I made this side blog to post about my spn/pjo crossover au!
This pinned post is gonna be two-fold: basic info abt the au (which I've named the Demons and Demigods Verse) and some basic info abt me!
Behind the Screen:
As I mentioned, you guys can call me Eliot or Dean! My pronouns are they/he and im nonbinary (transmasc) pan ace!
This is a side blog!!!!!!!!!!!! My main is @invalid-author , and I have a couple other side blogs as well. @water-you-doing-bro is my pjo side blog, @pretty-boy-baby-girl is my criminal minds side blog, and @demons-i-get is my spn side blog!
I'd like to keep this blog for just my au, so if you want to talk with me about spn or pjo not related to this au or anything else, please feel free to hop over to the corresponding side blog or my main!!!!!!
I'll come back and edit this if I remember anything else I want to add!!
And now,
Demons and Demigods Background!
Some warnings/preface before I get into the actual au: I have a potty mouth and therefore so do the characters. I love using the fuck word.
As the blog title states, I do put the characters through The Horrors arguably worse than canon. So. Please keep that in mind, also I am a big fan of dark!percy and making demigods a little eldritched (mostly percy tho) so expect a lot of morally gray (at the very least) actions on Percy's part and violence and gore more spn canon level than pjo canon level
Also, I do fuck around with timelines as I wish even if it doesn't make much sense bc I am the god of this world and Chuck's got nothing on me 😈
I make a number of changes to how spn s1 plays out and also smush the entirety of spn seasons 1 , 2, and most of 3 into the ~8-10 months during which hoo takes place. Like I said, I fuck severely with the timelines.
This au starts in the time between tlo and tlh where Percy has just gone missing, and picks up right after the pilot for spn
I haven't made it that far yet, but this au will be Destiel bc I'm down bad <3
Anyway,
Sally is Mary's younger sister. They were always close growing up, and both decided to quit hunting.
Percy is six years younger than Sam! (Sam is 22 in the pilot, and Percy is 16 when he goes missing.)
Percy disappears and Annabeth tells Sally that he's missing right after Jess dies. Oops. (Yes, I know the timelines don't match up but I don't care <3)
Everything else I'll get too into, so I'll post the rest of the set up separately!
I have some scenes fully written for this au and a lot of hand-wavey transition shit written down, too.
I'll work on getting what I've got so far posted over the next couple of days!
As I get stuff posted, I'll tag all fully written scenes with #dndv scenes and anything involving world-building or any kind of lore will be tagged with #dndv lore ! If I get any asks abt the au, they'll be tagged #dndv asks alongside #dean/eliot answers . All posts about the au involving plot or storyline at all will be tagged with #dndv and #demons and demigods verse . Anything like progress updates as I'm working on the next part will be tagged with #dndv behind the scenes
I'll include those tags in this post for ease of use, and if I decide to use other specific tags, I'll add them here as well!
IM SORRY THIS NEXT CHAPTER IS TAKING SO LONG I PROMISE IM TRYING I STILL THINK ABOUT THEM ALL THE TIME I AM FIGHTING TOOTH AND NAIL
This chapter is kicking my ass which is annoying bc I have Thoughts abt it and I know generally how I want it to go but as soon as I try to actually write anything its like I No Longer Know Any Words Ever At All.
Uh, incorrect quote style little snippet for you in the meantime:
[post Sally telling the boys she killed John]
Dean: *feelin some type of way but refusing to let himself outwardly express it*
Sam: *internally* tbh I don't even care, actually. I have Dean and Aunt Sally. Fuck that bitch, I dont need him, I never even liked the guy. I'm fine.
Sam: *looks at Dean* he's not tho
Sam: *using his little brother powers for evil and also psychological warfare* we should call Bobby 🥺
AFTER FIGHTING ME TOOTH AND NAIL FOR MONTHS I AM FINALLY MAKING PROGRESS ON THIS CHAPTER AND BOBBY HAS LOWKEY POSSESSED ME LMAO
However now the issue is how much do I want to write Bobby's accent. Like, do I want to include all the -'cha's (ex. don'tcha, wantcha, letcha in stead of don't you, want you, let you) and dropping the 'g's at the end of -ing (ex. knowin' rather than knowing, somethin' rather than something etc) or do I write 'normally' and just hope y'all figure what I mean and read it with his accent anyways. Like, I'm definitely writing it in to some extent regardless, but how far do I want to take it . . .
Me: *giggling and kicking my feet abt writing dean having a panic attack*
Also Me: *accidentally triggering a panic attack of my own bc I started acting the panicked breathing to try and decide how best to write dean having his panic attack*
LMAO sorry for disappearing off the face of the fuckin earth again i finally got some more of this chapter written!!!!!
Had me stumped for a while bc i knew it didn't end there but i didn't know how to continue it so it just kinda sat there taunting me for . . . too long. Anyway uh . . . here's a silly abt how it's going now!
me, finally making progress on dndv chap 5: okay so dean sam and bobby have had a little heart to heart and dean got a hug and a cry <3
me: . . .
me: i want sally and bobby to meet
me: . . .
me: . . . outsider perspective time! lesbians be upon ye
The LesbiansTM (whom I have named Jackie (Jacklyn) and Monica), are having a grand ol' time checking in on Paul (Monica is a fellow teacher at Goode) and Sally (who they have not met before this point bc its funnier to me). Jackie is lowkey thirsting for Sally even with her wife in the room (she's not unfaithful, she just has eyes), and Monica is fighting for her LIFE trying not to lose her shit as she learns that Goode's notorious, resident delinquent trouble-maker Percy Jackson is, in fact, Paul's one and only kind, gentle, and loving step-son Percy.
Bobby and the Winchesters haven't even shown up yet . . .
Also this chap is currently sitting at just about 7.5k words . . .
I meant for way more things to happen in this chapter and I got carried away smh uhhhh might get split up (again) to give yall an update (before the year-since-last-update mark hits hopefully dear gods) or hold it back and just blast yall with a monstrous, beefcake of a chapter later . . .
IM SORRY THIS NEXT CHAPTER IS TAKING SO LONG I PROMISE IM TRYING I STILL THINK ABOUT THEM ALL THE TIME I AM FIGHTING TOOTH AND NAIL
This chapter is kicking my ass which is annoying bc I have Thoughts abt it and I know generally how I want it to go but as soon as I try to actually write anything its like I No Longer Know Any Words Ever At All.
Uh, incorrect quote style little snippet for you in the meantime:
[post Sally telling the boys she killed John]
Dean: *feelin some type of way but refusing to let himself outwardly express it*
Sam: *internally* tbh I don't even care, actually. I have Dean and Aunt Sally. Fuck that bitch, I dont need him, I never even liked the guy. I'm fine.
Sam: *looks at Dean* he's not tho
Sam: *using his little brother powers for evil and also psychological warfare* we should call Bobby 🥺
AFTER FIGHTING ME TOOTH AND NAIL FOR MONTHS I AM FINALLY MAKING PROGRESS ON THIS CHAPTER AND BOBBY HAS LOWKEY POSSESSED ME LMAO
However now the issue is how much do I want to write Bobby's accent. Like, do I want to include all the -'cha's (ex. don'tcha, wantcha, letcha in stead of don't you, want you, let you) and dropping the 'g's at the end of -ing (ex. knowin' rather than knowing, somethin' rather than something etc) or do I write 'normally' and just hope y'all figure what I mean and read it with his accent anyways. Like, I'm definitely writing it in to some extent regardless, but how far do I want to take it . . .
Me: *giggling and kicking my feet abt writing dean having a panic attack*
Also Me: *accidentally triggering a panic attack of my own bc I started acting the panicked breathing to try and decide how best to write dean having his panic attack*
LMAO sorry for disappearing off the face of the fuckin earth again i finally got some more of this chapter written!!!!!
Had me stumped for a while bc i knew it didn't end there but i didn't know how to continue it so it just kinda sat there taunting me for . . . too long. Anyway uh . . . here's a silly abt how it's going now!
me, finally making progress on dndv chap 5: okay so dean sam and bobby have had a little heart to heart and dean got a hug and a cry <3
me: . . .
me: i want sally and bobby to meet
me: . . .
me: . . . outsider perspective time! lesbians be upon ye
I've been a fanfic writer on AO3 for two years, have 50+ stories and over 350k in words, lots of fun reader engagement and stay active on Tumblr to promote my stories and fan creations.
Last night I got an angry message on my Tumblr from a user asking why I was flaming their story on AO3.
I never leave negative comments (and I've left over 500 positive ones!). I looked into it, and the hatebots on AO3 used my username with (Guest) at the end to send one of the most vile messages I've ever read to a user in a completely different fandom from me.
I straightened it out with that user and explained about the hatebots. But their initial message to me was angry, they'd found me off AO3 on Tumblr and called out personal details from my page because they thought I was bullying them.
I still can't really fathom why these hatebots do what they do, but I'm also a little scared that a misunderstanding like that could lead to someone getting doxxed. And I'm also extremely sad that this bot is posing as me and threatening other users. I encouraged the one reaching out to me to report and block and made a note on my page explaining that (Guest) comments are not from me in case anyone else had that experience.
I still love AO3 for the ability to write and share and connect over our stories and fandoms, but this is really discouraging and scary, in addition to the almost daily art bot scams I get on AO3 too.
And my heart breaks for the user who thought even for a moment that a complete stranger would say such awful things to them using my name.
And it's devastating to think of so many writers waiting for feedback on a story they worked so hard on who are getting hateful comments like these. Or to think someone could internalize those hateful comments without knowing it's a bot.
My heart breaks especially for newer writers on AO3, it's definitely a different landscape from when I joined two years ago.
As a kid who grew up watching Terminator - I'm not sure I envisioned the robot wars looking quite like this!!
Here's the form to report abuse if you have a comment from a bot: https://archiveofourown.org/abuse_reports/new
Here's a link with additional information on the different types of bots on AO3: AO3 Comment Bots - Fanlore https://share.google/m9IhE4NEGMNgHjtWq
Here's a way to fight the bots by leaving positive comments, join the AO3 comment fest bingo: https://ao3org-tumblr-com.cdn.ampproject.org/v/s/ao3org.tumblr.com/post/808198255312781312/welcome-to-feedback-fest-2026/
And anyone who sees my name or any of my pseuds with (Guest) please know it didn't come from me, and don't let a random hate bot discourage you from continuing to write!
IM SORRY THIS NEXT CHAPTER IS TAKING SO LONG I PROMISE IM TRYING I STILL THINK ABOUT THEM ALL THE TIME I AM FIGHTING TOOTH AND NAIL
This chapter is kicking my ass which is annoying bc I have Thoughts abt it and I know generally how I want it to go but as soon as I try to actually write anything its like I No Longer Know Any Words Ever At All.
Uh, incorrect quote style little snippet for you in the meantime:
[post Sally telling the boys she killed John]
Dean: *feelin some type of way but refusing to let himself outwardly express it*
Sam: *internally* tbh I don't even care, actually. I have Dean and Aunt Sally. Fuck that bitch, I dont need him, I never even liked the guy. I'm fine.
Sam: *looks at Dean* he's not tho
Sam: *using his little brother powers for evil and also psychological warfare* we should call Bobby 🥺
AFTER FIGHTING ME TOOTH AND NAIL FOR MONTHS I AM FINALLY MAKING PROGRESS ON THIS CHAPTER AND BOBBY HAS LOWKEY POSSESSED ME LMAO
However now the issue is how much do I want to write Bobby's accent. Like, do I want to include all the -'cha's (ex. don'tcha, wantcha, letcha in stead of don't you, want you, let you) and dropping the 'g's at the end of -ing (ex. knowin' rather than knowing, somethin' rather than something etc) or do I write 'normally' and just hope y'all figure what I mean and read it with his accent anyways. Like, I'm definitely writing it in to some extent regardless, but how far do I want to take it . . .
Me: *giggling and kicking my feet abt writing dean having a panic attack*
Also Me: *accidentally triggering a panic attack of my own bc I started acting the panicked breathing to try and decide how best to write dean having his panic attack*
IM SORRY THIS NEXT CHAPTER IS TAKING SO LONG I PROMISE IM TRYING I STILL THINK ABOUT THEM ALL THE TIME I AM FIGHTING TOOTH AND NAIL
This chapter is kicking my ass which is annoying bc I have Thoughts abt it and I know generally how I want it to go but as soon as I try to actually write anything its like I No Longer Know Any Words Ever At All.
Uh, incorrect quote style little snippet for you in the meantime:
[post Sally telling the boys she killed John]
Dean: *feelin some type of way but refusing to let himself outwardly express it*
Sam: *internally* tbh I don't even care, actually. I have Dean and Aunt Sally. Fuck that bitch, I dont need him, I never even liked the guy. I'm fine.
Sam: *looks at Dean* he's not tho
Sam: *using his little brother powers for evil and also psychological warfare* we should call Bobby 🥺
AFTER FIGHTING ME TOOTH AND NAIL FOR MONTHS I AM FINALLY MAKING PROGRESS ON THIS CHAPTER AND BOBBY HAS LOWKEY POSSESSED ME LMAO
However now the issue is how much do I want to write Bobby's accent. Like, do I want to include all the -'cha's (ex. don'tcha, wantcha, letcha in stead of don't you, want you, let you) and dropping the 'g's at the end of -ing (ex. knowin' rather than knowing, somethin' rather than something etc) or do I write 'normally' and just hope y'all figure what I mean and read it with his accent anyways. Like, I'm definitely writing it in to some extent regardless, but how far do I want to take it . . .
Ao3 does not need a 1-5 star rating system, you just want to bring down authors writing for FREE
Ao3 does not need automatic censorship, it is an archive, therefore anything can be posted
Writing or reading about something illegal does not mean the author nor the reader condones it, if that were true, you could never read a story involving anything negative
Purity culture is ruining fan culture and you all are fucking annoying
IM SORRY THIS NEXT CHAPTER IS TAKING SO LONG I PROMISE IM TRYING I STILL THINK ABOUT THEM ALL THE TIME I AM FIGHTING TOOTH AND NAIL
This chapter is kicking my ass which is annoying bc I have Thoughts abt it and I know generally how I want it to go but as soon as I try to actually write anything its like I No Longer Know Any Words Ever At All.
Uh, incorrect quote style little snippet for you in the meantime:
[post Sally telling the boys she killed John]
Dean: *feelin some type of way but refusing to let himself outwardly express it*
Sam: *internally* tbh I don't even care, actually. I have Dean and Aunt Sally. Fuck that bitch, I dont need him, I never even liked the guy. I'm fine.
Sam: *looks at Dean* he's not tho
Sam: *using his little brother powers for evil and also psychological warfare* we should call Bobby 🥺
shoutout to the woman from my high school martial arts class who liked to get me in joint locks and then joke about how I was easy to catch. you cannot comprehend how psychosexually formative that was for me
imagine, if you will, having an adolescent half-crush on someone way older than you, which is also confusingly blurred up with admiration of them as a role model. now imagine that you and that person are in a social environment where it is acceptable to (platonically, consensually) choke someone. I think I was very normal about it considering the circumstances
she would demonstrate takedowns on her husband (also in the class, and who was not a small man) before we got to try them and the first time I saw her twist him around and down onto the floor like it was easy my entire abdomen clenched
I cannot stress enough how eager this guy was to be manhandled (womanhandled?) and flipped around by his wife. he was her de facto guinea pig whenever she got to teach and I never saw him unenthusiastic about it. he'd set himself up for a joint lock fully smiling. the other adults in the class occasionally teased him about it (being so quick to let your wife put you in a submission hold tends to raise a few eyebrows), and I always kind of wanted to defend him but what would I have said? like, don't worry. I won't judge you. I also like being pinned down by your wife
Chapter Four: How to Bond With Immortal Young Girls: Step One: Kill a Man. Step Two: Roast Marshmallows Over His Corpse.
Here it is! Chapter Four at long last! I'm so sorry it took so long smh this chapter kicked my ass for some reason. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy some more Thalia Feels, all the Hunters love Sally so so much, and a little bit of Paul at the end because I love him.
Ao3
~
With the body once more swung over Thalia’s shoulder and the bloody rug tucked under Sally’s arm, they set off. Thalia didn’t know exactly where the Hunters had set up camp since she’d broken off to head into the city as soon as they neared Long Island, but she could sense their general direction.
They’d only been walking for fifteen or twenty minutes when Thalia sensed a nearly imperceptible shift in the trees to her left. She stopped and held up a hand to signal Sally to do the same. She turned and squinted at the foliage, tilting her head as she studied it.
“Come on out, Phoebe,” she called, smirking when her second dropped from the branches of a tree in front of her with a slight pout.
“How do you always know?” Phoebe groaned.
Thalia just shrugged. “I told you, I’m not sure. I can feel something, but I don’t know exactly what it is that I’m sensing.”
Phoebe rolled her eyes and pointed sternly at Thalia. “I’ll figure it out and sneak up on you one of these days, Lieutenant,” she said playfully.
Thalia laughed and shifted her hold on the body. “Yeah, yeah, so you keep saying.”
Phoebe turned to Sally. “It’s great to see you again, Ms. Jackson,” Phoebe said, skipping a handshake and jumping straight into a hug. It looked a little awkward, since Sally was carrying a rug under her arm, but Thalia knew that Sally was the Queen of good hugs and wouldn’t let that stop her.
Sally smiled at Phoebe when they parted. “It’s wonderful to see you, too, dear, and please, I’ve told you, just call me Sally.”
Phoebe laughed. “Whatever you say, Ms. Jackson,” she winked, then turned to Thalia, hands on her hips. “So, what have we got here? I’m assuming this is why we hauled ass to Long Island?”
“It’s my shitty, abusive asshole brother-in-law's corpse,” Sally said, waving her free hand dismissively. “I asked Thalia if you girls would mind helping me get rid of the body.”
Phoebe stared, slack-jawed, at Sally for a moment before stars appeared in her eyes and she barked out a laugh. “Sally Jackson, you are the coolest mortal I’ve ever met.”
Thalia laughed. “That’s what I said!”
Sally just smiled at them both. “Thank you, Phoebe. You Hunters are pretty spectacular yourselves. Now, I’m sure Thalia must be getting tired of carrying all that dead weight around, so if you wouldn’t mind leading us to your camp, dear, I’m sure we’d both appreciate it.”
Thalia snickered at the ‘dead weight’ comment, but she had to admit Sally wasn’t wrong. She wasn’t particularly tired just yet, but she could feel her shoulder growing sore and she was starting to lose feeling in her left arm.
Phoebe snorted as she turned, gesturing for them to follow her. “Of course, Ms. Jackson. It’s this way, not too far.”
They walked in a comfortable silence, though Thalia could tell Phoebe still had questions. Thalia did too, to be honest, but she didn’t mind waiting a little longer to get her answers.
When they stepped out of the tree line and into the clearing Phoebe and the others had made camp in, the Hunters all perked up and called out greetings to Sally. Sally, of course, greeted each girl by name in turn as they made their way to the center of the camp.
The other girls gathered curiously as they went and a few of the wolves wormed their way up to Thalia’s side to nose at the body. Sally, completely unperturbed by the massive, mostly wild creatures, reached down to scratch between the ears of the one that had decided to sneak up and sniff at the rug she carried.
Thalia shooed the wolves back and unceremoniously dropped the body to the ground with a hearty thump.
“Damn, Lieutenant, what is that?”
Thalia grinned. “Dead body,” she said nonchalantly, holding back laughter at the startled exclamations along the lines of ‘what the fuck’. “Sally killed him.” Again, a deadpan delivery, and again, the Hunters broke out in fervent cries, though this time more along the lines of ‘holy shit, Ms. Sally’. “She wants our help disposing of it,” Thalia called out over the girls’ chattering. “So, let's start setting up the pyre, ladies! We’ve got some work to do.”
“I'll tell you all the story once we get the fire burning, girls,” Sally chimed in, and Thalia snorted as the Hunters immediately jumped into action.
By evening, the blanket-wrapped body and bloody rug were burning merrily atop a carefully constructed Greek funeral pyre and all thirty-some Hunters were gathered in a loose circle around it. Someone (and Thalia suspected it had been Callista, that girl loved s’mores almost a concerning amount) had even passed out marshmallows and whittled wooden skewers (though she had no idea where the chocolate and graham crackers came from).
There were gasps and cries as Sally told them about her past, the sister she’d lost and John’s visit afterward, about the nephews she’d thought gone. It was silent as she told them how she learned Percy was missing, and her decision to call her nephew Sam, who she’d learned was still alive four years ago but had been too afraid to reach out to. There was cursing when she told them what she’d learned of Sam and Dean’s childhoods, John’s abuse and neglect, the scars she’d seen on Dean’s skin put there by human hands.
Shouts of indignance and rage filled the air as Sally told them how John had come to her home that morning and attacked her and Paul, followed by whooping and hollering as she told them how she’d fought back, refused to let him cow her, and there were cheers when she told them she felt no remorse for slitting that man’s throat, only that his death, and it being at her hands, would bring Sam and Dean so much pain.
Thalia’s chest felt hollow when Sally was done, her heart aching with sympathetic grief. She’d never held much if any love for Beryl Grace, especially not after what she’d done to Jason, she’d left that woman behind and never looked back when she was ten. But . . . would she have stayed had Jason not been stolen away? Would she have put up with her mother’s abuse, shielding and raising her brother while Beryl slowly drank herself to death and screamed at them whenever she wasn’t ignoring their existence? Or would she have taken Jason and run? Would she still have met Luke, met Annabeth, had she brought Jason with her?
She thought back to how she’d felt when she’d learned Beryl had died in a car crash while she was a tree, the incongruent mixture of grief and disdain. (Good riddance, she’d thought, she brought it upon herself, no doubt she was plastered behind the wheel. But a small, stubborn part of her soul had still cried at the loss of her momma, who used to sing her to sleep and kiss her boo-boos better, who used to hold her close and tell her stories with a flashlight as they hid beneath the covers, the momma who used to love her.)
There was a gentle hand on her shoulder. Thalia shook herself free of her thoughts and looked up to find Sally watching her with a soft smile and concern in her eyes.
“Are you alright, Thalia?”
She nodded and reached up to squeeze Sally’s hand. “They’ll forgive you,” she said. “I don’t think I ever loved my mom as much as it seems like Dean and Sam love their dad, but there was still a part of me that grieved when I learned she was dead. They’ll need time to grieve, too, and will probably be angry with you for a while, but I have no doubt that the three of you will be able to move past it, Sally. John attacked you and Paul. He started the fight, you were just defending yourself.”
Sally smiled gently, tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. “Thank you, dear. Those boys deserve the truth, they’ve been lied to enough, and they have every right to be angry with me, to hate me, even, but that doesn’t mean I’m not afraid of losing them because of this, you know?” she sighed. “I’ll call them tomorrow to let them know what happened. For now, it’s rather late, and I for one, would prefer a good night’s sleep before making that call. Would you mind if I stayed with you girls tonight?”
“Of course not, Sally. You’re always welcome.” Thalia stood and pulled Sally into a hug. “You can stay in my tent.”
“Thank you, Thalia. I’ll call Paul and let him know I’ll be home in the morning.”
Thalia watched Sally as she left the circle of firelight and rowdy Hunters to call her husband, the hollow feeling in her chest returning.
“She’s been through so much,” Phoebe said, suddenly standing beside her lieutenant. “I don’t think I’ve ever met a stronger woman.”
Thalia nodded and shot her a sad smile. “I want to be just like her when I grow up,” she joked, and Phoebe laughed before they both sobered once more. “Her nephews are going to be mad, and they have every right to be.” Thalia crossed her arms and stared down at her boots. “But I hope they understand and forgive her quickly. With Percy still missing . . .” Thalia trailed off.
“Everyone has their breaking point,” Phoebe said softly, laying her hand on Thalia’s shoulder. “You’re worried this might be hers.”
Thalia nodded, squeezing her eyes shut to fight back her building tears. “We have to find him, Phoebe,” she said, voice breaking.
“We will. We will, Lieutenant,” Phoebe said firmly. “And from the way she talked about them, I’m sure her nephews will understand. Even if things are strained for a while, I doubt they’ll abandon her or the search for Percy. I have faith that they will make it through this, we all will, Thalia.”
Thalia gave her second a watery smile as she wiped at her eyes. “You’re right, Phoebe, of course you are. What would I do without you?” she pulled the other girl in for a hug as they laughed.
Soon enough, Sally came back, and Phoebe bade them both good night before ducking into her tent as Thalia ushered Sally toward hers.
Thalia had a feeling that neither of them would be getting much sleep that night.
—
Come morning, Thalia walked with Sally back to her car after the woman had said goodbye to the Hunters, who were all sad to see her go so soon.
As she watched the Prius disappear down the road, Thalia sent out a silent prayer to any gods that were listening.
Please, let everything work out okay at least this once. And wherever he is, please, keep Percy safe.
~ ~ ~
Sally let herself into the apartment a little after nine and found Paul making breakfast. He glanced over when he heard the door open and smiled at her before turning back to the stove to flip a pancake.
“How’d it go?” he asked over his shoulder, and Sally sighed, sitting down at their kitchen table and resting her chin in her palm.
“It’s taken care of, and the girls were quite enthusiastic over the story,” she snorted, then sighed again. “I haven’t called them yet. I’ll do that here soon, though later in the day, I think. This isn’t something one should have to hear first thing in the morning.” she shook her head. “How is your head doing, darling?”
Paul set a plate with two blue, buttered pancakes down in front of her, a handful of blueberries scattered across the top. Her favorite. Tears threatened at the corners of her eyes as Paul leaned down to kiss her crown.
“All better,” he said, smiling softly as he pulled away. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
Sally shook her head, nudging a blueberry across her plate despondently. “Just . . . be there,” she whispered.
Ao3 version that lets you open the 'director's cut' where I, the author, explain every detail in excruciating detail to you and what it is in reference to.
Demons and Demigods: Chapter Three: Fuck John Winchester, All the Homies Hate John Winchester (feat. Bamf Sally Jackson)
Hiya, babes! Here we are, finally, time for Sally to kill the fuck out of John Winchester, Paul to simp like hell for his badass wife, and for Thalia Missing Percy Hours and also wanting to be just like Sally when she grows up. Hope you like it fully written up <3
Ao3
~ ~ ~
Paul sat at the dining table, half-heartedly grading papers. When Percy had first gone missing, he had taken some time off, but as time stretched on and still there was no news, he went back to work. Goode had been more than willing to give him whatever time he needed, but to be honest, he could use the distraction.
Paul took a moment to watch Sally as she moved about the kitchen, stress cleaning after her latest bout of stress baking (Paul was happy to eat any and all blue-dyed treats his wife made, but he wished the current hoard of blue desserts wasn’t because she was so worried about Percy). She finished wiping down the counters and began to fill the sink to start on the dishes while the blue chocolate chip cookies cooled.
(They were Percy’s favorite, and Paul’s chest twinged at the reminder that he wasn’t here to help Sally make them, and then give Paul a heart attack by reaching in to pull the tray out of the oven with his bare hands even though Paul had watched him do it countless times and be perfectly fine each time because, as Percy loved to jokingly remind him, “I'm mostly fireproof, Paul, I’ve had lava thrown at me and caused a volcanic eruption. The oven hardly even registers as warm.”)
Paul turned back to the essays he was supposed to be grading and tried to focus on the one he was currently reading. He made it through two more papers analyzing the themes of “The Yellow Wallpaper” before his attention was pulled from a (so far lackluster) third by a furious knocking on the front door.
Sally met his wide-eyed gaze with her own and dried her hands on her apron before hurrying to the door. Paul stood to follow her, heart in his throat, unable to fully bury the desperate hope that it was Percy waiting on the other side. He’d hardly made it around the table when Sally opened the door and a tall, terrifying man barged inside their apartment, shoving Sally back.
Paul took an involuntary step back, eyes flicking to the knife block on the counter to gauge the distance in case he needed to grab a weapon. Sally, however, didn’t even flinch, just steadied herself, crossed her arms, and stared the guy down. (Gods, Paul loved that woman. She was so badass.)
“John,” she said coldly, and realization crashed over Paul in an instant. John. Sam and Dean’s asshole father. Paul inched closer to the knife block; he had a feeling this wasn’t going to end peacefully.
John Winchester cut a truly intimidating figure, well-honed strength evident in the harsh lines of his body, violence barely contained in his tightly curled fists and rage burning in his dark eyes.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” he growled, voice low and menacing. “Trying to turn my own sons against me? You have no right !” his voice rose steadily until he was yelling in Sally’s face, spittle flying. Paul grimaced in disgust and carefully wrapped his hand around the handle of the chef’s knife to pull it from the block.
Sally (bless that woman) merely raised an eyebrow and reached up to casually wipe away some saliva that had landed on her cheek. “Your sons?” she said with a derisive scoff. “Please. You didn’t raise those boys, Dean raised himself and Sam. You neglected those boys, and you abused Dean.” Sally’s tone was sharp and cruel, unfazed in the face of a man nearly twice her size. “Mary may have been your wife, but she was my sister!” She stepped forward and jabbed a finger into John’s chest. “I have every fucking right,” she hissed.
John’s face twisted into an enraged snarl as he grabbed Sally’s wrist and wrenched it away from his chest. He twisted her arm and shoved her into the wall, his other forearm pressing against her throat. “I raised my boys right! I made them strong and self-sufficient! And I never did anything to Dean that he didn’t deserve. I taught him obedience—”
Paul’s vision went red. How fucking dare he—
But before Paul had managed to do more than yank the knife free and lunge around the table, Sally had pulled some ninja, Black Widow, bullshit move and was now on John’s shoulders, choking him out with her thighs.
(Holy shit. Paul couldn’t help but wonder if Sally would do that to him if he asked really nicely . . .)
“I don’t know how Mary ever loved you,” Sally hissed, pulling a silver blade from . . . somewhere? Where was she hiding that? (Holy fuck, Paul was so lucky.) “She would hate you for what you’ve done, for raising her boys to be hunters. She didn’t want that life for them. Oh yeah,” she said, smiling ruefully when John’s attempts to pry her legs from around his throat froze momentarily. “Mary and I came from a long line of hunters, we were raised not so different from how you raised Sam and Dean. But it’s a shitty way to live, and you’ve condemned her children to the life she married you to get free of. She would fucking hate you, John.”
John roared and finally managed to yank Sally off his shoulders, throwing her to the ground. She wheezed, the wind temporarily knocked from her lungs, as her knife skittered across the floor and out of reach. “You don’t know anything,” he snarled, lunging after Sally as she scrambled back to her feet.
Paul threw himself forward, planting himself between them, and brandished his chef’s knife in John’s face. “Back off, John,” Paul said sternly, sounding much steadier than he felt, thank the gods. “You may not have done right by them, but Dean and Sam love you. They’re upset right now, and understandably so, but give them space and some time for everyone to cool off and they’ll reach out to you when they’re ready to talk about it. With time, I’m sure the three of you can work this out and move past it.”
John glared at him. “You stay out of this,” he said harshly, unperturbed by the knife in his face, and shoved Paul aside. The knife clattered out of his hand and Paul landed on his ass with an oof, his head cracking against the floor and making his vision go a little fuzzy. Well, shit.
John took a heavy swing at Sally, who was back on her feet now, and Paul watched through vaguely blurry vision as she ducked under his fist and then managed to land a roundhouse kick to his head, sending him staggering into the wall.
“I don’t want to fight you, John,” Sally said, voice cold. “But I’m not going to stand here and let you attack me and my husband in my home. So you can either calm down and walk out my front door under your own power, or I will put you down, drag you out, and leave your ass on the street. It’s up to you.”
Now, Paul was a little fuzzy on what exactly happened next, to be honest, because it all happened rather fast (and he might have a mild concussion), but he’s pretty sure it went something like this: John, further enraged by Sally telling him to get the fuck out of her house and subsequent insinuation that she was fully capable of beating his ass, said something truly heinous to her (that Paul is actually very glad he can’t particularly remember aside from the fact that it pissed him off) and drew what looked like a fucking machete (???) from where it was hidden somewhere under his coat. Then there was a lot of flashing metal and shouting, a few small spurts of blood that had Paul’s heart in his throat, and then John was on his knees, gagging as he clutched desperately at his neck.
Sally stood in front of him with the machete in hand, blood dripping off the blade, her face contorted in a mixture of mild horror and disgust. John continued to choke, punctuated by the occasional gurgle, before his hands dropped from his slit throat and he fell forward onto his face in a grotesque, growing puddle of his own blood.
“Well,” Sally said blithely, one hand on her cocked hip. “That complicates some things.”
Paul must have made some vague noise, because Sally turned to him, face full of concern. She dropped the knife and hurried over to his side, checking him over as she helped him sit up.
“Are you okay?” she asked gently, and Paul had to take a moment to just marvel at this gorgeous, badass woman in front of him.
How the hell did I get this lucky, he thought, and Sally giggled. Oh. He must have said that out loud. Whoops.
“I’m okay,” he said. “Maybe a little bruised, but I’m fine. What about you? Are you hurt? Did he get you with that knife?” Paul asked, suddenly remembering the small splatters of blood from throughout the fight, and he grabbed her shoulders, scanning her for signs of injury. He couldn’t tell if any of the blood was hers or if it was all John’s.
Sally smiled softly at him and gently reached up to grab his hands, settling them in her lap as she gave them a comforting squeeze. “I’m fine,” she said. “Maybe a little bruised,” she said lightly, parroting his words from earlier, “But I’m fine.”
Paul let out a breath and slumped back against the wall. His gaze drifted to the body in their entryway, the blood still pooling and no doubt staining their rug beyond saving. Paul wondered idly if they’d be able to clean the wood beneath or if they’d have to replace it and hope nobody asked too many questions. (Somewhere, he thought he should probably be more freaked out and upset that there was a dead body in his hallway and that he’d just watched his wife brutally murder a man, but whatever. It’d probably hit him later, right now he was a little more preoccupied with what they were gonna do about it.)
Sally must have noticed his shifted attention and looked over her shoulder with a sigh.
“I’m not upset that he’s dead, and I’m not sorry for killing him,” she said bluntly. “He was a fucking bastard, a shitty ass father, and I never liked him anyway, to be honest; I don’t think he treated Mary all that well.” she sighed again. “But you’re right, Sam and Dean do still love him. I don’t know if they’ll ever forgive me for this, but I have to tell them, they deserve to know that he’s dead, and they deserve to know the truth about how it happened,” she sniffled. “I don’t want to lose them again, not when I just got them back, not with Percy gone, too, but I can’t lie to them . . .” she dropped her head to stare at their hands, still intwined in her lap, before looking back up at him with teary eyes. “Lie to me and tell me it’ll all be okay.”
Paul pulled her into his chest and wrapped his arms around her, tucking her head under his chin as she began to sob into his shoulder. “It’s gonna be okay,” he said softly. “It’s all gonna be alright.”
—
After Sally had calmed down some, the two of them just sat there for a little longer, taking comfort in each other’s arms. Eventually, they stood and Sally fetched an old blanket from the closet. Together, they rolled John’s body onto the blanket and moved it out of the way so they could mop up the blood.
They worked in silence. Paul rolled up the long, narrow rug to be disposed of and Sally got to work on the floor underneath it. Paul was amazed at how thoroughly she managed to clean the wood; he could hardly tell that it had been bloodstained just minutes before. Paul collected the kitchen knife, Sally’s silver dagger, and the still blood-covered machete. He dropped the kitchen knife in the sink to be washed later (doing the dishes was pretty low on their list of priorities at the moment), set Sally’s dagger on the table for her to grab and resheath when she was done, and then stared at the machete. What the hell was he supposed to do with a fucking machete?
After a moment, he shrugged to himself and went to rinse the blood off it in the sink, then very carefully dried it off and set it beside the dagger on the table so Sally could decide what to do with it later.
Finally, they’d cleaned up everything else and Sally and Paul were left standing side by side, staring down at the dead body wrapped in a ratty old blanket in their living room.
Paul broke the silence.
“So . . . what are we going to do about him, exactly?” he asked apprehensively.
Sally sighed and crossed her arms. “Last time I killed somebody, there wasn’t all this mess to take care of. I just sold his petrified corpse to a museum and called it a day.”
Paul turned to his wife with an awed expression and hearts in his eyes. “Sally Jackson-Blofis, have I ever told you how much I love you?” he said, semi-dreamily.
Sally laughed and gave him a peck on the cheek. “You have, but I wouldn’t mind hearing it again.”
“I love you so much. You are the most amazing, caring, badass woman I have ever met. I wake up every morning and thank all the powers that be that I was lucky enough to catch your eye.”
Sally looked up at him with a soft smile for a moment before her eyes widened almost comically and she snapped her fingers. “Oh! I know! I’ll Iris Message Thalia! I think she and the Hunters should be nearby.”
Paul watched, rather confused, as Sally spun on her heel and dashed into the kitchen.
Sally turned on the kitchen sink and grabbed a prism off the windowsill. She carefully angled the prism until a rainbow appeared in the mist from the faucet, then she plucked a gold coin from a small pile tucked behind the utensil crock.
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, closing her fist around the coin and holding it to her chest. “Oh, Iris, Goddess of the Rainbow, please accept this offering and show me Thalia Grace with the Hunters of Artemis.” She tossed the coin into the rainbow and it disappeared.
Now, Paul knew what an Iris Message was, of course, he’d sort of seen one before, but he’d never watched someone make a call, just the random misty rainbow that his eyes skipped over until he heard a voice and saw someone else looking at and talking to it. Trying to focus on an Iris Message usually left him with a headache, though, so he usually ignored them once he realized that’s what was going on.
Now, however, he was curious, and squinted determinedly at the little rainbow wavering in the air. He was going to see this one, headache or no.
Then, he blinked, and there was a face in the rainbow, which still startled him, despite knowing it was coming. The girl had jet black hair and eyes that reminded him of concentrated lightning, a silver circlet glittering on her forehead. She looked tired and stressed, with slumped shoulders and dark circles under her eyes. In the background, he could see a couple other young girls wrestling playfully with each other and—was that a wolf?
“Hey, Sally,” Thalia Grace, daughter of Zeus and Lieutenant of Artemis, said with a weary smile. “Do you have news on Percy?”
“Hello, Thalia, dear, and no, unfortunately.” Sally greeted her with an equally tired smile. “But three new demigods were brought to Camp, one with amnesia and the other two with false memories of him having been with them for months. They received a quest and Annabeth believes that the boy with no memory might know something about Percy if and when he regains his memories. I’m calling because I have a favor to ask.”
“Anything, Sally, you know that.” Thalia’s brow furrowed. Paul reached up to massage his temples, forcing himself to focus on the magic call despite the pain blooming in his head.
“Well, I can tell you more about it later, but this is rather time-sensitive, so if you wouldn’t mind saving any questions until after this is taken care of, I would appreciate it. I just killed my nephews’ shitty, abusive father and was hoping you and the other Hunters would be willing to help me get rid of the body,” Sally said bluntly.
Thalia blinked. She blinked again. She opened her mouth and then closed it. She stared at Sally silently for a long moment, then she barked out a laugh and doubled over.
“Holy fuck,” she gasped, fighting to get herself under control again. “Yeah, yeah, of course, Sally. Fuck. Have I ever told you that you’re the coolest fucking person ever?”
She wiped tears of mirth from her eyes as she straightened and turned to call over her shoulder. “Hey! Pack it up, people, we’re moving!” She looked back at Sally. “The others will get set up somewhere near Camp and I’ll come to you. It looks like you’re in your apartment, right? I’ll help you get the body out of the building without drawing too much attention, then we’ll drive out and meet up with the rest of the Hunters. We’ll have a bonfire and you can tell us all about it.”
Sally grinned. “Thank you, Thalia. We’ll see you soon.”
Sally waved away the message with a heavy sigh as Thalia started barking orders and slumped against the counter.
Paul was immediately slammed with the mother of all headaches; pressure built behind his eyes as they started to burn. He blinked a few times and tried to push through the pain to go to Sally’s side, only to stumble and barely manage to catch himself on the table with a grunt.
Sally whirled around and hurried to his side, settling a hand between his shoulder blades comfortingly. “Are you alright, dear?” she asked.
Paul took a moment to breathe through the pain and very carefully nodded his head. “I’m fine, Sally, just forced myself to focus on the Message and now I’ve got a headache,” he said slowly. He could practically hear her rolling her eyes at him.
“You silly, stubborn man,” she said lightly. “Now come on, let’s get you lying down and I’ll bring you some water and a couple aspirin.”
She helped him stumble to their bedroom and kissed his forehead soothingly after she bundled him under the covers. She fussed with the pillows behind him for a moment before disappearing into the master bath. She returned with a glass of water, a damp washcloth, and the pills for him to take.
He drank dutifully and then pulled Sally down for a kiss. “I love you,” he mumbled against her lips. He felt her smile and his own lips twitched upwards in response. “Now shoo,” he said, squinting his eyes open and waving her toward the door. “I’ll be fine, and I know you want to take care of a few more things before Thalia gets here.”
Paul savored the soft smile she gave him as she leaned down to kiss his forehead one more time before laying the cool washcloth across his brow.
“I love you, too,” she said, and then she was gone, and Paul closed his eyes, letting himself fully settle into the bed in hopes that he’d be able to drift off and sleep away the worst of his headache.
~ ~ ~
Thalia bounded up the stairs, taking them two at a time. (The elevator was too slow, and she needed to feel like she was doing something, else her mind would get the better of her and her thoughts would start to spiral down pathways she’d rather not explore.) When she’d seen Sally in that Iris Message, she had let herself dare to hope that Percy had been found. She and the Hunters had been scouring the country for any sign of him and the longer they went without finding anything, the more Thalia began to fear that they’d never find him, that she’d never see him again.
She couldn’t lose Percy; she couldn’t lose her brother. Not again. Not like this. Every time she closed her eyes recently, she saw Beryl sneering at her, telling her that her little brother was gone, dragging her from the park kicking and screaming. She saw little Jason, with his shaggy blonde hair and big blue eyes, imagined him sitting alone somewhere in the woods, cold and scared and crying in the dark, calling for her, begging her to find him and bring him home, only she never came.
She knew, logically, that Jason had been a helpless toddler when he ‘went missing’, and Percy was sixteen and more than capable of taking care of himself. Percy had literally fought a war and survived a prophecy that everyone thought was going to kill him; she knew that he could handle himself, knew that he was one of the most powerful demigods alive and one of the strongest people she’d ever met.
But her heart, it seemed, just could not get the memo. Sometimes, in her dreams, she saw Percy in Jason’s place, so much smaller than he’d ever seemed to her and more terrified than she’d ever seen him. He would reach for her, his frame thin and gaunt in a way that was painfully familiar, his little hands shaking, his bright eyes filled with tears and her name on the tip of his tongue. Then, a huge beast would reach out of the shadows and steal Percy away, Percy’s screams and the monster’s cruel, booming laughter echoing in her ears when she jolted awake.
Annabeth was falling apart, working herself to the bone and pushing her body to the limit trying to find something, anything to tell her where Percy might be, that he was still out there somewhere. Thalia couldn’t do anything but watch as her best friend slowly killed herself, could only whisper empty assurances when Annabeth called her crying in the middle of the night.
Thalia wanted to scream and rage at the world, wanted to break down Olympus’s doors and force the gods to fix this shit. She wanted to find the Fates and rip them apart. How dare they, how fucking dare they let this happen, orchestrate this clusterfuck, do nothing but sit there and fucking watch. Percy and Annabeth had already been through so much, sacrificed so much, for the gods and the Fates and the whole gods damned world, they had more than earned their happy ending, deserved so much better than the shit hands life and destiny had dealt them.
(Sometimes, Thalia thought back to the Great Prophecy she had left for Percy to shoulder. Olympus to preserve or raze. Sometimes she wished she’d taken on the prophecy herself, when the fury overwhelmed her better judgement and she wanted nothing more than to burn that damn place to the ground. Sometimes she thought about tearing the throne room apart and using the gods’ seats of power as kindling. Sometimes her power built and built and built within her, crackled and groaned just beneath the surface, fighting to claw its way free of the confines of her flesh, until she barely felt human anymore, until she became the savage incoming storm, the pressure that made your ears pop, the winds that tore trees from their roots, the clouds that blacked out the sun and the rain that threatened to flood. Until she was the roar of thunder that deafened you and the crack of lightning that blinded you.)
(Sometimes, that scared her.)
She shook her head, trying to clear it. It did nothing to think about all that now, Sally needed her help. (To get rid of the body of a man she’d killed because he was an abusive shitstain to her family apparently and just when Thalia had thought that woman couldn’t get any cooler. She hoped she could be even half as badass as Sally Jackson someday.) She had to focus on the here and now, stop letting her mind drag her back into the past. There was nothing she could do about the ‘then’, but she could do something in the ‘now’.
She blinked and realized she was standing in front of Sally’s door, painted a soft cerulean blue. (It used to be baby-shit-brown, but one day Percy dragged Thalia to the building’s super, and she’d used the Mist to convince him to let Percy and Sally paint their door. They’d then dragged Thalia to the store with them to help them pick out a color and roped her into painting it with them, too.) (That had been a fun day. She and Percy had written curse words in both English and Ancient Greek all over the door in sharpie before covering it up with the fresh paint. Sally had even added a few, as well as some strange symbols Thalia didn’t recognize. She still had no idea what those had been, but Sally had seemed to relax when she was done, so Thalia just shrugged and let it be.)
She knocked. A moment later, Sally opened the door and pulled her into a hug.
“Thank you for coming, sweetheart. How have you been holding up?” Sally asked as she guided Thalia inside.
“Of course, Sally, you know I, and the rest of the Hunters, love you and we’re more than happy to help anytime,” Thalia said. “And, y’know, I’ve been hanging in there, doing everything I can to try and find Percy.” Her gaze dropped from Sally’s to the floor. “I miss him. I’m-I’m so scared that we’ll never find him,” she said softly, almost afraid that saying the words out loud would make them come true.
Sally made a quiet noise of distress and tugged Thalia into another hug, holding her tight. Thalia buried her face in Sally’s shoulder and held on tight, soaking in the comfort and trying to regain control of her breathing before she started crying.
“I’m scared too,” Sally murmured. “But we can’t give up hope. Percy is strong and he’ll find his way back to us, we just need to have faith in that, have faith in him.”
Thalia nodded and took a deep, shaky breath. Sally was right. They couldn’t lose hope. She knew that Percy was still out there somewhere, no doubt fighting like hell to get back to them, and they would fight just as hard to find him. If Thalia believed in nothing else, she believed in Percy. She had faith that his love and loyalty to them would bring him home.
After a moment, she pulled back and forced a smile onto her face, though she knew it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “So,” she said. “There’s a body to get rid of?”
Sally nodded grimly and glanced over her shoulder into the living room, where Thalia spotted a body-sized bundle of old blanket on the floor with suspicious red stains next to a rolled-up, blood-soaked rug.
Thalia let out a low whistle and studied the large, no doubt heavy, lump. “Is Paul around?” she asked. “We may need his help carrying that thing.”
Sally shook her head. “He’s resting. Stubborn man fought to focus on our IM and gave himself a migraine.”
“Yeah, that’d do it.” Thalia rolled her eyes fondly. She didn’t know Paul as well as she knew Sally, but she knew the man was good for her and Percy, had believed them from the moment they told him about the Greek world and had since done his best to learn about it and see what he could manage through the Mist. Thalia knew that with practice and time, some non-clear-sighted mortals could learn to see through the Mist when they knew to look for it, but it did generally lead to headaches and bouts of dizziness and weakness.
She walked over and dropped down, trying experimentally to lift the body. Definitely unwieldy and heavy, but not as heavy as she’d thought. If not for needing to manipulate the Mist to keep Sally from getting the police called on her, Thalia probably could have managed to carry it on her own.
As it was, she hefted the blanket-wrapped corpse over her shoulder and, with a grunt and some effort, stood from her crouch. She staggered back a step before adjusting to the new weight, widening her stance and compensating for the added weight on her left by leaning to the right.
Sally started and hurried over, her hands fluttering anxiously about. Thalia grinned at her.
“Okay, I’ll need at least one hand to work the Mist, but if you hold him steady for me when that happens, I can manage like this until we get to the car.”
“Of course. Now, the stairs will take longer, but the elevator will mean a higher chance of running into people.” Sally gave her a questioning look as she bent to grab the rug and tuck it under her arm, clearly leaving the decision up to Thalia.
She nodded and gestured for Sally to get the door. “Let’s take the stairs. I can only convince the Mist to do so much, so we should probably avoid being seen as much as possible just to be safe.”
Sally checked to make sure the hall was clear before ushering Thalia out. Carefully, with Sally keeping watch for any potential ‘witnesses’, they made their way down to the parking garage without incident. They ran into their first (and thankfully only) obstacle as Sally popped the trunk of Paul’s Prius and Thalia unceremoniously heaved the body off her shoulder and dropped it in the trunk.
Behind them, someone gasped, followed by a thud. Thalia whirled around to find a little old lady getting groceries out of her car. She’d dropped the bag of fresh veggies she’d been unloading and stared at them with wide, horrified eyes, one wrinkled hand pressed to her chest.
“Oh, Mrs. Thatcher! Let me help you with those,” Sally said like nothing was wrong and hurried over to start gathering the vegetables that had rolled away. Thalia tried her best to smile innocently as she shifted to try and block the old woman’s view into the trunk.
“Sally, dear,” Mrs. Thatcher said, voice weak and trembling. “Who is that-that delinquent? Are you safe? Do you need me to call the police?” The lady had to be going slightly senile or something, because she clearly meant to whisper so Thalia wouldn’t hear her and instead, she damn near shouted.
Thalia frowned. Fucking rude. Sure, she had just dumped a suspiciously body-shaped bundle in the trunk of Sally’s car, but there’s no way she looked like a danger to Sally—oh . Wait. Mrs. Thatcher had to be at least ninety and, with the cross necklace and modest dress she wore, probably an old-school conservative Christian. And here Thalia was with her whole ‘fuck society’ punk aesthetic including multiple facial piercings and copious other pieces of jewelry. The old hag probably thought she was an evil satanist or gang member or something. She rolled her eyes.
Sally’s smile turned forced, the corners of her eyes tight. “That won’t be necessary, Mary Anne,” Sally said, voice sharp and deceptively sweet. “This is my niece. She’s helping me get rid of some old rugs since Paul is feeling under the weather.”
Thalia forced a smile back onto her face, then snapped her fingers. “Yep, just helping my Aunt Sally move some old rugs, that’s all,” she said, reaching out with her senses to coerce the Mist to reframe the woman’s memory and change her sight. “The grocery bag was heavier than you thought and just slipped out of your hand. Sally and I helped you pick up the spill and then we all went our merry ways.”
Mary Anne’s eyes glazed over as she nodded slowly. In a daze, the woman took her recollected bag of groceries from Sally and walked mechanically to the elevator. Thalia and Sally watched silently as she waited for the car and then disappeared inside.
Thalia let out a breath of relief and crossed her arms. That was close. And rude. What the fuck, lady. Thalia did not feel bad about basically mind-controlling her. A hand rested on her bicep and Thalia felt a pang of fear shoot through her. Sally had never seen her, or anyone else as far as she knew, manipulate the Mist like that, manipulate a whole-ass person like that. Realistically, Thalia knew that Sally had literally asked her to do that, but knowing in theory what it would entail and actually seeing it in action were two different things. What if Sally was mad at her? Oh gods, what if Sally was disappointed in her? Oh gods, oh fuck, is this what having an actual mom felt like? Oh gods, Thalia didn’t want Sally to be upset with her, she might die.
“Are you alright, dear?” Sally asked, and Thalia’s spiraling thoughts came to a screeching halt.
“What?” she said eloquently. Sally snorted.
“Mary Anne Thatcher is a batty old bitch, and what she said was entirely uncalled for,” she said sternly and shook her head. “She is terribly superficial, not to mention racist. Every time she sees me and Percy together, she makes some remark about how it was so kind of me to adopt a kid like him.” she rolled her eyes. “And really, he’s just tan. Although, Poseidon did always take on a Pacific Islander-esque form when we were together, so there could be a bit of influence in his complexion there, I suppose,” she mused, then shrugged and smiled at Thalia. “Honestly, that woman is lucky I don’t want violence in or around my home if it can be helped, otherwise I wouldn’t give a damn if she was a hundred and two, I’d still kick her ass.”
Holy shit, Sally was so fucking cool.
“Sally,” Thalia said seriously. “You are my favorite person ever.”
Sally laughed and pulled Thalia in for a hug. “You’re one of my favorite people, too, Thalia.”
—
They didn’t talk much on the drive to Long Island; Thalia got the feeling that Sally didn’t want to tell the story more than once tonight. Instead, they spent most of it singing along to the radio blasting punk rock, classic rock, and nineties alt. By the time they neared Camp, they were both red-faced and laughing at each other’s made-up lyrics and nonsense noises in place of lines they didn’t know or couldn’t understand.
(Thalia had been half convinced that Sally would have to pull over from how hard she’d been laughing in response to Thalia confidently yell-singing nonsense when Loser by Beck had come on.)
Finally, Sally pulled off the road onto a little, winding trail that Thalia hadn’t even known was there when they were maybe a half mile from Camp. It led to a little gravel square and a small, overgrown patch of land that probably used to be a campsite.
Sally parked and turned to Thalia with a smile. “Well then, shall we go find the rest of the Hunters?”
Thalia grinned. “Let’s go get this party started.”
With more and more Ao3 authors restricting their works to the archive (due to AI scraping), they're going to be losing guest interaction. And probably generally feeling down because. You know. AI is stealing their hard work.
So! Now is a great time to stop by your favorite authors/stories and drop them some comments! They really appreciate it!
also put in a request for an ao3 account if you don't have one! an account will let you make bookmarks of your favorite fics, store a reading history of fics you read while logged in, set a profile picture, all sorts of goodies :)
