crow's calling - Percy Jackson (2)

chapter eight

     Percy Jackson would pay however much money necessary in order to send someone four years back in time to see his twelve-year-old self's reaction to finding out his current predicament: walking hand in hand through Tartarus with the girl he'd spent four very long years actively hating after willingly falling down the pits to hell with her.

Twelve-year-old Percy would more than likely be embarassed - Wren, seriously? Come on, I puked on her shoes! Fourteen-year-old Percy would without a doubt be completely and utterly dismayed - Wren, are you kidding? She is literally the worst! Sixteen-year-old Percy from a mere couple of months ago would be losing his absolute mind - Wren is a real memory? I found her? I almost lost her again? What in Hades happened to us?

He had been so thankful that Wren had saved Annabeth without even a split second's hesitation that the prospect of being angry she risked her own life hadn't even blossomed into a thought in his head. For an entire quest they'd argued about her (lack of) safety concerns, and the two had even wound up kissing after finally admitting they were worried that the other was exceptionally prone to life threatening situations.

Percy knew they were the same in that way, impulsive and quick to act before thinking. He wouldn't lie and say he wasn't angry now, not with the position they were in - anyone would be angry, that's how he rationalized it to himself. It was ridiculous, really. Everything they had done, everything they had been through in the name of protecting the gods, and this was where they ended up?

Was this truly meant to be their ending? Is this what they deserved?

Their debt was being born, it's the same story they'd heard their entire lives. Wren had cracked during their fight with the giants in the Colosseum, Bacchus watching them fight from above, judging their worthiness. But this, Tartarus... Percy could feel it stirring inside of him, the urge to snap.

Not that Wren could tell. For the most part, Percy's as talking and acting all business as usual. If business usually meant trekking around with a giant.

Somewhere, Wren was sure it was very normal for someone.

There were usually an exceptional amount of thoughts circulating around the daughter of Demeter's head. But coming face to face with a Titan - the only sound even echoing in her mind was her own scream.

Once upon a time, the Titan Hyperion had given the demigods a real run for their money. By the time the Battle of Manhattan erupted in her backyard, Wren had a rather decent grip on the powers her mother had given her. She could grow plants, grow fruits, elicit (minor) trembles from the ground below, she could wrap vines and roots around monsters like they were friendship bracelets.

Hyperion burnt through each and every tree root rope she wrapped around him like they were rubber bands.

Percy Jackson saved the day by summoning a fucking hurricane for the first time. She'd been so annoyed when he pulled out that trick, making it look like the hoard of demigods that had been fending the Titan off were useless without him.

Now Wren Kelley was hoping he could muster up a hurricane in the depths of Tartarus.

The only sense of direction that the girl could gain was that they were going down. Everything around them was shrouded in an inky black darkness, the only source of light either coming from the glow of Riptide or Bob, who glowed like some sort of janitorial glow stick. Both Wren and Percy struggled with navigating the rocky terrain, having to juggle avoiding the pits that appeared at their feet and the rocks that seemed to drop from above.

At one point Percy flinched at a particularly belligerent roar that echoed throughout the gloomy darkness, the light from his blade quivering in the air. Wren lightly nudged his side to gain the boy's attention, "Maybe they're friendly monsters."