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The fourth time he wondered if his existence mattered, Percy was sixteen. It might've been the worst of his "episodes".
Percy was staring at the ceiling, laying in his cabin in the Argo II
Why did everyone see him as such a great hero? And why couldn't he be that hero? The campers at Camp Half-Blood looked up to him. His friends looked up to him. He didn't understand why. After all his failures, all his screwups. He expected backlash. He expected people to understand he wasn't as great as they thought him to be.
He felt a tug— not like one he would if the ocean were calling to him, no— a mental tug. One he had before he regained his memories. Now he understood what it meant. The last time it had happened he promised Annabeth he had just been panicking. He was panicking now, wasn't he?... The last time this had happened he had also promised Annabeth he wouldn't do it again. But nothing would happen if she didn't know. Percy would simply just use the sink water. He'd shuffle to the bathroom in the morning before any of the others woke up.
He pulled Riptide out of his pocket, his hand was shaking. At this point he couldn't tell if it was because his nerves were on the loose or because of anticipation. He breathed shakily, flicking the cap off his pen and watching as it transformed into his celestial bronze sword. It was one of the only metals that could harm monsters and gods. Luckily enough for him. . . He was a demigod which meant he could be hurt by just about any weapon. Hooray!
Percy fitted the hilt comfortably in his hand. It had always been the right size, the right heft ever since he first used it back when his math teacher, Ms Dodds, turned out to be a Fury sent to retrieve a helm— one he didn't possess— for the Lord of the Underworld, Hades. It always returned to his pocket, so he never had to worry about losing it. He had only seen it coated with red blood once before— when he sought to rid himself of the pain that infested his head and transfer it to physical pain. Pain he knew he could handle.
He turned it around in his palm for a moment— thinking back to what his mom had said to him six long years ago. He swallowed thickly, taking a breath. He was older now. Her words didn't apply any longer. He was different. He wasn't the same troubled kid she spoke to on the bathroom floor. He was still troubled, but far more than ever before. He wished to be back in her arms that night— before he ever found out what he was. He wished he never did. Maybe he would've been simply killed by a monster by then. Maybe he'd prefer that to now. He bit his lip, a pang of guilt settling over him. He hadn't seen his mom in months— the last words he had spoken to her were through a voicemail when he was in the middle of Alaska. He hadn't even heard her voice. She likely had no idea where he was. . .just that he was safe.
He bit his tongue, feeling a sob build up in his throat. He wished to see her. He wished to be wrapped in her arms again and to never leave. To eat her homemade blue cookies and watch scary movies. Maybe he'd get to invite Annabeth. Paul would be with them. They would sit there like a family. The thought seemed to finally break him; it sent him spiraling.
His hands shook and the sob finally passed by his lips. He bit down harder on his tongue, trying to hold them in as he stared down at his bare arms. His heart was beating heavily in his chest. He was glad they were in the air because he was sure the water would be able to feel his emotions. He pressed the sharp blade to his skin and he dragged it. He was slow, making sure he felt every sting. He pulled his sword away finally and he felt as his blood began to slowly drip down his arm. The pain was hot, much stronger than a normal blade.
Too little. His mind urged, and he breathed a little faster. He was quicker with the next slice. His mind began to swirl as his gaze zeroed in on his aching wrist.
Percy had been useless this entire trip and he had almost cost the lives of all his friends. He couldn't even fight sword to sword with someone. He needed to be there for them but what happened when he couldn't be? He didn't want to imagine what would go on. He could feel guilt swarm in his stomach. He couldn't help but think about camp, and all the people he had failed.
How was he supposed to be a hero if people kept dying?
He sliced, moving the sword down.
Why couldn't he just have a normal life?
Another slice.
Why couldn't he have a break? Why did he have to keep putting his own life and everyone around him every single year?
He choked suddenly, which rocked his body and shook his hands. Blood had coated his wrist and sword.
Not. Enough.
His mind whirred, and he could feel his feelings swirling into anger. Anger at everyone around him. Anger at his dad for leaving him. Anger at Gaia. Anger at the gods. His dad. Anger at Himself.
His chest heaved and he dug his sword at the end of his forearm and he sliced down towards his wrist. He could hear his own heartbeat in his ears as the blood rushed through them. Suddenly he was aware of the pain that burned throughout his arm, he was aware of the layer of skin he had sliced through and the blood that was rushing. He was aware of the flesh— bits and shades of shiny reds, pulsing in his arm— that was now visible in the cold air of his quarters. He almost puked. He stopped, and his skin hung from the top of his wrist. He bit his other hand and forced himself not to cry out in pain.
Bathroom.
He needed to get to the bathroom. To water.
He stood up, quickly, and he was immediately hit with a dizzy spell at his suddenly light headedness that sent him tumbling to the side. He gripped his skin— which was wet with blood— against his wound a little harder and he felt pain shoot throughout and he breathed, bracing himself against the wall, not without thudding against it first. He just hoped Frank was a heavy sleeper. His heart was beating faster and he was heavily aware of the blood he was losing and how he was staining his clothes, his sheets, just about everything. He was aware of how dizzy he was, how it felt as if the room was spinning. He swallowed hard and he pushed himself off the wall. He blinked, black spots dotting his vision. His hand began to slip off his arm and he swayed.
He grabbed desperately at one of the shelves in his room and he thanked the gods(and Leo) that the furniture was bolted to the walls. For once he was glad it was so dark, because he didn't wish to see how much blood he was coated with. He could feel his heart trying to pump more and more and it just kept flowing. Panting out breaths, his body was shaking hard and he could barely think properly. He leaned more against the shelf and he looked down at his arm and his eyes could barely focus on the pulsing flesh. Right. What was he- he swallowed, grabbing at his arm and pressing the skin down again. A small cry left his lips and he bit down trying to hold sound in. He didn't know why he wanted to be so quiet. But he did. His head was spinning. Bathroom. Why did he want to go to the bathroom? His eyes glanced down again and he stared at his arm. Water.
He pushed himself off the shelf and he shuffled to the door, he slumped against it and he slowly pulled his hands down so he could open it. It hurt to turn his wrist. It really fucking hurt. One he pulled his hand away he nudged the rest open with his elbows. He had to lean on the doorway just so he wouldn't fall over. His eyes focused on something in the middle of the hallway— it took him way too long to realize it was someone. Someone who had been just about to knock. He could really only hear his heartbeat but he heard muffled words. Golden eyes stared at him with pure concern and he finally registered that it was Hazel. He mumbled something about going to the bathroom and he tried to push past her but he only ended up stumbling and falling. He didn't fall and hit the ground though. . . Someone, no— Hazel caught him. He could feel pain radiating through his arm. Water. He needed water. His head was pounding, his stomach swirled with nausea.
He tried to stand but his legs wobbled under his weight. He couldn't focus, everything was blurry and yet dark at the same time. Hazel said something. He realized she was speaking to him. He furrowed his expression and tried to read her lips but his vision was too clouded. He shook his head quietly, pushing off of her the best he could. He needed water. He looked around. Where was the bathroom again? Before he knew it he was falling again. . . Something caught him. He was up against something warm— big. He hadn't even realized he had been picked up until he was aware he was in the bathroom. The sound of water rushing filled his ears and he felt his stomach lurch. He scrambled, shoving his arm towards the water. The water poured across his wound and he felt a rush of relief. His vision began to clear and the skin began to close up. But the sink was stained with blood. A lot of it at that.
"Percy?.." A voice urged, Frank. He was holding him. With the water against his skin his head began to clear and he realized his situation. His eyes fluttered for a moment and he swallowed, gaze turning to focus on the big guy with hesitation. He felt like he needed to run but he could see Hazel in the corner of his eyes standing by the door and he really didn't want to cause any commotion that would wake up anyone else— especially Annabeth. His eyes darted and he could feel his chest tighten again. He tried to push out of Frank's arms. "Whoa-" Frank's voice softened. He seemed hesitant but he put Percy down on the ground again. Percy gripped the sink, finding every way to close in on himself without sitting down. His eyes flickered between his two friends.
"Percy, just breathe, okay?" Hazel helt a hand out in a comforting gesture. Percy didn't feel all that comforted. "It's okay. . .you're okay.." she spoke with an edge to her voice. Percy shuddered, he hated hearing that tone. "What happened? Can you tell us what happened?" She asked softly. Percy froze up. They didn't know what happened. They probably hadn't seen Riptide— covered in blood— discarded on his bed. They probably hadn't seen the cuts along his skin because he had almost sliced the part of the skin off anyways. All that remained as evidence was the blood— which could easily be brushed off as an attack. Still, he couldn't find it in him to lie.
"I happened," his breath was taut, and his hands shook. Silence filled the room and Percy could feel it weighing on his shoulders. A hand rested on his shoulder, he flinched but made no attempt to move away.
"Percy-" Frank cut himself off— clearly conflicted on what to say, "You-"
"Cut yourself?" Hazel's voice cut in as if the answer had just dawned on her. Her tone was filled with concern and shock. Percy wished he had just stayed in his room and bled out instead. He weakly nodded, avoiding eye contact from either of them.
"It's okay," he managed to mumble, "I was going to wash it anyway. The water would've healed me— it did heal me. Really, guys, it's not a big deal. I- y'know we should go to sleep. Coach wouldn't want us sneaking around at night, curfew and all," he started speaking quickly and he swore he could feel tears burning in his eyes. But he was fine. Everything was fine. Hazel and Frank exchanged a glance— both of them frowning.
"I think talking to Coach is actually a good idea," Hazel spoke quietly, her eyes soft, "you need to talk to someone-"
"I'm fine!" Percy blurted out, shaking his head. He didn't need to talk to anyone. He didn't need Coach Hedge finding out about this. He didn't need anyone else finding out about this. He wanted to curl up and sob. No one was supposed to find out. He was supposed to get to the water in time. He couldn't even properly hide what he was doing.
"Percy, breathe. You need to breathe," Frank's voice was light but it was calming. It wasn't like Piper's Charmspeak— like magic— it was a comforting tone. One that he listened to. He took one deep inhale and let out a shuddering exhale. The hand on his shoulder tightened. "Maybe coach isn't the best option, but we need to have a talk about this. With the crew," Percy shrunk. If Annabeth found out...
"Please..I'm okay. I swear. Annabeth can't find out-" it hurt to say so he never wanted to keep anything from her, "I told her I wouldn't-" he bit his tongue. He might as well have done it right in front of Hazel and Frank because they could easily put together he meant he had done it before. That this was a reoccurring event.
"Percy," Hazel's voice was more direct than Frank's, it was stern. He felt as if he were getting scolded. "This isn't a question, you need help," Percy hated the sentence. He needed help. He'd needed help his entire life and he never got anything. "Annabeth is your girlfriend, she's going to find out sooner or later. Wouldn't you rather tell her yourself?" Hazel's voice drifted to something more kind but they still held the same weight. Percy looked down, hesitant. He held tighter onto the sink and sighed.
"Just Annabeth," he mumbled. Then he looked up at the hesitant faces of his friends, "please..just Annabeth..." He pleaded a little harder. This time, they listened.
They exchanged a glance and through that glance they seemed to speak sentences because Hazel left a moment after. Frank wrapped an arm around him and this time Percy didn't flinch at the sudden touch. He was guided down onto the floor and he leaned against the cabinet. How Leo managed to build an entire functional bathroom in the ship— he had no idea. Percy stared down at his pajamas, frowning. They were covered in blood. His own blood. He looked as if he had just murdered somebody, and not an evil monster or a god. A mortal, or even one of his own— a demigod. The thought made him grimace.
He didn't know how long they sat there. It felt like hours had passed but Percy supposed, in reality, it was probably only a few minutes before Hazel came back to the bathroom— with a very worried Annabeth trailing behind her. Percy couldn't meet her eyes. He didn't know what Hazel had told her— but she didn't look angry, so he assumed she didn't tell her everything.
"Percy! You're covered in- gods. . .that's a lot of blood.." Annabeth muttered, eyes wide. She got down on her knees in front of him, looking over him for injuries. Of course, there were none. They had washed away in the water. He hoped the water had cleaned the blood in the sink by the time Frank had shut it off. "What happened?.." She looked between Hazel and Frank and then at Percy. She grabbed his face and turned to look at her. His head spun with panic and he attempted to look away, but Annabeth's eyes were so filled with worry...and he couldn't make himself. He saw a sudden look of recognition cloud over her eyes. She must've seen the way he was avoiding her— or the way his eyes seemed to be filled with tears despite never usually letting himself get so vulnerable in front of others. "...Percy-"
"I'm sorry-" he croaked, looking down as he tried to blink away tears, "I needed to. It was- I.." he couldn't form an explanation. He wanted so badly to make something up so that Annabeth wouldn't be as mad at him, but he couldn't. His brain was too fuzzy, his mind was reeling. He just wanted to get out of this situation. He wanted to sleep on his bed— preferably without the blood stains— and he would take whatever nightmare decided to plague his head that night. Instead he was sitting in the bathroom with Annabeth sitting in front of him with all the knowledge of what he had done to himself. Instead of speaking, Annabeth wrapped her arms around Percy and held onto him. He choked on a sob, leaning into her. He hated being vulnerable. He hated showing this side of himself to others. It wasn't like he hadn't broken down Infront of Annabeth, Hazel, and Frank before. It still hurt.
"Percy...just because you can heal yourself doesn't make it okay. You need to find another way to get rid of these feeling that you're having," Annabeth's voice was soft and caring. She wasn't angry. Why wasn't she angry? He wondered why she hadn't brought up the promise either. Percy bit his tongue— staying quiet for a while longer. Annabeth only spoke up again instead of waiting for a reply, "why..why was there so much blood?" Percy tensed, but then he sighed.
"I tried to slice my skin off," he whispered, staring off in the distance, "I was so angry and I wasn't paying attention. And..I just sliced," he breathed out like he had been holding the truth in for so long. "My skin was falling off," he said even quieter. He felt Annabeth tense against him and he knew he had made a mistake by telling her. He avoided eye contact with Hazel and Frank, debating just pulling away. After a while, Annabeth spoke again.
"Percy..we're going to talk. You're going to tell me what's been on your mind— whatever caused you to do this. Please." She spoke with certainty. As if it was a command, not a suggestion. Even if her voice seemed to shake a little with emotion. He swallowed and nodded, leaning into her.
"Okay," he mumbled. He didn't know if he could express everything. Not now. He leaned his forehead against Annabeth's shoulder, "can. . .can we sleep first?" He whispered. He was exhausted, his bones were heavy and he didn't know how long he could stay awake. He didn't want to be alone, though, he didn't trust himself.
"Do you want to come to my room?" Annabeth hummed, as if she could read his mind. She said it as if there was no other choice, however. He nodded and as Annabeth pulled away, she helped him stand. She looked towards Hazel and Frank, "thank you..I'll keep an eye on him. You two should sleep before coach finds out," she advised and the two left for their quarters. Annabeth laced her arm around his waist, pulling him close, "I got you..I'm here to listen," she said softly, kissing his cheek before she led him out of the bathroom.
First, Annabeth brought him down to the laundry room so they could grab him a clean shirt since the one he was currently wearing was covered in blood. It wasn't one of his favorite shirts, a little uncomfortable, but he had other things to worry about at the moment. He could deal with it. He tugged his bloody shirt off and tossed it into the dirty laundry— then he pulled the new shirt over his head and leaned his head against Annabeth's shoulder. She guided him back to her quarters.
They settled in Annabeth's room eventually. It was quiet, but it was nice. Percy found himself leaning closer to Annabeth, leaning his head against her shoulder again and just trying to wish away his thoughts. Annabeth's hand brushed through his curls in a comforting gesture and he let out a sigh. She always knew how to get his mind away from his thoughts. He tried not to think about what he had done— the mess that was likely all over his room. The mess he'd have to clean. All that blood. He swallowed thickly, his eyes drifting towards his arm which was scarred. He grimaced. Even water couldn't remove marks such as that. He wanted to laugh— just as much as he wanted to cry. He would always be reminded of the mistake he had made. How he broke Annabeth's trust. What a boyfriend he was.
"It's okay, Percy. What's not okay is that you didn't come and tell anyone you were having these thoughts. You resorted to something you knew was harmful to yourself," Annabeth whispered, rubbing the back of his neck slowly. Percy could stay there all night. His eyes softened and he stared off into the darkness.
"It feels exhilarating," he admitted, choking on his own words as he realized what he was saying. It was true. One hundred percent true. But he still couldn't believe himself. His mouth felt dry and he felt ashamed for even speaking because he could feel Annabeth tense.
"You could die, Percy," Annabeth whispered. Let me, His head urged. However, he didn't vocalize his thoughts. He just took a breath, moving closer to her. He knew he wouldn't be able to fall asleep and he was sure Annabeth wouldn't let herself.
"I don't want to," he mumbled, "if that's what you think," he continued. He knew that the thought had crossed his mind a few times but the actual idea of dying terrified him. It had for so long, ever since he was a kid. He had grown used to it— the near death experiences— but it didn't make the fear disappear. It just made it easier to hide. "I want to live. . ." He hesitated, "and I want to be happy," he wondered, for a moment, if he deserved happiness. Then he thought about all the shit that had happened to him. All the times he almost died. All the friends he lost. All the fights he fought. All the abuse and bullying he faced. He grimaced. Was it even possible?
"You think there's no way for those two to coexist?" Annabeth guessed. Her hand had moved under his shirt to rest against the small of his back. Usually he would flinch away and protect the spot from others, even if his Achilles Curse was gone, but he never pulled away when Annabeth touched it. He sighed, avoiding eye contact. She knew how to calm his nerves too easily.
“I don't see a way they can,” he nodded slowly, pressing his head further against her. Her fingers brushed gently against his skin and he felt like he could fall asleep for the first time that night. His thoughts prevented it though. “Every time I think I finally have the chance of being happy, something happens. After the battle…I believed we could finally settle down and be okay,” he laughed dryly, shaking his head, “I should've seen all of this coming,” he mumbled, “I’ll never get a break. I’ll never be truly happy,” he whispered. The room was silent for a while. Percy focused on Annabeth's fingers tracing shapes on his skin. The motion was comforting and it kept him grounded.
“Tell me about how you see our future,” Annabeth finally hummed, “how you want our future to be,” she brought her other hand to brush through his messy hair again and he found himself leaning into it.
“I want us to go to New Rome University. I want to study there with you, I want to graduate and be able to live in a city that will protect us,” he let out a soft breath as a smile barely touched his lips, “I want to grow old with you, to marry you, to have a family,” he blushed at the thought of marrying Annabeth. He wondered how she'd look in a wedding dress. Magnificent. He knew for sure. He wondered how their metaphorical kids would look. If they would have Annabeth's beautiful grey eyes or her smarts. He thought about the small moments, cooking together, studying for college, taking walks on the beach together. “I want to spend my life with you,” he mumbled, pulling back and staring at Annabeth. He realized he was crying when he saw how blurry she was. Annabeth leaned forward and kissed the tears that touched his cheeks, her lips were soft.
“Our future will be whatever we make it,” Annabeth spoke as if it were a promise. She cupped his cheek, staring into his eyes with her stormy grey ones, “You will find happiness. I’ll make sure you can,” she whispered before she leaned close and kissed his lips. He closed his eyes and melted into the kiss. It was salty, stained by his tears but he didn't mind, nor did Annabeth. After a while, they broke. Annabeth kept her hand resting on his cheek and she pressed her forehead against his. “We're going to talk tomorrow, okay? Because I know that's not the only thing that's affecting you. I'm not going to force you to talk about it now, but tomorrow I need you to tell me how you feel. If you keep bottling it up, you’re going to spiral again and…” she trailed off for a moment, “I can't stand to see you like that,” she finished. Percy immediately felt a guilty feeling swirl in his stomach. He nodded slowly.
“I promise,” he sighed, “I promise I'll talk to you tomorrow,” he stared into her eyes as he spoke. He didn't want to, but he had to. He had to because if he didn't he would never get better. He would never be happy.