Work Text:
Collections/Challenges: Whumptober, Day 14 (+ 25)
Prompt(s): “In the end, it’s worthwhile.” | Ignoring an Illness, “Have you earned your stripes?” | Lost Faith | Collision Course
Character(s): Jason, mentioned—Piper, Leo
Rating: General
Summary: Jason ponders his death in the days before, Mitski style.
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Jason didn’t want to die.
The prophecy kept repeating itself in his head, over and over. He kept thinking, hoping. Maybe he could get out of it?
But he knew he couldn’t. He knew there was no way to avoid it. One of them had to die, they had no choice.
He didn’t want it to be him, but he wouldn’t let it be Piper. Couldn’t let it be Piper. Not like Leo had when he sacrificed himself instead of Jason—he couldn’t go through that again.
(Maybe if he had died then instead of Leo, things would be different. Maybe if he had known what he was planning—his own personal forecast…)
He wondered briefly if she’d be sorry for what happened, if she’d care at all. Even if she did, he knew, that wouldn’t change anything. Her apologies, his apologies—they’d all be useless.
He glanced around his room, everything was where it should be. It wasn’t dirty—he made sure to sweep at least twice. Everything was tidy. Clean.
It would make everything easier, he knew—hoped they’d think of him kindly when they came for his things. He already packed the important stuff, put everything in boxes under his bed addressed to the person he wanted to have it.
His temples, books, the skateboard he never used. The mythomagic cards he’d been collecting. Everything.
He stood still in his room, the light off, shrouding him in darkness—and he couldn’t think. The prophecy kept repeating like a broken record. He felt like pray to a shark, bleeding, while the rabid animal circled his thoughts.
He looked over to his blueprints, the few he hadn’t put away yet. His dream didn’t feel freeing anymore—it felt heavy. A burden he didn’t understand when he took it on.
He thought he’d been careful, living peacefully, trying to please the gods.
He should’ve known it wasn’t enough.
(But in the end, it was all worthwhile, wasn’t it? He’s earned his stripes, hasn’t he?)
Even if he’d die, everyone else would live. Even if he wanted to claw open his chest, cry, scream until his voice was hoarse. He wouldn’t. He’d die knowing he did it with dignity.
(Even if the knowledge felt like a festering wound, killing him from the inside with every passing day. He ignored it—he had to.)
He thought about Piper, beautiful, kindhearted Piper. How she used to come over to visit on weekends. How she’d never leave before saying I love you; until Jason said it back.
(He always did.)
He loved her like the movies, a raw, all encompassing love he thought would last lifetimes.
Oh, how wrong he’d been.
He thought of every time she said those words. She’d look in his eyes, smiling softly, but Jason knew she wasn’t really looking at him.
(Jason didn’t mind. He’d never been loved before—he’d take anything he could get.)
Still, he knew that through his eyes, she was always looking at her own.
He looked over at his phone, paused on a random song from a random radio station. Music helped him, wrapped him up like a warm hug, comforted him when no one else could.
He looked at his dorm, bare, his posters all taken down and placed to the side. Every record, every band, every show he’d grown interested in, stripped from his walls without a second thought. He took it all down to make it easier for them.
He pressed play on the song. It was melancholic. The quiet musical tune filled the air and it seemed fitting.
He wondered if it was all worth it. Taking down his posters, packing up all his things—he knew he did it in good faith, trying to be thoughtful. He knew he should believe, most would tell him to believe—but he couldn’t find it in himself. He’d lost his faith the moment he knew he was going to die.
He was on a collision course. Unavoidable, undeniable, useless to try and prevent. No matter what he did the outcome would be the same. Piper would live, and he would die.
(Gods, he didn’t want to die.)
But he would. He’s sacrifice himself for the girl who never really loved him, and he was perfectly okay with that. Even if she didn’t love him, he still loved her.
He’d thought about his death before, of dying like a hero. He foolishly hoped he’d die clean and pretty. But really, what chance did he have? They were demigods, nothing was ever clean or pretty.
(At least out on the ocean they won’t have to deal with his blood.)
He wished he didn’t know. Wished he’d never heard that prophecy. Didn’t want to know what was to come. He held back from begging, but sometimes, that’s all he wanted to do. Beg for his life—his freedom.
He screamed sometimes, silently. He wouldn’t let a sound escape but he couldn’t keep this pain hidden away.
(Still, it was useless, he couldn’t change it no matter what he did.)
At least there wouldn’t be a mess. At least everything was easier for them.
He was relieved that he left his room tidy.
Goodbye.