(A/N): This is something of a Supernatural AU, in which Sam did kill Lilith/release Lucifer, so the Apocalypse arc of season 5 isn't in play. Otherwise, they would be too busy hunting down the horseman at the exact time of this story to really devote any time to my plotline. I can't reconcile that plot, unfortunately. You try writing something like this into the plot a month before Swan Song happens.
Chapter 1: In Which Percy Jackson is a Dork and Sam is a Puppy
"This is the dumbest thing I've ever heard."
"You mispronounced 'best'."
"They're not going to take it well. I'm telling you, they didn't seem like the kind of guys who could take a joke."
"It's April Fools' Day. The one day of the year when every last person on Earth lives by the motto, 'Trust No-one'. If they're not expecting a joke today, they're living their lives wrong."
"Say that again with a consecrated round put through your skull and maybe I'll listen."
Percy sighed. Annabeth had been carping on about this for the last ten minutes, and it was almost to the point where he was considering giving in just to make her happy. Almost. The joke was just too good. He never got to do this sort of thing around people anymore. Why let a perfectly good prank go to waste? And besides, it wasn't like it wasn't going to serve a functional purpose. Annabeth just thought that Hunters wouldn't like surprises.
Percy was of the opinion that surprising people who didn't like surprises was the best way to start your day. Especially if it was April Fools' Day.
Okay, so maybe Percy just wanted to be as far away from Camp Half-Blood as possible that day. It just wasn't safe. The Stoll brothers? April Fools'? Anyone within three miles would sweat bullets at the mere thought. Best to get outside the blast radius while they still could.
It had been almost two weeks since Percy and Annabeth had returned from Olympus, bearing the news that Zeus was an actual three-year-old (which surprised no-one) and he had closed the gates of Olympus and cut off all contact with Camp Half-Blood (which was considerably more surprising, and not in the good way). After a nasty run-in with one kidnapper/rapist/murderer and one demon of the new religion, Percy had been… in a bad way. To put it lightly. He'd been ill, then kidnapped, then had the tar beaten out of him, then groped, then gotten pneumonia, and then unceremoniously dumped outside the elevator of the Empire State Building. It hadn't been a good week. Now, with some time elapsed, he had to admit that he was relishing being back on his feet. His breathing was all but back to normal, and what small coughs he still had were just regular allergies, not the soul-crushing throat-tearing variety that had plagued him before. The best part had been when he'd finally been deemed well enough to go for ambrosia and nectar. They'd healed his broken ribs and wrist almost instantly. He had taken the opportunity to spin Annabeth around in a foxtrot (at one point the Aphrodite cabin had decided that everyone should learn ballroom dancing for no particular reason), just to bask in his ability to move again. That, and he really liked swan-dipping her, for all that she usually smacking him for thinking he could get away with it.
Now, with him being as healthy as he was going to get, they needed to act.
Without divine protection, the demigods were not necessarily defenceless, but they were definitely more vulnerable than ever before. With the task of getting as many new half-bloods to camp alive as possible, it was decided that satyrs just weren't cutting it. Oh, they'd still do the part of their jobs that involved locating and confirming demigods. They just needed someone with a bit more muscle to do the part of the job that involved protecting them.
Which meant Hunters.
Percy had had no idea what Hunters were before Annabeth told him. Actually, even with what Annabeth had told him, he still wasn't one hundred percent sure. He had supposedly met a couple, but he'd been delirious with fever at the time and didn't remember a thing. Well, maybe one thing. He remembered two huge hulking dudes and that was it. "Tall" didn't exactly seem like the entire width and breadth of the job description, though.
"You barely knew 'em for two hours, Annabeth. What makes you so sure they're all like that? Or, for that matter, what makes you think you know them well enough that you'd know how they'd react to a joke?" he asked.
"Hmph. I know them because I broke into their motel room, went through their stuff, and read their internet search history, Percy. Don't get smart with me," Annabeth said.
Percy froze. Slowly, he turned to stare wide-eyed at her.
"…You went through their internet search history?"
"Yes, and I don't want to remember half the things I saw there, okay? Why?"
Percy shook his head, a pained look on his face. "There's a line, Annabeth. There are certain things one simply doesn't do in polite society."
"And yet you had no problem with me breaking into their motel."
"Must be nice to have such a flexible morality."
"Oh, it is." Percy ducked the shoe thrown at him. "You're going to have to pick that back up yourself, you know."
Annabeth grumbled for a short while, but quieted down. "But, Percy? You know why I'm worried, right?"
"They have lots of guns?" Percy guessed.
"And knives. And research. And talismans. And charms. And spell-books and witchcraft and a whole lot of very-much-loaded guns," Annabeth said. "They're not what I would call friendly with the supernatural crowd, and like it or not, you and I fit that bill."
Percy paused. "They helped you save my ass, right?"
She sighed. "They did."
"Then they can't be all bad." He reached out and pulled her close, pressing a short kiss to her cheek. "Have a little faith in the human race, okay? Or, if you can't do that, have some faith in me. I've no plans to skip out on you for any reason, you know."
Percy smiled at her.
"Still don't know why you want to be in an aquarium tank when they come in."
"Because it's kick-ass. Also, bullets don't travel well in water. I saw it on Mythbusters," Percy said.
Annabeth slammed her palm into her forehead. Her boyfriend was the world's biggest dork and if it got him killed, she wouldn't be the least bit surprised.
Sam and Dean were en route.
It had been the weirdest thing. They'd just finished up a hunt for a skinwalker (creepy sons of bitches) and were planning on heading down south. After all, the summertime was usually the most hunt-heavy season, what with all the tourists and vacationers going conveniently missing with nobody to look for them. Vamps in particular always thought they could get away with it better in the summer. Maybe they'd try to get a head-start on the crowds and get started in the spring this year.
Then the email had come. It had come from a simple gmail no-reply account, and it had come to the email Sam specifically reserved for contact between hunters and those affiliated with the trade. Unfamiliar emails didn't just pop up in Sam's inbox, but there it was, clear as day. He'd been prepared to delete it without reading until something about the address seemed familiar. Just a little, but still. Who was "achase3153" anyway? He'd read the stupid, suspicious thing.
It was a good thing he had.
Both Sam and Dean remembered Annabeth Chase, the crazy girl who had broken into their room because her boyfriend had gone missing, then single-handedly ganked a demon without harming its vessel. One didn't simply forget about people as universe-defying as Annabeth. At first he wondered how in the hell she'd gotten ahold of his Hunters' email, then remembered: she'd been alone with his laptop for God-knew-how-long. Of course she would have poked her nose in his email. It's what he would have done, anyway, if only to relieve boredom.
The letter had been simple and concise.
"Hello, Sam and Dean.
"You may or may not recall me and my boyfriend, Percy Jackson, from a few weeks ago. I don't think I ever expressed proper thanks for your help in finding him, so let me get it out of the way now: thank you so very much. Without you, I don't think he'd be alive today to help me write this letter.
"There is a new matter, however, that we need to discuss, and not just you two and me. We're going to need you to contact every Hunter you know, and maybe even a few you don't. Get the word out. There is a massive case happening right under your noses, and it has been there for almost three thousand years.
"I can't speak about it in detail here, but I will explain everything to anyone who is interested in helping. I will say this: children are dying. I'd like to stop it. I fondly hope we can all agree about that one.
"If so, please come to the attached location April 1, 2010, at 000 hours, if at all possible. Even if you can't make it, please spread the word. We're going to need all the help we can get.
"Eternally Grateful, Annabeth Chase."
The address attached turned out to be, of all things, a public aquarium in New York, which kind of made some sense because that was where Annabeth and Percy lived.
"Smells trap-ish," Dean commented when he read it. "You think somebody else wrote this?"
Sam shook his mop of unruly hair. "I don't think so, Dean. We talked a little when we met last and the letter definitely sounds like her. She wrote it."
"Then somebody made her write it."
"She's smart. She would have found a way to clue us in that it's a trap."
"It's on April Fools' Day. That ain't clue enough for you?" Dean asked, taking a swig from a beer.
"Too obvious. Not her style."
Dean snorted. "Shesh. Know a girl ten minutes and think you've got her pegged, huh, Sammy?"
"It's Sam, and it was three hours, not ten minutes."
"Ooh. Forgive me, wise and powerful one. I have sorely underestimated your powers of peering into the souls of teenaged girls."
"Shut up, asshole."
"So it's settled?"
"That we're ignoring this?"
Sam started. "The hell we are, Dean! It's serious! And besides, you know Annabeth was raised Hunter like us. She wouldn't bullshit us and you know it."
"And if we lead a bunch of our guys into a trap? What then?" Dean fixed him with a stare. "I don't want their blood on my hands, Sam."
"Okay, so you don't trust her."
"Damn straight I don't."
"Just trust me, Dean," Sam said.
"Yeah; like your track record is so good with girls." He held up a hand and began to tick off fingers. "Meg, Ruby, that one time you almost banged Lilith-"
"I wasn't gonna!"
"Not the point. My point is that when women throw you for a loop," Dean said.
"They do not."
"All they have to do is bat their eyelashes and you are suckered right into their claws, you big puppy, you."
"Annabeth didn't bat her eyelashes at me. She's also made it pretty damn clear she's devoted to her boyfriend, and for another thing… ew! She's ten years younger than me Dean! You think I'm a cradle-robber?"
"Okay, I'll grant you that one." Dean winced. "I just realised I'm almost twice her age. Ouch."
"Feeling old, huh?"
"Yeah. Can't say I like it."
"So, we're going to this thing, whether you like it or not, and we're bringing backup. Pack your walker, grandpa, 'cause we're heading to New York," Sam said, his tone final.
Dean just downed the rest of his beer. Arguing with Sam when he was like this was going to get him nowhere, anyway.
(A/N): So, first chapter of the sequel to Not All Monsters Are Legends. This is going to be a somewhat more humour-heavy fic than NaMaL was, as you might be able to tell. This time around, nobody's dying. Yet. (Haha, just kidding, because I actually have no idea what's going to happen past the next, like, two chapters so what am I doing even starting this without a concrete plan oh man I'm nine kinds of screwed and I deserve it for being stupid and not planning ahead.)
The title is a joke on the whole part where France used to have a Revolution every other week, basically. The French are never happy with their government. But then, is anyone? If you can't figure out the basics of the plot based solely on that information, then I just don't know what to tell you.
Reviews are wonderful! Not kidding, though, I need ideas for what the hell I'm going to do for this thing, otherwise you're not getting chapters just because there is no fleshed-out plot. *cries*