Percy Jackson One Shots

New Book???

So I've been mulling over this idea for a while, I don't know whether or not to actually write it though, so I thought I'd post the first chapter here and let you guys comment on whether or not I should continue it.

Description: Annabeth Chase has traded away her architectural dream for the family business. The family business of being a private eye. A detective. The only reason she did this though is because whoever murdered her brother, must pay.

Percy Jackson is a thief. A criminal. It's not like he meant to steal the medicine. His mom needed it, badly. It's not like he planned to steal the money. His stepdad threatened him if he didn't.

It's not like Percy knew he was going to kidnap Annabeth Chase. It just kind of happened.

Annabeth Chase sits on the end of her bed, reading a book on Ancient Greek architecture for one of her university classes. She studies the pillars and extraordinary villa sprawls, constantly writing notes in the notebook beside her. Her apartment she rented out with a couple friends is quiet. It's a Saturday night and the rest of them all had dates. Annabeth doesn't, so instead she's here, doing something she loves most in the world.

Her ears pick up a sound. It's the grinding of a key in a lock. She hears the apartment door swish open. "Hello? Piper? Hazel? That you?"

A figure appears in the doorway of Annabeth's room. The woman is tall with blond hair and grey eyes that speak death to all who cross her. "We have to talk," says the woman.

Annabeth sighs in exasperation. "About what, Mom? I got accepted here on a scholarship. They want me. I'm good at this stuff. Great even. I'm living my own life. What do we need to talk about?"

"Malcolm's dead," is the blunt reply.

The architecture book slides from Annabeth's now sweaty fingers. Numbness consumes her. Her features twist into an expressionless mask of nothingness. But no tears. She blocks those out. That last time she cried in front of Athena Chase she was 8 years old. She is not about to let the 12 year detachment go now.

"How?" Annabeth finally manages to say. Her voice doesn't crack, it doesn't fall, it never wavers for a second.

"Murder." Athena Chase is like her daughter, her replies are curt and her voice strong.

"Who?" Annabeth asks.

"I do not know," replies her mother. "I need help. You need to come back."

Come back? Did her mother really think it was that easy? Tell her that her brother's dead and then just announce that she has to come back to the family; to the family business?

"Get out." Annabeth's voice descends to a harsh whisper. Her mother looks confused. Athena Chase is not one who is used to being ordered around.

"What did you say?"

"You heard me. Get out of my apartment. I'm never coming back. Malcolm died in that business. He was murdered because you made him go into the business. You made him! And I'm sure as hell not letting you make me!" Annabeth leaps off the bed to stand on her feet in front of her mother. "So I'm telling you to get out. Now."

Athena looks at her daughter and turns, walking swiftly out of the bedroom. Annabeth follows her to the front door. As Athena touches her hand to the doorknob and starts to turn the handle she asks a question. The doorknob question.

The doorknob question is something Athena is a master at, something she has perfected. She bids them goodbye, begins to walk out, and just when their shoulders droop, just when they relax and all their guards that they put up before meeting her are beginning to crumble and fall down, she asks them a question.

"I thought you got revenge?"

<><><><><><><><><><>

Percy Jackson is accustomed to the punches. The blows that Gabe throws into him time and time again. Gabe's meaty fists grind into him, punching the already bruised and broken places. Percy groans, but doesn't move. He lets the punches dive into him. He doesn't fight back. Doesn't move a muscle.

Gabe's drunken breath crawls down Percy's spine. "You're mother is fine, dipshit. You don't have to go out there and make yourself known to the world just to get her a fucking thing of medicine you fucking little twerp."

Percy grinds his teeth. If you can't stop them from hurting you, you make them hurt you. And right now there's no way in hell that Gabe is stopping. "She needs the medicine and you know it. You're nothing! You can't help her if you tried! And you don't want to help her! You're just a proud little angry coward!"

Gabe's face twists into a mask of murderous rage. Percy braces himself for what is surely about to be plenty painful. Nothing comes though. Instead Gabe turns and walks swayingly out of the room. A few seconds later he appears in the doorway again, a long whip in one hand. Percy grits his teeth. If you can't stop the blows, make sure you know when they're coming.

Without Gabe having to do so much as point, Percy bends over the back of a chair, exposing his back to his stepfather. Gabe rakes up his shirt and Percy holds his breath, clenching and unclenching his fists. He knows how much this will hurt, but his mom is worth this. She is worth the pain.

The whip whistles through the air. The slash across his back follows the grooves of a previous cut. Percy's teeth seal as an airlock, keeping his scream bundled inside of him, not letting it form.

"What punk? Nothing to say?"

Percy slits his eyes at the wall. "Coward."

Without warning the whip falls again. Faster, harder, harsher than before.

"Anything, smart-ass?"

"Coward."

Gabe's pride has been pushed to the limit. "Fuck you, jackass! I don't give a shit!"

"Coward."

The whip slings through the air, hurtling at his skin. Again and again it rips into Percy's back. He can feel the skin peeling off in flakes. Finally they stop. There's a thump on the ground. Percy slowly stands straight, groaning at the pain on his back. Another scream builds inside him, but he does not want to know what will happen if he lets it out.

Percy looks at his drunken stepfather passed out on the carpet. Stumbling, tears blinding him, Percy makes his way to his bedroom.

Open the door. Open the door. Painkillers are on the bedside table. Take them. Lie down on your stomach. Take the painkillers. Lie down. Rest. A couple minutes. Just a couple. Than you can go see mom. Mom. You can go see mom. Take the painkillers. Rest. Don't let her see you like this. Get the bandaids. Fix your back. Painkillers. Bandaid. Rest. Mom.

Percy stumbles into his bedroom. He blindly flings a hand out, looking for the pills. Something clatters to the ground. Percy kneels, about to pass out from the pain. His back, his stomach, his face. Everything hurts. Everything aches.

He scoops the pills from the ground and plops them all in his mouth. The pain begins almost immediately to recede, drawing back, away from Percy and his horrid reality.

Bandaids, Percy. Fix your back.

Whipping open his closet door, Percy grabs the white strips from the back of the shelf and flings it onto the bed. Kneeling on the ground, his vision becoming slightly blurry from the painkillers and the side affect of making him woozy. He winds the bandages around his torn back to the best of his abilities.

Blinking away the tears, his vision crowds into darkness and Percy collapses, right on the floor. His brain numbs and bliss falls upon the bloodied boy.

Mom. Gotta to check on—

Should I? Should I not? It's all up to you guys.
~omgitshappenninng 😜