Percy Jackson/Teen Wolf Crossover

Episode 3 - Pack Mentality

I stared up at the white ceiling of my room, still awake at two in the morning.

I'm gonna be miserable in the morning.

The Stilinski house wasn't particularly big, certainly bigger than my apartment back in Manhattan, but it was weird not having an entire cabin to myself. The guest room was just big enough that if I stood in the middle with my arms outstretched, my fingertips would scrape the walls, and the walls were a particularly boring shade of cream that made me want to gauge my eyes out purely from lack of stimulus. The place was a nightmare for an ADHD kid but it was better than being in New York, so fuck it, I'll take it.

I sighed and swung my legs off the bed.

What the fuck is my life?

Not to sound too pessimistic or anything but seriously, at twelve I found out my dead father is an all-powerful water god and supplied my mother with the weapon that killed(well, froze into stone) my step father, at thirteen I sailed into the Bermuda triangle to rescue a goat man in drag and resurrected a tree lady, at fourteen I rescued my now ex-girlfriend and the moon goddess, held up the sky and then watched my friend get turned into stars, at fifteen I blew up my school's band room, blew up a volcano, blew up a relationship with a Titaness and fought in a battle, at sixteen I swam in a river to become invulnerable, led a war, killed my grandad and turned down being a god.

Now I'm in California with my cousin and his werewolf friend.

All things considered, getting Scott through this should be easy.

My fingers felt their way towards the scars all over my body. I'd somehow avoided getting a call from social services concerning them by changing in a dark corner during Gym class. I traced one particular scar on my forearm.

The white skin was carved into an Omega (Ω).

I winced at the memory.

"I hope this has made it clear Perseus, I want you to get the fuck out of my camp,"

I hadn't realised I'd been moving till I heard the door slam behind me.

I flipped up the hood of the hoodie I apparently had put on and started walking.

My eyes were still trained on my arm. It was an embarrassment. I had been so weak.

My converse slapped against the wet pavement. I turned left and into a tattoo shop called INKZ.

If anyone would give a minor a tattoo it looked to be this place. A bright green and pink neon sign showed the name off and the grimy windows were framed by crudely drawn pictures of bikini clad women and flaming skulls. A bell jingled as I passed into the shop.

A woman behind the desk grinned up at me with her remaining yellowed teeth.

"Wha' d'ya want then, hun?"

---x---

Jagged white lines crept from behind the dark green trident imprinted onto my forearm and could be seen pretty easily if you looked with a bit of scrutiny. Still, the scar was significantly less visible and that was all that mattered.

Now came the task of hiding the tattoo from teachers and more importantly, my mother.

I shuddered at the thought as the streetlights blared sickly, yellow light onto me.

I relished in the relative silence being up this early gave me, only the occasional car and the weird noises coming from the school ruined the atmosphere.

I breathed in and out heavily and watched as my breath turned to vapour against the brisk January air. I tried to formulate ideas to keep my tattoo hidden, at the moment it was still covered by some saran wrap and I could wear my sleeves over it but the flesh would still be tender when I take the wrap off and having my scratchy ass clothes rubbing it constantly sounded horrible.