(A/N: Hey, for the purpose of non-complicating this or messing up details, can we all just go with my description of their plane, even though I'm pretty sure(a.k.a. positive) it's all wrong? Is that okay? Yep? Maybe? Okay, cool haha... thanks for dealing with this and have a great day and enjoy the read *jazz hands*)

If Agent Morse had been told to imagine chaos, then this would fit the bill.

Yelling. Metal clanging all over the place, not to mention flailing limbs. An unconscious Fitz in the corner. So much water, soaking everything.

Yeah, it was pretty much a mess. She wished that she hadn't walked in five minutes prior. Five minutes prior could be simplified to staring at the unconscious form of the admittedly attractive young suspect.

"Okay, so what's going on?" she sighed as she pushed open the doors to the downsized lab. Mack had placed the tanned, dark haired boy down on the metal operating table in the corner of the room. Coulson and Fitz leaned against the countertop, staring intently at the young man while the buff agent stood above him, with arms crossed. She opened her mouth to reiterate the question after seconds of silence, but quick-witted Daisy beat her to it.

"You guys said he was conscious," Daisy raised an eyebrow, glancing from the obviously unmoving captive to Coulson. He didn't blink.

"He was... at least, twenty seconds ago he was."

"How so?" Bobbi pushed, skeptical. Once again, the group was at a loss for explanation- mainly because their attention was pulled away by the sudden cry that worked its way out of the raven-headed teen. Silence settled over the agents as they watched Jackson's face twist in tone of fear. His breaths quickly increased; he was hyperventilating. The agents looked amongst each other in confusion. His fingers twitched, and suddenly, he sat up abruptly, the movement a stark contrast to the peaceful sleep seconds before. Sea green eyes sprung open, wild with anxiety.

They darted about, glazed and unfocused. His chest heaved as what seemed to be panic engulfed him. Bobbi's heart caught in her throat.

"Hey, hey," Mack reached out a hand, gently pressing a hand against Jackson's bare shoulder. the contact triggered something within him, and before anyone could react, the buff mechanic was sent flying into the counters behind him, sending various tools crashing to the ground. Daisy and Bobbi rushed forward to secure their subject, but they were interrupted when the teen's eyes slammed shut and a sudden roar of water filled their ears. The sink. The sink had exploded. Coulson cursed as a rainstorm beat down on them. "What the hell?!?" he shouted. Jackson scrambled backwards off of the metal, his bare feet landing haphazardly on the floor. Fitz went to grab him from behind, but with incredible speed, the teen spun around and socked him just along his cheekbone. Bobbi's anger spiked at the sound of Fitz's yelp before he crumpled to the ground.

"Jackson, stand down!" Coulson demanded. Bobbi launched herself at the boy, but couldn't land a decent punch. His reflexes were inhumanly fast, and there certainly wasn't enough room to try for a kick.

And the stupid water. It was at if it was working for the boy, finding ways to spray directly into her eyes and mouth. A spray like that of a firehose shot into her eyes, pushing her to the ground and momentarily blinding her. As she struggled to regain her sight, Bobbi hopelessly heard the door swing open, followed by the shouts of both Coulson and Daisy.

"The hell," she growled, her eyes burning.

"You okay?"

Bobbi cursed and looked up at Mack, standing up without the help of his hand. "Today is not the day I lose a battle to a seventeen year old boy," she spat, the water that continued to burst out of the sinks annoying her to no extent. How much water was on this damn plane was there, anyway? Certainly enough to flood the room three inches in fifteen seconds. Can water even pump that fast?

"How the hell is he even awake, the I.C.E.R. should have subdued him for at least three hours?!!" Morse demanded bitterly, stepping into the garage. She glanced back at Mack, who shrugged. "We told you he was conscious."

"Just get Fitz," were her final words as she stormed off to find revenge.

....

Bobbi marched through the narrow hallways of the Globemaster, doing what she usually did: look for trouble. She could hear the commotion of running and a string of demands from Coulson from the upper deck. With long strides, Agent Morse quickly reached the steps and climbed them two at a time.

"Bloody hell!" a surprised shout that sounded suspiciously British echoed down the corridor. Hunter was part of the chase now too, it seemed.

The tall agent's fingers itched for her steel batons as she crept down the narrow way. If only they weren't tucked behind her sweatshirt in her locker. She peaked out from behind the wall, where the hallway opened to reveal the crews' quarters. It was as if a tornado had set down within the cabin; the couches were in disarray, the Battleship game she and Daisy had been playing earlier was strung across the room, the mini-fridge toppled and it's contents soaking the ground... soaking, well, everything. Was it typical for water to be raining from the ceiling? It was now more than obvious that this kid wasn't just human, if human at all.

"If you're looking for the kid, he went that way," a disgruntled voice brought her out of her thoughts. With a sigh, Agent Morse shook her head at the mess. "This is why we can't have anything nice." She glanced down to see Hunter peeling himself off of the wet carpet, soaked from head to toe. Blood ran down his arm from a gash near his elbow, and she winced as he pulled a small piece of glass out of it, tossing it carelessly to the side. She opened her mouth to comment when a loud crash sounded ahead of them. Her blood chilled as a terrifyingly furious plea filled her ears. "Get away from me!"

Bobbi ran ahead, forgetting Hunter and her questions for the time being. There was little need to go far. Coulson and Daisy had Jackson trapped against the back of the claustrophobic galley, who had somehow managed to stay dry. His wide eyes flashed like a cornered animal, which, frankly, at this point he was.

Every time they would make an attempt to move closer, their loose captive would lash out, his attacks packed with power. Daisy groaned as he nailed her in the shoulder, throwing her back into Bobbi's chest. "Stand down!" demanded Coulson, who had drawn his gun. Bobbi wasn't even sure if he had the safety off, but the threat of a gun barrel in your face was persuasive enough. Or so she had thought.

If she had blinked, she would have missed it. She hadn't believed Daisy fully when she claimed that he pulled a magic sword out of thin air during their initial encounter. She owed Daisy a thorough apology.

All three of them jumped back into Hunter, who had finally caught up, when the teen summoned a long, Greek style, glowing bronze sword out of nowhere. "What the hell?" Daisy demanded. "We took that thing away from you! Where-? How?" she sputtered.

Coulson seemed most uneasy about the blade that had appeared out of nothingness, which wasn't surprising, considering his history. His voice dropped. "Drop the weapon. Now."

The boy's face scrunched up in distaste. "Where's Annabeth?" he nearly whispered, as if just realizing she was missing. He stood there, panting and sweating as though he had just run a marathon, his naked chest heaving. A variety of white scars or a variety of lengths and widths crisscrossed over his sides like spiderwebs.   Hunter stepped forward, just in range of the long sword. The teen seemed to tower over him, despite the fact that he only had about three inches on him.

"Hold up mate, we're asking the questions. Now drop the magic wand, sit like a-"

"WHERE'S ANNABETH?" the teen boomed, silencing everyone. Hot tears sprung in Percy's eyes unintentionally; the stress was too much. In his eyes, everything was dark. The air choked him; he couldn't breathe. Why was the ground so warm and sticky? Why did the monsters keep coming? His head and wrist hurt like Hades. He needed to ignore the pain, fight. Get past these three-four, now, four monsters. Find Annabeth. Assess injury and keep going. Just keep going. If you're going through hell, keep going, he murmured under his breath, remembering the quote from a random TV promo during a late night with Annabeth.

His brain barely registered the words being thrown at him, to drop Riptide, to surrender. Never.

With a quick breath, Percy attempted to dive out of the crowd, to get past. One of them grabbed his arm and pulled him back, but he quickly retaliated with a swing of his sword. The grip didn't release, but shouting soon filled the corridor. He struggled to escape, swinging Riptide wildly before whatever had grabbed him finally lost the nerve. He sprinted back down through the darkness, not quite sure where he was going. He just ran. Footsteps echoed behind him before a loud pop filled the air. And then pain. A numbing pain, right below his knee...

Instantly, all sense of adrenaline drained of his system. Unwillingly he collapsed onto the solid floor, groaning. Suddenly lights were everywhere. So bright. HIs eyelids grew heavier until he couldn't take it anymore, allowing them to slide shut.

...

Annabeth cursed as yet another Iris message attempt fell through. Never mind that she didn't have any drachmas on her- did Iris take credit? The artificial light in the stupid white hexagon room was driving her insane with its inability to create a rainbow. She would try again, but the sink had stopped working. Either they had shut the plumbing off to their little mini-prison or Percy had blown the pipes out on a flippin' airplane. Percy. Where the Hades was he?

She swore, if he got himself killed in the past five minutes, she was going to murder him.

She paced the room impatiently, using the time to think. If her plan worked, what would be the next step? Could she really trust that it would even work? There were a lot of moving parts, and even if it went smoothly, she'd have to hope and pray that her friends could find them, wherever they were. The agents wouldn't be that difficult to escape from- heck, Percy could probably take them half awake if he wanted to. She saw him defeat hordes of monsters thousands of times. A couple of kidnapping, self-absorbed government agents wouldn't be that much of a problem, as long as they get the guns away first.

Weapons. That would probably be a good thing to take inventory of. Her dagger- well, no. Her dagger was wrapped up in a sandy towel on the beach. Percy would still have Riptide, although it was useless against mortals.

Which lead her to her next question. Who was hipster/Daisy/earthquake girl? Those vibrations were definitely not a coincidence. She had to be at least 25, which made no sense, considering the dreaded prophecy all those years ago. But if she wasn't a demigod, what was she? Some kind of monster? Confusion raced through her head, which spun rapidly.

A sharp pain through her skull resulted in a wince. Reluctantly, Annabeth backed up and plopped down onto the bed, rubbing her temples. The stress was getting to her, and the unique yet disturbingly familiar situation was doing nothing to calm her nerves. Percy missing, injured. A plan that sounded crazier with each passing second. On her own, defenseless. Enemies with no motive, just a desire to torture them the best they could.

Her skin crawled and her entire body shook, as though lightning had struck her, as memories of Tartarus flooded back.

"No, no," she muttered to herself, holding her aching head in her hands. She grabbed a handful of the white comforter in an attempt to prove to herself that she wasn't back there.

But it kept replaying. Over, and over, and over.

Annabeth blinked her eyes open, which already seemed to be glued shut. Her eyelids slowly peeled apart with no reward. The darkness that awaited her provided no assurance of her location, or even where they had fallen from.

The fall. Part of her was glad that the wait was over. The rest of her ached like she couldn't believe, and the throbbing pain in her ankle was a constant reminder of her injured ankle. Luckily, she still had the ambrosia in her pocket. After a quick pledge of survival to herself, Annabeth slowly brought herself to a sitting position, sucking in a breath and hissing at the pain. The acrid air burned the back of her throat like bile. Annabeth coughed weakly, the dryness itching mercilessly. She better hope that she had some time to recover before monsters inevitably flooded around her, or she would be toast. At least her vision had adjusted to the darkness; she could slightly make out the definition of jagged rocks, shards of glass from a broken reality. She had yet to find the source of the constant moaning noises that seemed to come from every direction. Did Percy still have-

Percy. Percy, where was he?

A wave of worry crashed into her, remembering the slow moments before the air cushion that must have knocked both of them out. She had fought him as hard as she could, but he was too strong... he had positioned himself under Annabeth, to take the brute of the force.

That Seaweed Brain.

She glanced down at the ambrosia between her fingers, inches away from her mouth. She should save it; at the same time, wandering around injured wasn't going to do her any good, for her or Percy. Before she could change her mind, Annabeth tossed the sweet square into her mouth, adrenaline soaring through her.

Nothing like a missing boyfriend to wake you up in the middle of Tartarus. Annabeth heaved herself to her feet, despite the screaming pain. "Well, I'm up... now what?" she muttered to herself, spinning slowly. She had no clue which way she should go.

Until she saw a suspicious lump ahead of her, almost but not quite blending in with the shadows.

Sure enough, a few seconds of pained limping later, Annabeth was kneeling next to her boyfriend. Relief ran through her as she watched his chest rise and fall. "Percy?" she whispered.

No response.

The grey-eyed demigod jolted back to reality. The transition from the dark cavern to white cage sent a shiver of shock through her now trembling body. Burning tears streamed down her cheeks. Loud, thoroughly annoyed voices jumped through the opening gap in the cell, a sharp contrast to the anxious whisper that she was forced to relive.

"Throw him in there, somewhere. I don't care. Just leave him and get out," Coulson said bitterly. Annabeth scrambled to her feet with wide eyes. The large, black agent marched in with Percy in his arms, still unconscious. They had gotten him a new shirt, a black one made out of the tight fitting thermal material, as well as a pair of sweats. Agent Mackenzie made eye contact after her inspection before glancing at the bed.

"I'm going to put him on the bed. Move, please."

She obliged, taking a few steps back from the now disheveled bed. Her mind raced. Was he supposed to be unconscious still? How long did they say? 4 hours or so? Had it even been that long yet? It had to have been.

"When will he wake up?" she demanded, a permanent scowl etched on her face. The 'Director' took no time to respond. "In theory three or four more hours," he spat.

"In theory?"

"Tell your friend I don't take well to people attacking my agents. That's not going to be much help to you in the long run," the man finished before clenching his jaw.

Annabeth wasn't expecting that.

Before she could form the words to another question, the two men had already exited the room.

Gods. Annabeth stood frozen for a moment, processing their words. Did Percy injure one of them? That would only explain the man's fury.

He couldn't have, because then he would have woken up. Unless he did... and they just shot him again?

Ohhhhh gods. She may have to attack some agents too.

Finally escaping her head, Annabeth crawled up onto the bed. Mack had placed Percy as carefully as he could, back down with his head on the pillow. She was relieved to see that at least he looked relaxed, despite the swelling bruise along his jawline and curled fingers of his fractured hand (she assumed). His mouth hung open, and the blonde gave a small smile.

He was drooling.

Annabeth sighed and shifted down onto the mattress. She grabbed Percy's hand- the good one, and pulled it up to her lips. She kissed his knuckles and allowed herself to close her eyes, shutting out the analyzation of the situation.

Some things never changed... they went from angsty 12 year olds with lucky battles against gods to sailing the ocean to save Grover from marriage to Cyclops with bad hosting skills, holding up the sky, taking a trip through a rather large maze, saving the world (part one), getting separated, finding each other again, conquering Tartarus,and saving the world (part two). All of this, yet...

Percy still drooled when he slept.

*

And, there is a clear winner. The award for "Pair Most Likely to Accidentally (or Purposely) End the World" is.... *drum roll please*

TONY STARK AND LEO!

It's not a surprise in all honesty. Two self-obsessed brilliant inventors who both have a hard time fitting in and a love for the ladies? I can already hear the makings of an Iron Festus. Oh yeah. The end is coming, gods help us all.

Okay so now, I have a special treat for you all. We all collectively hate the Percy Jackson movies. Please, bellow, comment your best Percy Jackson movie rant. Winner will receive a dedication lol and a free therapy session (to clarify, ranting is therapy. So technically everyone who participates gets free therapy haha).

***movie rants here***

HAVE FUN, THANKS, AND HAVE A GOOD NIGHT!

JustAnotherGirlmcg