The Wrong Way To Use Windex

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Annabeth's POV

Annabeth decided the monsters wouldn't kill her. Neither would the poisonous atmosphere, nor the treacherous landscape with its pits, cliffs, and jagged rocks. Nope. Most likely she would die from an overload of weirdness that would make her brain explode.

First, she had had to drink fire to stay alive. Then they were attacked by a gaggle of vampires, led by a cheerleader Annabeth had killed two years ago. Finally, they were rescued by a Titan janitor named Bob who had Einstein hair, silver eyes, and wicked broom skills.

Sure. Why not? They followed Bob through the wasteland, tracing the route of the Phlegethon as they approached the storm front of darkness. Every so often they stopped to drink firewater, which kept them alive, but Annabeth wasn't happy about it.

Her throat felt like she was constantly gargling with battery acid. Her only comfort was (Y/N). Every so often he would glance over and smile, or squeeze her hand. He had to be just as scared and miserable as she was, and she loved him for trying to make her feel better.

She had to admit it made her heart swell a little bit each time he did it, his eyes were drooping and he had purple bruises on his chest from where Kelli had kicked him, but still he prioritized her wellbeing over his.

Part of her wanted to shout at him for it and tell him to worry about himself, but she couldn't be mad at him for it. She knew this wasn't the time or the place for those sort of conversations, they just had to support one another, end of story.

"Percy has interesting friends," Annabeth murmured as they walked. "Bob is interesting!" The Titan turned and grinned. "Yes, thank you!" The big guy had good ears. Annabeth would have to remember that.

"So, Bob..." She tried to sound casual and friendly, which wasn't easy with a throat scorched by firewater. "How did you get to Tartarus?" "I jumped," he said, like it was obvious. "You jumped into Tartarus," she said, "because we said your name?"

"You needed me." Those silver eyes gleamed in the darkness. "It is okay. I was tired of sweeping the palace. Come along! We are almost at a rest stop." A rest stop. Annabeth couldn't imagine what those words meant in Tartarus.

She remembered all the times she, Luke, and Thalia had relied on highway rest stops when they were homeless demigods, trying to survive. Wherever Bob was taking them, she hoped it had clean restrooms and a snack machine.

She repressed the giggles. Yes, she was definitely losing it. Annabeth hobbled along, trying to ignore the rumble in her stomach. She stared at Bob's back as he led them toward the wall of darkness, now only a few hundred yards away.

His blue janitor's coveralls were ripped between the shoulder blades, as if someone had tried to stab him. Cleaning rags stuck out of his pocket. A squirt bottle swung from his belt, the blue liquid inside sloshing hypnotically.

Annabeth remembered Percy's story about meeting the Titan. Thalia Grace, Nico di Angelo, and Percy had worked together to defeat Bob on the banks of the Lethe. After wiping his memory, they didn't have the heart to kill him.

He became so gentle and sweet and cooperative that they left him at the palace of Hades, where Persephone promised he would be looked after. Apparently, the Underworld king and queen thought "looking after" someone meant giving him a broom and having him sweep up their messes.

Annabeth wondered how even Hades could be so callous. She'd never felt sorry for a Titan before, but it didn't seem right taking a brainwashed immortal and turning him into an unpaid janitor. He's not your friend, she reminded herself.

She was terrified that Bob would suddenly remember himself. Tartarus was where monsters came to regenerate. What if it healed his memory? If he became Iapetus again...well, Annabeth had seen the way he had dealt with monsters.

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