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All credits to the original owner of this idea goes to: marzzz_1993
Nicky doesn’t hate Percy Jackson. Really they don’t hate the guy. They understand all that he’s done for camp. Understand the sacrifices he made for camp. Understand that he didn’t choose the way things happened; they just happened. The fates dealt him a really shitty hand. See? Nicky was capable of understanding why they shouldn’t hate Percy Jackson.
That didn’t stop them from punching their pillow at night, picturing Percy’s face. That didn’t stop them from throwing daggers at target practice, picturing Percy was there instead of the practice dummy. It doesn’t stop them from picking at their food hoping that maybe, just maybe Percy’s food tasted a bit spoiled today, a bit sour.
Nicky doesn’t hate Percy Jackson; but they kinda wished they did.
Maybe then it would be easier to explain why they wished so much bad misfortune could befall him. Maybe it would justify their excuses as to why they felt so strongly towards him. Maybe… just maybe they wouldn’t feel so bad for the way they felt towards him.
Because Percy Jackson was so dam nice, and so dam selfless, and so dam kind; and that made it so hard. It made them feel so cruel, so mean. And they hated it. Because Percy had done so much and had been given so little in return.
But Percy wasn’t the only one who had to fight in the wars. Percy wasn’t the only one who had a broken home. Percy wasn’t the only one who had a deadbeat dad. Percy wasn’t the only one who had to suffer. All anyone could ever talk about was how great Percy Jackson is. How strong Percy Jackson is…
But Percy isn’t the one who lost his siblings; is he? He didn’t have to watch as one by one his siblings got cut down by monsters and by people he once thought to be friends. He didn’t have to…to kill his own siblings. People he grew up with, he spent his life with. He didn’t know their names or their faces, or what their laughs sounded like. He didn’t know their hopes or their dreams or their aspirations. He didn’t know how they stayed up at night, waiting for the other shoe to drop, for their strings to be cut, for their fears to finally come true. He didn’t know them like Nicky knew them. He didn’t burn their pyres like Nicky had to. He didn’t have to sleep in a cabin that’s half empty. Sure, he may be the only person in his cabin, it may get lonely, but that’s how it’s always been for him. He didn’t have to adjust for others or get used to their sleeping habits. He doesn’t share a cabin. And he didn’t lose half of his cabin; once overflowing with kids fighting over who had to sleep on the floor.
Kids. Because that’s what they all were. That’s all they were ever going to be. Children. Forced to fight an immortal war. Immortals who didn’t even want to claim them in the first place. Immortals who didn’t want them. Yet they treated them like their soldiers. Bred them like an army. And now they were paying the price for immortals who never grew up. They were the lost children in the gods twisted Neverland.
Nicky doesn’t hate Percy Jackson. They hate the way that Percy is hailed as a hero; but they don’t hate Percy Jackson. They hate that Percy and his friends reaped the benefits of their casualties; but they didn’t hate Percy Jackson. They hate the way that their siblings were treated as casualties of war but they don’t hate Percy Jackson. They hate that their siblings were burned, to never be remembered more than a traitor but they don’t hate the camp.
Even though they were the one who stayed at the battlefield once the war was done. Even though they were the one who gathered the bodies and made the pyres for their siblings who were left behind because they’d been branded as ‘traitors’, as if the campers weren’t murderers for killing them too. Nicky doesn’t hate camp. Nicky doesn’t hate Percy Jackson. But maybe, just maybe they wished Percy wasn’t such a good guy. Wasn’t so loyal. Wasn’t so kind. Because that made it so dam hard.
Nicky knew. They knew that this feeling was probably misplaced. That these feelings should be directed towards the gods who bred them not the one suffering the consequences with them. But it was hard to hate something they couldn’t see. And Percy was right there. He was there, he was tangible, he was…he was real in the face of the unbelievable, and the mortal side of them latched onto that fact like a fish out of water.
Nicky…Nicky hated Percy. They didn’t think that would ever go away. No matter how much they willed it to. No matter how much they wished it would. It wouldn’t. It wasn’t. It won’t . No matter what they did. It would fester inside of them, eat them alive. So they did what they thought would be best. They ignored him. Not like it mattered if they did or didn’t. Percy didn’t know who they were anyway. It didn’t hurt him in any way. But it felt good. Like a small victory in a fight of loss. It was childish, mean, wrong, but it was all they could cling on to. And they would cling for the rest of their life.
Because it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair . Nicky would shout it from the rooftops, shout it in front of the gods if they could. Stop making us fight in your war. Stop breeding us as your soldiers. Stop giving us life if you want to take it away. We aren’t your Achilles, your Heracles, your Theseus. We aren’t your heroes, your champions. We weren’t born to be your tragedies . Nicky hated Percy, they hated the gods, they hated camp. But mostly?
They hated themself. If only they’d been faster. If only they’d been stronger. If only they’d been wiser. If only they’d been smarter. Maybe so many of them wouldn’t have died. Maybe they could have saved more people. Maybe it should’ve been them who had died. Maybe if they died someone else would have survived, someone kinder than them, more thankful than them. But no. Here Nicky was, standing tall in the strawberry fields soaking up the sun. And there their siblings were, ashes swimming in the lake. Their final resting place being the very thing that got them killed. How poetic. Even in death they couldn’t escape.
Nicky hoped that they would find something better in their next lives. That the gods would leave them be, that they could be born mortal, no memory of this wretched place. What mortal child wakes up wondering if they’ll die today? What mortal child wakes up hoping to hone their skills, to master their weapon so that maybe they’ll find a weak point in a monster before it finds the weak point in them? What mortal child wakes up counting their siblings? 19. 19 of them. What used to be at least 40 has been reduced to 19 and Nicky counts them everyday. No one else left behind. No one else dies before them. No one else feeling lonely. No more children. No more children. They would promise that…but a promise is nothing more than an egg waiting to break. And they fear that cementing it would only secure their downfall.
So yes, Nicky may be wrong for feeling this way. They may be wrong for acting this way. But Percy doesn’t have to. He will never understand this fear, this anger, this feeling. And he never will. Because he’s Percy freaking Jackson. Child of the prophecy. Champion of the gods. And Nicky was just Nicky. Not important, no real title to their name. Nicky was just Nicky. And they would remain that way until the day they died. And they would harbor these feelings until the day they died.
Nicky hated camp. Nicky hated the gods. But most of all? Nicky hated Percy Jackson.