𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍° ! percy jackson

𝐢.𝐱 - 𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐜 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐤 (𝐚)

"Well, fuck." There was nothing better than four random pre-teens walking alone through the woods along the New Jersey riverbank. Percy's curse flowed out of his mouth in a true New Yorker fashion as the city glowed behind them, making the night sky yellow.

It was said that New York City was the best city in the world. Whoever believed that shit was clearly not a twelve year old demigod. But, then again, anywhere for godly offsprings was a hellhole. 

Grover was shivering and braying, his big goat eyes turned slit-pupils and full of terror. "Three Kindly Ones. All three at once."

"All our money was back there. Our food and clothes. Everything. We're done, Annabeth." Percy reminded the daughter of Athena through her determination and constant mumbling.

"Yeah, well, maybe if you hadn't decided to jump into the fight—"

"What did you want me to do? Let you get killed? Let Aurora—Aurora?"

For the first time ever, Aurora was still in total silence.

It was all her fault.

She knew she would do this, fuck everything up. That's why she avoided quests like the plague.

It was her fault that the bus exploded, and now they were three demigods, plus a satyr, in the wild, with nothing at all. They were never going to make it to Los Angeles.

She was so stupid.

The scene couldn't stop replaying in her head. Her, standing up like a moron, yelling at the Furies, drawing attention to the demigods. Fuck up number one. Thinking she could take them all, blatantly disrespecting them in hopes for her to infuriate them so much, they would forget about Percy. Fuck up number two. Allowing herself to get hurt. Fuck up number three.

Maybe if she fought better, or didn't talk so cockily to the Furies, or distracted them better, or didn't stand up at all, that wouldn't have happened. If she didn't think she could save the day, the bus wouldn't have blown up. They would've been safe.

If she'd been a better fighter like Clarisse or Luke, or could sweet talk like Silena, or was slick like Connor, they would've had a secure trip and wouldn't be lost in the middle of a high way, waiting in anticipation for a car to whizz by them and flatten them to the ground. 

If Percy hadn't felt like he needed to save her, maybe they would have escaped the Furies.

Gods, why did she have to be a stupid flower child? Why couldn't she be better, faster, smarter, more powerful, more perfect?

Her confident front at camp was a facade to what she knew was the truth: Aurora was utterly useless.

Why did she do that? Why did she think that she could be the hero? She obviously wasn't made to be one. She didn't know where the adrenaline had come from when she stood to greet Alecto, or why her idiocy took over her common sense when she wanted to fight them alone. And what, just to prove how imperfect she was? How she would always fuck things up?

They were going to starve to death, or become some monster's next meal at that point. And if they didn't, the gods would come for Aurora, and she'd end up dead anyway.

Long ago, Persephone visited Aurora in a dream. "My child," she had said with a melancholy tone, and Aurora—young, five year old Aurora—knew she was in grave danger. "Hades is letting me keep you alive. He is still angry, and I'm afraid his monsters are coming, but he won't kill you. But you must succeed. In everything you do, you musn't fail. You musn't let down the gods. Keeping you alive is an honor that I am so grateful for. Please don't make them change their minds."