just… a memory,’ Percy says, trying very hard to enunciate each word clearly. He drags himself up partly and Annabeth pulls him the rest of the way until he’s standing on his two booted feet. 

‘It wasn’t,’ Annabeth states. Percy looks up sharply and then regrets it as the pounding returns. ‘Weems dropped at the same time you did.’

‘Yeah, Percy choked him out!’ Dean argues. At the same time, Sam says, 'So did you.'

Annabeth ignores Sam. They already know why she felt it- because Percy did. She shakes her head. ‘It wasn’t that. His right leg gave out first. It was seizing. He couldn’t get the breath back, but he was screaming.’

Percy frowns. ‘He passed out on his own?’ 

‘No, I punched him. Thought he’d done something to you,’ she admits. ‘Should’ve just let him suffer. He’s not screaming now.’

Sam shuffles uncomfortably in the back, but Percy’s not paying attention. His headache is not helping. ‘You’re sure it was his right leg that gave out first?’

‘Yes. Why?’

He shoots a disturbed look Weems’ way. ‘I don’t know, it’s…’ 

‘Percy,’ Annabeth says quietly, an order, a plea, a comfort, a chastisement, all at once. It’s what he needs to hear. He shakes his head.

‘It was like a flashback, but… you remember the arch? St. Louis?’ She nods. ‘My right ankle. It got me through my boot.’

Now Annabeth shoots a look at Weems’ crumpled form. Her eyes narrow and her brow scrunches in that way it does when she’s confused by something. 

‘Woah woah woah, what’s this about St. Louis? What got you?’ Dean demands in his pushy older brother tone. 

Percy bites off a sigh. ‘I had a run-in with something. Injured my ankle. That’s what I was remembering.’

Sam cuts off whatever Dean’s going to demand next with a confused tone. ‘But then why would Weems…?’

‘Do you think he felt it? Saw it?’ Annabeth asks. ‘Percy…’ Suddenly her eyes widen again. She whips around to address Sam so fast her hair smacks Dean in the face. ‘Sam, when did your dreams start? Not the visions.’

‘What- what do you mean?’ He obviously wasn’t expecting to be addressed. 

‘Your dreams,’ she says again, ‘Of Percy’s memories. They’re not like your visions. In your visions, you said you’re not anyone, just an intangible observer. But when you dream of Percy, you dream from his perspective. When did that start?’

Dean turns on Sam, forehead creased in outrage that he wasn’t informed of this. 

‘...Six months ago,’ Sam says quietly. 

Annabeth looks back at her boyfriend and he puts it together a second before she says it. 

‘Percy… I think we may have found your power.’

Chapter Text

While they’re distracted with their epiphany, Tracey grabs Sam’s gun off of Andy and shoots Weems twice in the chest. Then she drops it and falls in on herself in a heap, sobbing starting to quieten. 

Andy is too shocked to move, gaping at the blood leaking out of Weems’ body onto the pavement below. Dean grabs the gun and secures it before anyone else gets any funny ideas. That puts him on civilian duty, then. He shoots one concerned look back at them and starts handling collateral. Sam checks Weems just in case, but he’s definitely dead. 

‘He and Sam must have been more open to receiving memories from you since they both count as children touched by the demon. Andy too, probably. It might be worth doing some tests,’ Annabeth says quietly. ‘Are you alright?’

‘Yes,’ Percy assures her. ‘It was just like any other flashback for me, albeit an A-grade one. Visible, audible, phantom pain, the whole nine yards.’

Annabeth nods as if she knew this. ‘You can walk?’

He nods. ‘Pain’s a six, fading as we speak.’

‘I didn’t know you got flashbacks,’ Sam says with a hollow note to his voice. 

‘Not often,’ Annabeth offers. ‘It hasn’t been a problem as of yet. Most aren’t physically crippling. I’ve never seen you just drop before,’ she adds to Percy. 

‘You should’ve told us, guys,’ Sam huffs out in that terribly wounded voice of his. It’s almost as bad as the puppy eyes that follow it, which are like a knife to Percy’s heart. 

Percy opens his mouth to respond, give some excuse, tell him they meant to, but how can he? There’s just so much to tell, all of it important, and all of it hard to say. Percy doesn’t even know where to begin with all the shit his brothers should know. This is, like, a drop in the ocean. 

‘We can go over it together later,’ Annabeth decides. And when she says it, she says it like she means it, not in a Dean way, so Sam lets it slide. 

Dean’s focussed on Tracey, so Percy takes Andy while Sam calls the police and Annabeth gets their story straight. The guy is still staring at Tracey, listless, but not so far beneath that, horrified. Afraid. He’d been so worried about her, and now he’s watching her like she’s a bomb that’s gone off, unconsciously stepping back from her fallout. 

‘Hey,’ Percy starts. It takes a second, but Andy manages to turn and focus on him, closing his mouth. Percy puts himself close enough to take up most of Andy’s vision without crowding him in, keeping his voice casual. ‘Still with us, man?’

‘...Tracey… she just shot him.’

‘Yeah.’

‘He’s dead.’

‘Mhm. She probably saved a lot of lives. I mean, dude was killing innocents left right and centre. Arresting him would’ve done no good, as he could just talk his way out of jail and go right back to murderin’. Good job she was the one to pull the trigger, too, that makes a world of difference– but, y’know, being there for her won’t hurt, either.’

Andy blinks rapidly like his brain is trying to process every word at once. He does some more stuttering, makes some faces. ‘She just killed my brother . Shot him. Twice!’

‘No, she shot a murderer who you were unfortunate enough to share a womb with. It was badass. You’re a cool guy, Andy. That Μαλάκας did not deserve to be called your brother.’ He sighs, looking around for the right words to make Andy understand. ‘Tracey… it might be hard, but look at it from her perspective. She wasn’t in control of her actions. You remember how it felt when Annabeth pinned you, when I had that knife to you, and you couldn’t do anything but what we told you to? Tracey thought she was going to be raped and killed. She thought she wasn’t even going to be able to fight back. She’s crying so hard right now because a minute ago she wasn’t able to. As a self-professed monster hunter, I can’t fault her for doing my job.’

Andy takes all this in for a while. Then he nods, hesitantly at first, and then more solidly. He looks Percy in the eyes and takes in a big breath through his nose. When he looks back over at Tracey again, it’s with a worried protectiveness and a little awe. 

‘I can’t imagine how she felt,’ Andy admits. ‘I should’ve been there. I can’t believe… I mean, he… he was crazy. But he had the same powers I do, he was using them just like me.’

Percy levels him with a disbelieving look. ‘Dude, you use your powers to get concert tickets. It is not the same thing. You don’t need to be afraid of yourself, but you need to be aware of the power you have. You ever seen Spider-man?’

‘...Um, with great power…?’

‘Comes great responsibility, yeah. You keep that in mind, you never make anyone feel like Tracey’s feeling right now, and you’ll be sweet.’

Andy gulps in a big breath and actually tries to offer Percy a smile. ‘Thanks. Thanks, man. I should…’

Percy shoos him off to comfort his girl, or ex-girl, or whoever she is. Andy’s barely shuffled into her sight before she’s falling against his chest, his shirt scrunching in her fists. Andy gives Percy a bemused look, and then encircles her with his arms and squeezes her tight. Good. 

-~o~-

The cops come, and Andy tells them all exactly how it went down. Suicide, they all saw it happen. It is such a handy power, but that doesn’t change the fact that the words almost get stuck halfway up his throat as he says them. This is the right thing to do, he knows, and that’s what chokes them out of him finally, but knowing the damage he could cause with a few words has changed everything. He has to pause for a minute to be sure he won’t be sick right there on the pavement. To think, he’s just been throwing his abilities around, when he could just as easily kill someone with them… Percy’s right; it isn’t Tracey he should be scared of. He’s lucky she’ll even look him in the eye!

But she does look him in the eye, almost exclusively. She listens as he explains everything, takes it all like a champ, and doesn’t seem to think he’s insane. And when he tells her he has the same powers as the guy who nearly killed her, she doesn’t even blink. She states very clearly that he could never do anything to hurt anyone, powers or no. He tells her she just killed his evil twin brother, and she apologizes. Andy doesn’t care how many people she’s shot, she’s too sweet to exist, even for an Oklahoman. 

She’s hesitant to get back into a car with two men she doesn’t know, and that’s fair. But she recognizes the difference: the sun is shining, there are cops everywhere, and Andy won’t be peeling himself from her side for all the tea in China. Despite the circumstances, it’s good to hold her again. 

The older brothers drop her off at her house and Andy walks her to the door, as he has so many times before. It was always his favourite and least favourite part of their dates, because she’d give him a kiss, but then he’d have to go. He used to try and come up with reasons for them to stay out on the steps together for just a little longer, but she’d see right through him and send him on his way with a laugh and a push. It was worth it anyway to hear her laugh.

Now here they are again. It must be about breakfast time. Andy doesn’t usually get up in time for breakfast, so he wouldn’t know. He’s still wearing his robe and pyjama shirt from yesterday, and he must stink. He spares a moment to be thankful he changed out of his piss pants. Tracey doesn’t need to know about that. Especially when she looks like a million bucks. It figures– she gets her world upturned, and she still looks beautiful. The birds are welcoming her back with pretty songs like she’s Snow White or something. It kind of blows Andy’s mind that she’s looking at him, of all people.

‘I knew something was up with you,’ she says. ‘I’m kind of glad I know what it is now. I was… I was worried.’

He almost laughs. Worried? About him? 

‘I think I would’ve told you. I wanted to,’ he blurts. ‘I just didn’t know how.’

Tracey nods and smiles a little, basking in the absurdity of the situation with him. She looks back at her door. Her hands come up to wring together like they always do when she’s anxious. 

‘You will come back again? Soon?’ she asks all at once. She pins him with those big brown doe eyes of hers and he feels warmth flood him, no doubt turning his face a stupid, ugly red. ‘If you were staying away because you didn’t know what to do with this, I hope you’re over that.’

‘Yes. Yes, totally over that,’ how had he ever stayed away, ‘I just needed to figure some things out, and now I think we both have... not that you, er– I just mean that we could, like, help each other. Or something. I don’t want you to go through this alone, and I don’t want to go through it alone either. So. Better together?’ 

And because he is the biggest moron to ever walk the earth, he holds up a bro-fist. 

She ignores it and throws herself into his arms. She holds him just like she used to, with her fingers curled into his hair and her chin tucked against his shoulder. Andy’s eyes close as he falls into place around her like he’s naturally meant to be there. Tension he didn’t even know he had leeches out of him. 

‘Better together,’ she whispers against his ear. And to his utter shock, she places a kiss on his cheek as she pulls away. His heart leaps up like it’s on a carnival ride– up up up, and then all the way back down as he realises that this is the part where he leaves. 

She pulls back, taking a bit of Andy with her. He can’t believe how much he’s missed her, can’t believe how long he managed without her. She tucks a strand of caramel hair behind her ear and rocks on the balls of her feet… almost like she’s trying to think of something to say. Talk about a role-swap. 

‘I think I-I need to be alone for a bit, after tonight,’ she admits. ‘But I’m so glad you were there. I mean– I’m sorry you were there, but I’m glad that you were there for me. I- I don’t know what I… I just… I’m glad you were there.’

‘I’ll still be here,’ he promises. ‘Day or night. I’m a phone call away. I can– I can come back tomorrow? Or later today? If you want?’

‘Yeah, okay,’ she smiles. 

Andy squeezes her arm one more time before reluctantly starting to walk backwards. He doesn’t want to look away, but he’s probably going to trip on the curb and make even more of an ass out of himself, so he turns and walks carefully back to the car after a few steps. He manages to only look back twice. Tracey is watching him go, waiting until he’s in the car to close her door. 

‘She gonna be okay?’ Dean’s rough voice almost makes Andy jump right out of his seat, shocking him back to the present moment. Sam sends him a grin through the rearview that says he saw that.

‘She is,’ Andy swears. ‘I’ll make sure of it.’

They drop Andy back off at the constuction site where they left his van. The second they’re parked he leaps out and runs to it, throwing himself against the side door and pressing his cheek to the side. He gives the barbarian lady a full-on kiss.

‘What is it with men and their cars?’ Annabeth wonders aloud. 

‘Dude. Have you seen that thing?’ Dean shoots right back. ‘I’d kiss it too.’

‘So, what now?’ Andy turns back to look at them, looking much brighter now that he has his baby back. ‘Did you guys get what you came here for, or is there still ESP detective-ing to do?’

‘We answered some questions, and found a few more to ask,’ Annabeth sighs, crossing her arms and looking off into the middle distance with a scrunch in her brow. ‘I would like to say we at least narrowed down the cause of these abilities, but…’

‘But what?’ Dean asks.

She shakes her head. ‘Weems breaks the pattern. There was never a fire in his home, let alone his nursery. I checked his records.’

Sam resituates himself as he takes this in. ‘Are you sure?’ he asks pointlessly. Annabeth never states anything as fact unless she’s sure. She gives him a look to remind him of this. 

‘But hey, look at the upsides!’ Percy chimes in. ‘At least we know about the pattern break so we’re not blindsided by it. We confirmed that Sam’s visions are demon-related. We figured out my power. And we made a friend!’ He throws an arm around Andy and jostles him around a bit. 

Andy smiles, and then frowns. ‘Wait, you found out what your power is? What is it?’

Right, he was kind of out of it when they covered that. 

‘Seems like he can share his memories with external parties,’ Annabeth says. ‘Or at the very least, other demon kids.’

‘That’s kinda cool,’ Andy offers. Easy for him to say. He got mind control. 

And it’s not cool at all, actually– given the nature of his memories, Percy could kill someone if he’s not careful. The flashback felt real, just like it had when it was really happening the first time. The pain, the fear, the adrenalin, even the details Percy wouldn’t have thought to mention; all of it was as solid to him as the present is now. He’d lost all awareness of reality. He’d truly thought he was gasping his last at the top of the Gateway Arch. It sucks enough that he has to deal with those episodes on his own, now he’s at risk of putting other people through them? Putting Sam through them? Percy’s strong for a demigod, and he barely survived– a mortal gets the wrong memory from him, and they’re toast. Percy’s not sure Weems would’ve woken up in the same state, or at all, had Tracey not shot him. Yeah, mind control’s way cooler. 

Still, Percy’s not gonna say he envies the guy. Andy’s had a rough week. He just found out he had a twin in time for said twin to murder both their biological mother and Andy’s doctor friend before trying to do the same thing to Andy’s lady. Not to mention finding out about the whole demon-killed-his-mom business. Poor guy hasn’t even had time to process anything. 

‘You gonna be okay?’ Percy asks before he can think about it.

To his credit, Andy thinks about it. Percy might be a little too used to the Winchester tactics of avoidance and denial, as that surprises him. 

‘I don’t really know what to do now,’ Percy’s new friend admits. ‘With all this stuff, I mean…’

‘Well, you can always call us up.’ Sam holds out a gas station receipt with his number on it. Andy takes it with a grateful nod. 

‘Yeah. I won’t lie to you, it’s gonna be rough. I’m not gonna say I understand what you’re going through, but you’d be surprised how much we got in common, trauma-wise,’ Percy muses. ‘Would you believe me if I said this wasn’t the first–’

I stand directly opposite my half-brother. I have to crane my head to stare up at him. He is fifteen feet of dark red skin and corded muscle, and the sheer mass of him makes my head spin and my chest tighten. He wears barely anything, the better to show off the sprawling ink wrapped around his every surface, tattooed wave designs incongruously blue against his red. He’s so big that some of them might be the size of real waves. It feels like a pointed jab, like he got all those tattoos just to mock me in particular. 

I thought he couldn’t get any uglier, but he opens his mouth in a big grin and his every tooth is engraved with that same wave shape. He spreads his massive arms, gesturing at the carnage around him, and I feel the motion disturb the air from where I’m standing. Horror blooms up my throat as he claims all this death in the name of our father. Every skull from the dozens, hundreds stacked around me, watches and wails. What a waste of life– and all for dear old dad’s favour. The thought congeals, violent and ugly, until I feel like I killed them all with my own two hands. Their eye sockets burn me.

I look back to this half-brother of mine. He is still crowing proudly about his accomplishments and plans, as if he is the most important thing in the room. As if he had a right to take all this life, just because he’s our father’s son. 

He thinks he is going to kill me.

I am going to kill him.

Something warm and alive makes contact with Percy’s shoulder. He blinks and he has the something at swordpoint. He shuffles them around so he can keep both Antaeus and the new threat in sight, but Antaeus isn’t there. The ground beneath his feet is sun-warmed gravel, and the threat at the end of his blade is Dean. 

He blinks in confusion. Annabeth’s claws scrape lightly against his back, and that feels right enough to bring him around somewhat. He pants out the adrenalin still racing through his system and looks around, taking in the situation.

Sam’s taken a knee and put an arm around Andy, who looks to have collapsed. Andy’s eyes are wide, his head jerking around wildly as he scoots around on his butt like a hunted thing. He whimpers. Sam speaks calmingly to him, but can’t stop looking back at Percy, unable to decide what to deal with first. At Riptide’s sharp end, Dean has his hands up in surrender, intense eyes trying to dissect his little brother and put him back together all better. 

The guilt hits almost as hard as the memory had. Percy immediately retracts his weapon, tucking it back into his pocket. ‘Is everyone alright? Andy, are you alright?’

Andy jumps like he’s been hit, scrambling to his feet. Percy’s glad to see that he clutches onto Sam’s arm for support rather than pushing him away. 

‘What the f-fuck,’ he babbles, ‘what the fuck, what the fuck!’ 

‘Andy, you are safe. You are in Guthrie, Oklahoma,’ Annabeth coaches steadily. ‘Tell me five things you can see.’

‘What? What’re you t-talking about?’

‘Five things you can see right now, name them.’

‘Uh…’ his eyes stutter into jerky motion. ‘The– the, uh, sun. The ground. You. Percy. Chainlink f-fence.’

‘Good. Now five things that you can hear.’

She talks him through the aftershocks, all the while moving her hand against Percy’s back, steadily bringing them both down from the flashback. She kneads little holes into his skin as Andy describes what he hears. When he moves onto what he can feel, she starts writing greek letters into Percy’s back. By the time they get to hearing, they’re both relatively calm. 

‘What. The hell. Was that?’

Percy grimaces. ‘Sorry, man. I just got this power, not sure how to control it yet.’

‘That was–?’ Andy goggles at him. ‘That was a memory?! No it wasn’t! That wasn’t– that didn’t happen, dude, that was from a horror movie or somethin’.’

Sam and Dean’s heads whip to Percy. Both of them double down on the dissection, with a healthy heaping of worry to boot. 

‘What I was gonna say before I was rudely interrupted,’ Percy begins with as much off-handedness as he can muster, ‘is that this isn’t my first rodeo with an evil brother. You don’t have the corner on that market, buddy. I’m sorry you had to see that.’

‘THAT WAS ACTUALLY YOUR BROTHER?! I thought– I mean I knew, I felt that, but he– I…’

If he didn’t have Sam’s and Dean’s attentions before, he definitely has them now. Percy cringes. 

‘Half-brother,’ he corrects automatically. ‘That side of the family is all wacked-up. Imagine, that’s my dad’s side of the family, and then on my mom’s side we’ve got a demon curse. Your evil twin doesn’t seem so bad now, does he?’

‘...He was a monster,’ Andy huffs. ‘Like a real, live, actual monster.’ He shakes his head, at a loss. ‘I nearly pissed myself again.’

Percy wrinkles his nose. ‘Glad you didn’t. I was serious about the Gatorade, dude.’

That startles a breathless laugh out of Andy. ‘I guess there really is always someone with a shitter deal out there than you. Or, me, I guess. Sucks, man.’

‘Yeah, tell us about it,’ Annabeth mutters, successfully unknitting most of the tension from Percy’s shoulders. Sam and Dean will have questions, but if she’s chill about it, he’s chill about it. They’ll deal with it together. 

They leave Andy behind with a wave and a thinly-veiled threat from Dean. The minute they’re back on the road, the two older brothers are hounding them for answers. Percy and Annabeth explain flashbacks and what to do in the event that either of them have one. Dean is with Sam on the point that they should have been told, and he is taking it personally.

‘Do you not trust us? Is that it, because–’

‘We do,’ Percy groans. ‘It’s just, it hasn’t been happening often enough that we can’t handle it. I didn’t want you to be afraid of me. I still don’t. You know, if we told you everything you deserved to know, you’d regret hearing it.’

‘What’s that s’posed to mean?’

‘Alright, take a breath, both of you–’

‘No, I wanna hear this!’

‘Okay, look,’ Sam snaps. ‘We want to know what we’re missing here. Percy doesn’t want to tell us. Maybe he doesn’t have to.’

Annabeth speaks up for the first time in a while. ‘What are you saying, Sam?’

‘Well, his power is sharing memories, right? Maybe we can help you practice. If you get better at it–’

‘No. Sorry Sam, not happening,’ Percy bites, uncharacteristically terse.

‘Either you let us see, or you start talkin’,’ Dean shoots back at once. ‘Let’s start with that half-brother Andy mentioned.’