Chapter Text
Percy should've declined Clarisse's challenge, but he thought that after weeks of therapy, he could handle some light sparring. The hot-headed daughter of Ares had asked him to duel with her in the training arena; the other counselors suspected she was picking a fight in a vain attempt to convince herself she was still on the same level as the boy who'd killed a Primordial. When Annabeth told him it was a bad idea, he'd gotten upset at her and accused her of underestimating his progress.
As usual, his brilliant girlfriend was right. Clarisse lost her cockiness the moment the fight started. Percy attacked her relentlessly, and she was barely able to block his swings. Even without using any powers, his sheer speed overwhelmed her. Not even two minutes passed before Riptide slashed deep cuts in the gaps of her armor. Seeing the crimson liquid dripping down her skin reminded him that he had an ability he wasn't utilizing, and he knew Clarisse didn't like it when her opponents held back on her. So he'd taken hold of her blood. His intention was to knock her down — thus making him the winner — but the feeling of her pulse within his grasp flipped a violent switch in his mind. By the time Annabeth's voice finally got through the red fog clouding his thoughts, Clarisse's collarbone was shattered.
All the spectators had looked at him like he was a monster. Underneath their horrified stares, he'd felt like one. The heavy shame that settled in his chest, however, wasn't enough to quench the thirst for violence that had been triggered by the incident. So he'd went to the monster bar. He tortured every patron, one by one, until he'd finally gotten the bloodlust out of his system. It didn't hit him until he shadow traveled into Cabin Three, black hoodie glowing with golden monster dust, that this was the first time since the final battle that he'd lost control like this. The days following his outburst were spent laying in bed, trying to stop the earthquakes caused by his jumbled emotions.
Now, four days after he'd given into his ruthless urges, he sat stiffly in Angie's office.
"Progress isn't linear, Percy. Relapses are an inevitable part of the healing process," Angie said patiently.
Percy recognized that she was trying to be encouraging; he was still pissed at himself though. It wouldn't have happened in the first place if he'd just told Clarisse that it was a bad idea for him to fight when he was still being treated for PTSD. Stupid, stupid brain, he admonished himself. All your progress is gone because you just had to prove a point to Annabeth. Through clenched teeth, he replied, "It might be part of the process for other people, but it shouldn't be for me. How am I supposed to keep Annabeth, the camp, my loved ones safe if I'm still broken inside? Any pieces you helped me glue back together are shattered again."
"You need to treat yourself with more compassion."
A lot of people told him that, but he didn't know how to. Before he relapsed, he'd finally started to give himself some slack. But after his outburst, Percy couldn't fathom ever being nice to himself again. He went for full honesty: "This moment of weakness proves that I'm not worthy of that."
"Relapse is not weakness. Would you call Annabeth weak if she had a day where she couldn't even look at the sea?"
"Of course not," he said without hesitation.
She raised an eyebrow, asking, "How is that any different from you losing control of your temper and powers?"
She had a point, although his self-loathing made it hard to accept. Through clenched teeth he admitted, "I guess it's not. But still, is there anything I can do to prevent another relapse from happening?"
"Is there anything you can think of to prevent another one?" She turned the question back at him, maybe as if to prove a point that there wasn't anything they could do to stop occasional setbacks.
Percy stood up to pace as he brainstormed. His first idea was to never fight again so he wouldn't trigger his Pit mindset, but he knew monster attacks were inevitable for demigods. Maybe he could wear bracelets that blocked his control over bodily fluids; he immediately shot that idea down since it would also block his ability to control regular water. In the Pit, his power upgrades had been the key to his survival and escape; up here in his world, they made it impossible for him to return to a human fighting style. After pacing one last lap around the room, he forced himself to sit back down and share his thoughts. "I think it would help if I went back to how I fought before the fall."
Angie nodded, writing something down in her notebook. "Pardon my on the nose comparison, but your power as I understand it is like a water hose. Before your time in the Pit, external water manipulation was the highest pressure the hose could reach. But now, your blood power is the strongest setting, and your old powers are a mere trickle in comparison. How do you plan to restrict a powerful flow to a mere sprinkle?"
The first thing that came to mind was to use brute force of will and simply not do it. He dashed that notion immediately — he had considered holding back when he was about to explode Porphyrion's eyeballs and then he'd done it anyway. No, it had to be forcefully trained out of him. Ah, bingo! "How about I fight in a controlled environment, with specialized powerblocking bracelets that only target my blood control to retrain my brain to fight without it? You'd be there to make sure I don't lose control."
"There's no such thing as power inhibitors that block one of your powers instead of all of them. Plus, who are you expecting to fight, monsters? Fighting demigods is out of the question until you prove you've retrained your brain. I'll figure out a way to make it happen if you really think it'll help, but be aware that there's a chance you or others could get hurt."
"I'll ask the Hecate Cabin if they can whip up some magic cuffs for me. I'll fight monsters until you clear me for people!" Percy was starting to get excited now that a way forward was within reach. "I'll fight demigods with only water and my sword and be normal again!"
A treacherous voice in his head sneered, Even in recovery, all you can do is fight. You will never be anything more than the Godkiller of Tartarus. He shook his head to make it go away. He would be more than that monster he'd been down there.
"Well, that being said, I will work something out and we can discuss it at our next session. Your homework for the week is to talk to Hecate's children about making you special power inhibitors. See you later, Percy."
"Thanks, Angie. See ya next week!"
Percy left her office, feeling a shred of hope now that plans were underway. Hopefully by the end of the month, his campmates would stop looking at him with fear. He would show them all that his time in the Pit hadn't pushed him so far that he couldn't come back.