𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐚 𝐓𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐡 // 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐲 𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐨𝐧

viii. Father-Son Bonding

— "CHANNEL FIVE HAS learned that surveillance cameras show an adolescent boy going wild on the observation deck, somehow causing a freak explosion. Hard to believe, John, but that's what we're hearing. Again, no confirmed fatalities but..."

Hugo's jaw was collecting gods knows how many germs from the Amtrak's un-mopped floors. There he was: Percy Jackson in all of his glory. What the hell was he doing in St. Louis?

"Ugh, no time for questions, Hugo! Your friend is in trouble." The boy gathered his things and sprinted for the nearest exit. Onlookers stared in alarm, some assuming he had something to do with the mysterious explosion at the Gateway Arch.

Hugo reached the end of the train, met with wind slapping him in the face and the strong stench of metal. He peered out of the doorway, clinging onto the railing at his waist. He turned his head to his left, the green plains of Indianapolis nothing but a blur. Could he jump? At this speed, he'd probably be whiplashed into the Fields of Asphodel. Well, couldn't hurt to try, right?

With sweaty hands, Hugo thread his way through the safety rails, dangling from the back of the train as he stared at the banks of grass to his left. He sucked in a deep breath, praying to any god that would listen that he wouldn't die on impact. It seemed someone granted his favour, seeing as he didn't break any bones when he threw himself from the Amtrak (which was likely travelling at 150 mph).

He groaned loudly, clutching his ribs as he seethed in pain. He spit the grass from his mouth, his nose itching from the pollen. It was then Hugo realised something: he had not thought this plan through. How was he supposed to get to St. Louis now?

"Neigh!"

Hugo glanced at the sky, open and blue. A winged shadow was nosediving toward him. "Wow. Someone must really like me." Tyche, maybe? (Goddess of Luck) The pegasus landed gracefully before trotting over to the stiff demigod. Its coal-coloured coat glistened beneath the sun, its mane untamed and flapping like inky waves in the wind. "Blackjack!" Hugo exclaimed, managing to get to his feet with the help of the winged horse. "Oh man, am I happy to see you."

The horse whinnied in response, nipping at the boy affectionately. Hugo smiled for the first time in days, he'd almost forgotten what it felt like (as edgy as that sounds). Nevertheless, he hoisted himself atop the pegasus, shifting slightly as he got comfortable.

Blackjack snuffed in a curious way. If that makes sense. Hugo got the message. "We're following someone, bud. Perseus Jackson. Know him?"

"Oh obviously!" Blackjack said, despite knowing Hugo couldn't understand him. The demigod gently gripped the scruff of his mane, his heels tapping his sides as Hugo urged the pegasus forward.

Blackjack went into a full gallop in a matter of seconds, his wings spread and flapping excitedly. Hugo let out yells of praise, pushing his body close to Blackjack as he took off into the air. With the breeze forcing his hair out of his face you could see Hugo Cadieux's crooked smile, stained with blood and tears.

• • •

— IF YOU ASKED Percy Jackson how he and his companions arrived in Denver, he couldn't tell you. He had no clue himself how they had managed to get there alive.

Nevertheless, Percy, Annabeth and Grover had just left a do-it-yourself car wash. They had managed to contact camp, more specifically Luke, through Iris Messaging, and informed him of what they'd encountered up until then. Luke and Percy chatted one-on-one for a while—seeing as Annabeth and Grover had left to deal with a Lincoln Continental driver who had their speakers up too high. When Luke's misty image eventually faded, the trio scurried off in search of food.

They found themselves in a bright chrome diner. Surrounded by families eating burgers with sodas and milkshakes. Percy's stomach felt so empty he was sure it was growing cobwebs.

When the waitress did arrive at their table, she raised a sceptical brow. "Well?" she inquired. Percy answered. "We, um, want to order dinner."

"You kids got the money to pay for it?" she asked.

Percy glanced at the others. Grover's bottom lip trembled, holding in a bleat or the urge to start gnawing on the linoleum floor. Annabeth could barely think, she was far too famished. Percy, eyes darting around the diner, quickly tried to make up some sob story in an attempt to get free food out of pity. Luckily enough, though, he wouldn't have to.

The hungry rev of a motorcycle sent the diner into stagnation. The bike was about the size of a baby elephant with handlebars that were way too high. Its gas tank had crude flames poorly painted on. A shotgun holster complete with shotguns and a leather seat that looked more like dried human skin. Its rider was just as intimidating, which shocked no one.

He wore a red muscle shirt and black jeans, all somewhat shielded by a scratched up leather jacket. Wraparound shades sat over his eyes and a hunting knife sat at his thigh. With his slick, black crew cut and nasty face scars, it was evident that this guy was trouble.

He reminded Percy of Hugo, in a strange way. Though, far less of a cuddly first impression. The biker looked how his friend did during capture the flag, covered in cuts and splattered with blood—some of which wasn't his own. But, again, with the scars and strong presence this man had, he greatly resembled his friend. Though, Hugo definitely smiled more.

The waitress seemed to be hypnotised, as if someone had just hit her brain's reset button. She turned back to the three hungry half-bloods. "You kids have money to pay for it?" she repeated.

"It's on me," said the biker, slipping into the trio's booth. The waitress was gaping at him. "You still here?" he questioned as he pointed at the woman. Instantly, she turned around and zipped away. The man smiled, proudly.

The biker glanced at Percy. He couldn't see his eyes but something about the guy ticked him off. He wanted to pick a fight with someone. Who did this guy think he was? He gave the demigod a wicked grin. "So, you're old Seaweed's kid, huh?"

Percy could only see his stepfather, Gabe, taunting him. He craved the satisfaction of ripping this guy's head off. "What's it to you?" he snapped. Annabeth gave him a warning look. "Percy this is—"

"S'okay," the biker interrupted. "I don't mind a little attitude. Long as you remember who's the boss. You know who I am, little cousin?"

Before Percy could reply, another crass sounded from outside the diner. It sounded like giant wings which was then quickly followed by nervous hooves. A black shadow tucked in its wings, its chest heaving in fatigue. Its (assumed) rider patted its snout, resting their head against its forehead before limping toward the diner entrance.

The diner payed no mind this time, only sparing conspicuous glances and confused stares. A boy limped in, disheveled, covered in bruises, scratches and with a hand over his ribs. His brown hair was long for a boy, just hovering above his shoulders. He wore a black and red band t-shirt, red converse and dark grey jeans. A backpack hung loosely from his shoulders. It looked incredibly light, empty even.

He hobbled around for a moment, his head turning in multiple directions. He was searching for something. Someone, perhaps.

But then, he froze, as if he smelled something in the air. His head snapped towards Percy's booth, eyes wide then drowned with rage. He bore his crooked teeth. "Hugo?" Percy called out, but, the boy's anger didn't falter this time.

He stomped—to the best of his ability—to the diner booth, chocolate eyes focused on one thing and one thing only: the biker.

Without warning, he pulled back his arm and hurled the nastiest punch Percy had ever seen towards the man. An audible 'oomf' was heard as the biker's head was thrown sideways. The diner went silent. So did the mysterious biker.

"The hell are you doing here, scumbag?" growled Hugo, fresh bruises already forming across his knuckles. The biker chuckled, then flat out laughed. Hell, he even wiped a tear or two.

"You really are my son, aren't you, Hugo?"

It was only then that Percy realised: this was no ordinary biker. The man who sat across from him, rubbing his already purple cheek, was Ares, God of war.