Quiet Waters (Fem. Percy x Young Justice) (EDITING IN PROGRESS)

1

I had only one thing to do, and I couldn't bring myself to do it. Hand wrapped around the cold metal of the handle, I glared at the door. It would be easy. Turn the hand, go inside, and we can pretend to be a family. We can pretend that Paul's my real dad and I hadn't went missing.

Stepping back with a sigh, I fished out Riptide and a crumpled, greasy napkin. If I hadn't stopped for food, maybe I could've worked up the nerve. Nothing motivated me more than an empty stomach, especially couple with Mom's cooking. Scribbled, near-indecipherable writing covered the napkin. Glowing ink crossed out words. Some places were ripped. Then the entire thing before I shoved the pieces in a trashcan.

My heart beat in my throat. I couldn't---I can't go back. The thought of putting Mom and Paul in danger, of having them end up the same as all the others, it made bile scorch my esophagus. Each step down the stairs echoed off the walls. I was paranoid, checking over my shoulder at each landing, keeping Riptide clenched in my fist.

Monsters could've tracked me here. They could be around any corner, waiting outside the stairwell exit, outside the building. None were. With a final glance, I melted into the crowd. The farther I went and the longer I stayed away, the safer they'd be. No one would go after them, and most of them weren't smart enough to use them as leverage.

Dad wouldn't let them do it even if they tried.

Screaming. Crashes. The crowd turned, and I walked against the current. People ignored me, and I ignored them. I would've kept going, would've walked into whatever mess was ahead, but flashing lights and barricades made me turn into an alley. Trash littered the ground, and two of the fire escape ladders were down. No people lingered here.

With the smell, I couldn't blame them. Rotten eggs and spoiled milk followed me until the fourth floor, and by then it had been replaced by car fumes and smoke. I paused. Okay, maybe the fire escape wasn't the best choice. But it was too late to stop.

It was always too late to stop.

By the time I could figure anything out, everything was already set in motion. Gears were turning, and pawns were in place, and I couldn't walk away. Nobody would ever let me, even if the opportunity was there. And if what I was doing---refusing to do what I'd said I would--- flipped the board? I could live with that.

You couldn't be a pawn when you weren't playing chess. (You couldn't be a pawn if you were dead.)

Smoke rose between buildings in the distance. A figure darted through the sky with flashes of gold. What was she doing here? I ran.

'What the fuck am I doing?' floated to the front of my brain as I hung in air between two rooftops. Hard concrete scraped off my skin, but I pushed myself up and kept going. A part of me pulsed and burned, urging me on and forward. Have to help, have to help her. It played like a mantra.

Diana stood triumphant over the villain, her lasso bound around the hulking frame of something. I exhaled and collapsed to the ground. This was better, I didn't have to get involved, and I didn't risk getting hurt.

Selfish, a voice taunted me. Such a selfish bitch. You don't even want to help your cousin out.

"Watching hero fights like this is dangerous. The building could've collapsed," said Diana. Her heels clicked against the rooftop. "You're bleeding." I waved my hand in response. Her iron-grip latched onto it, and she pulled it to her. I yelped. "I'm just---Percy?"

I smiled. It turned to a grimace as she pulled me close. Ash clung to her clothes. I grasped at the loose pieces of her armor. I knew my nails were jagged and rough, and that I looked like a mess. She smoothed her hand over my back, light circles that had me melting.

"What's wrong?" she asked. I swallowed; the words were a lump in my throat. All sorts of things, all sorts of excuses and lies, they stuck there like an inhaled bug. Even the truth, that refused to come out.

I couldn't tell anyone.

Slumping forward, I left it to her. She'd have to figure it out without me. Everything I've done left me as a hollow husk, useful only as a prop. The gods could tote me around, reward me, and tell me to look happy for the camps. It wasn't even could, I remembered the way they made me stand in front with a wide smile and the words compelled out of my lips; they'd done it.

Diana hugged me tighter. She reminded me of Dad. That clutching way he'd held me, how he'd pressed my face against his chest. Don't look, little one. Sh, Daddy has you. The echoes of him snapping at Zeus were hazy, drowned out by how often Dad repeated himself.

"Have you talked to your mom?" Does she know you're alive?  went unspoken. I tapped her twice. Diana pressed her head against mine.  "Okay," she breathed. "I can handle that part." She lifted me like an unruly toddler. "Don't squirm too much or I might drop you."

Maybe it should've scared me, maybe the bright bolt of lightning---and the booming thunder---should've made me try to wiggle out of her grasp before she even got off the roof, but should'ves were never things I had skill in. And no lack of words would change that.

Hello! If you can't tell by the title, I'm currently editing the chapters of this story, which essentially means I'm judging my 3 year younger self incredibly harshly as I rework the chapters.

I hope you enjoy!