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The Son of Athena (Percy Jackson & Hamilton Crossover)

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Alexander had not had an easy life.

His shocking and immoderate words made him more enemies than friends, but he never stopped. The words were his exit to the land of opportunities. He was free.

He is now on a plane bound for New York thanks to his people and a disabled man who was always looking at him like he was going to explode at any minute. And it would be like that if the man did not stop looking at him.

He did not even understand why he was there with his recurrent eyebrows and fine complexion. He doubted that his writing had gone so far, Nevis was always an island without much external connection, the sources of communication were eternally ignored and Nevis did not have something interesting to say in a long time so that they would pay attention so suddenly, except for the hurricane, but it was not even recognized. It was pretty suspicious now that he thought about it. Maybe he should be thinking of something to get out of there to New York alone, in case the guy turned out to be a rapist, but he was irritable enough that he had not endured a confrontation at all. He also did not look friendly enough to try to fool him, or scared enough to hurt him and get off guard. Logically, he decided to leave the guy alone.

His eyes nailed the window to his side, the blue sky became boring and nauseating the instant he looked at it. So flat and smooth, a single color without meaning beyond perspective, despite being flying in it, his interest did not wake up. He had no choice but to be trapped, as always, in his thoughts, as it was seen that Seabury was not going to relax or stop looking at him all the way, so he let himself be swept away by his furious thoughts, the space where his curiosity and youth clashed with their intelligence and old age.

His mind flooded with memories and promises, showing him why he was here, as if someone whispered to him, a firm voice, he imagined. He remembered what his mother told him, that he and she-now only Alex-would leave that little place and look for something better. That there throwing away that his mother allowed him, his death would not be in vain. He would rise like no one and carry the name of his island and his on the top. Nevis was like his little world, where he saw the beauty of people, saw how horrible and cruel the world could be by his own hand, prepared him to face the worst.

Willpower were barely contained, he wanted to start writing, to study, to open his big mouth and fight for his opinions. He did not care if they agreed or not.

They have always told him it was a forest fire. It took everything in its path without pause or rhythm until it is completely extinguished and leaves nothing but ashes.

His little thought bubble was interrupted by the plane landing. People started to get up from their seats and take their light luggage unlike the two of them who, apparently, would wait until everyone got off.

His eyesight returned to the young man. His hands moved anxiously taking his carry-on luggage under the front seat. His crutches were in the hold luggage, so Alex had to help him get down and go for them.

Both, finally, took a trip out of the airline (after picking up the garbage bag where he had his clothes, of course) and the words escaped him flying in the cold and new wind of his mind for the first time in his life.

Holy. Shit.

The streets were full of people, small and loud steps, long and short, calm and resonant, all so different from each other. The buildings were tall and majestic, the warm sunlight hit them and shot across the floor while the windy cold made an almost imperceptible sound after so much noise. His ears were filled with loud and thunderous sounds, conversations of people and resounding shouts of the horn coming from the road. He had never heard so much noise in his life. And he had never been so happy to almost break his eardrums. His warm Caribbean blood protested to the impending and overwhelming cold. His mind locked for a moment and he breathed, stopping immediately to cough at the strong smoke that flooded his healthy lungs. He arrived in the promised land. He tightened his plastic bag more tightly. The sound was also lost in the bustle.

He felt a painful grip on his hand, it was the Samuel type. He had almost forgotten about him. To be disabled with crutches, he balanced himself perfectly while taking him by the hand. Too suspicious. He was dragged through the streets with firm grip and his fury grew before the man. He could have simply told him to move. Ignored the feeling of the remember or viscous before the strength of the grip. His size made it difficult for him to get out and breathe in that great crowd that he had never seen before, crashing every two and feeling some claustrophobia born in his chest. But he felt complete. Soon he caught the rhythm through the streets, looking forward and almost ignoring the rest (also to that hallucination that was chasing a boy) (his heart did not sink with impotence, of course not).

Finally they arrived at their destination. A street almost free, with yellow cars parked on the street. His little experience was enough to remember what it was. A taxi. Seabury's face lit with relief, as if he had found the last lake in a dry world. He let go of her wrist and he took the opportunity to rub it and take a quick look at his surroundings, memorizing it for another time.

"- Move! We will miss the taxi! -" Shouted the man with the crutches, moving towards the vehicle with a quite impressive speed. He shrugged and followed him at a slower pace, despite how hasty his "caretaker" looked.

They both took the sticky, tacky back seat, a foul odor got into their nostrils nasal when trying to settle in the seat. He was used to it, but Seubury lost color and his cheeks seemed to turn green. His pulse accelerated a bit through the closed space, "One, two, three, four, five" counted in his mind. He relaxed a little, he was fine, he was calm, excellent.

The owner of the taxi only looked at them out of the corner of her eye, redirecting her eyes to the front, starting to drive.

They left the streets until they were far enough from the center so that they could read the Long Island welcome sign, what were they grabbing on Long Island?

Then he felt a look on him, nothing like the unpleasant, derogatory and nervous of Samuel, but a more intense, cold and almost deadly. His eyes moved to the driver. She looked at him with eyes that were inhumanly tortured and dead, flooded with hunger. Sweat ran down his brow, feeling a fear and recognition born within him. "It'snotrealit'snotrealnonono" he repeated himself again and again in panic, closing his eyes so hard that white dots appeared in his vision. "It's not real, Hamilton, stop being a sissy, it's nothing" he tried to control his breathing again and he did not remember that it had to be controlled. "One, two, three, four, five."

Finally, he opened his eyes. He breathed a sigh of relief until he saw the owner of his transport again smiling at him. Big ivory-white fangs poked out of his dark red lips like dried blood. The experienced and calloused hands at the wheel became long, sharp claws that perished to tear. Alex's face lost all normal color and his pulse quickened.

Logically, this could not be real. It is unreal that someone has teeth like that. It is unreal that someone has claws. If it was a lie, why did he seem to want to jump on him? He did not want to see more of the monsters. He is not a child anymore. He no longer sees monsters. I should not see the monsters. Should not. Does not want. Should not. Does not want. No more.

A sour voice brought him out of his mind. He remembered a symphony of similar voices screaming with joy in the hurricane. "No, he did not," he reminded himself.

- You're not from around here, are you, kid? -. The lady began with an obvious tone that touched the bitterness.

- Yes, ma'am. I'm from the Caribbean, from Nevis -. He answered with all the firm voice he could muster. Seabury looked at him, bored.

- Oh, I heard there was a hurricane, was not it? Poor little -. He smiled.

There Seabury looked up. - How do you know? -. He looked at her suspiciously, directing his hand to the exit handle.

- I was there when it happened with my sisters. Alexander must have seen us. - His sharp teeth gleamed and made him want to vomit. It is not real, it is not real. He felt the bile rising up his throat.

"Shit," Samuel murmured, pulling the hand he already had positioned on the handle and taking Alex's arm with his remaining hand. They both jumped out of the moving car and ran full speed towards the trees.

The woman's cruel laughter was allowed to show as they ran, monstrous flaps resounded through the place and saw the woman in the air then fall beside them like a kamikaze attack over and over again. Well, this is not what you imagined for your arrival in the USA. His eyes returned to the road, seeing his guide who still did not release his arm and practically dragged him through the forest. At this point, it was quite obvious that the guy was not disabled, the young man was jumping and running like a goat about to be eaten by a pack of wolves. In his head, between pale hair separated by the wind could be seen two small horns of, you guessed, goat. If this had caught him off guard, he would have given a heart attack when he realized that Seabury was like a satyr in the Greek mythology of the stories his mother always read to him. But the stories never spoke of demon women with complex of murderous pigeons.

They kept on dodging trees (more Samuel than him), going from the creature and going up the hill until they found a big tree where a ball hung golden gleam and a dragon rested on the step. "Wow, he never saw any of those in his hallucinations before" he thought to himself. Upon seeing the place, the named satyr showed a face of immense relief.

Before entering beyond the tree, the voice of the demon woman was heard through everything. < p> - My species will not be the only one that will look for you, Alexander Hamilton. We went to your island because of the desperate and selfish decisions of your people and we delighted with their dying bodies. But death and cruelty surround you. My sisters, the Moiras, daughters of the night as much as my race have planned things for you. You are warned. - The voice melted.

They were, stunned, to the place behind the tree.