Work Text:
“Leo? Are you still with us?”
“What?” He blinked himself back to reality, “Oh. Yeah, sorry! I was just thinking about how much work I have to do!!”
Piper frowned, “What could you possibly be working on now?”
“Well, I’ve got to fix up a few pieces of Will’s medical equipment because he asked and then I am making Frank a birthday gift,” Leo shrugged, thankful that his shoulder complied in loosening instead of remaining taut against his body.
Jason’s eyes widened, “Oh man, that's next week, isn’t it? Him and the others won’t be back from New Rome for another few days, right?”
Leo nodded, “Yeah, Sunday.”
“I haven’t got him anything yet either, Jace,” Piper said, bumping her friend’s shoulder, “we could go into the city tomorrow, if you’d like?”
Jason grinned, “That’d be great. Do you have any ideas on what to get? I’d go in on a present with you.”
She took a few moments to consider the question, “He’s been getting into embroidering, right? Maybe some fabrics and thread. Oh! And Annie could teach him– that’s like the Athena cabin’s thing..?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen her embroider, I thought that they were weavers. We could ask, though,” Jason answered, his gaze drifting to the water where Annabeth and Percy looked to be wrestling.
“We can ask,” Piper said, and then suddenly seemed to remember that there was a third person with them, “Leo, do you want to come with us tomorrow?”
“No, I’ll be good at camp,” He replied with an easy smile, “I’m not really a fan of New York, it’s way too crowded.”
Jason nodded his head rapidly, “I agree. I wish we could go to the stores in New Rome, it would be so much easier.”
“This summer we will,” Piper nudged him again. “Just you wait.”
Leo’s brow furrowed, “What do you mean this summer? We’re not going to New Rome until Christmas.”
“I thought we told you,” Jason hummed, “Piper and I are going to be at Camp Jupiter for August. I’m helping design places of worship for the lesser known gods.”
“No, I knew that,” Leo said, his hand moving to pick at the skin on his lip, “but August? I thought you were just… sending over blueprints or something.”
“I wanted a more hands on approach,” He smiled brightly, “Annabeth and Percy are coming too, I think, to orient themselves with the University campus.”
Leo’s heart sank. Everyone was gone for a whole month. They were leaving and none of them had thought to tell him. He was going to be alone for so long, holed up in the bunker probably working on projects that they sent his way, “That’s… great! I’m so happy for you guys. Just don’t miss me too much, yeah?”
“What are we talking about?” Annabeth asked, taking her beach towel and squeezing water out of her hair. Percy stood beside her, looking at his girlfriend with something that could only be described as pure joy.
“Our trip to New Rome,” Piper said, “are you–”
“I think I have to go!” Leo announced suddenly, rising to his feet before anyone could answer, “I just remembered that Chiron asked to see me.”
“Oh, too bad. See you around, Leo!” Percy said, the others chiming in with their farewells. Leo hardly heard them. He needed to get away.
He walked calmly to the cabin area until he was sure he was out of view, and then turned and sprinted to his bunker. His lungs ached as he ran, he didn't care. He wanted to feel something other than this crushing hurt that he couldn’t seem to shake. He was going to be alone at Camp Half Blood for a month.
Leo slammed the door to the bunker as hard as he could once he was inside, bracing his shaking body onto his knees when he doubled over. How could he be so stupid? He didn’t own his friends, they were allowed to do whatever they pleased, truly. Honestly, it was his fault that he hadn’t learnt of it sooner. Maybe if he hadn’t been distancing himself as much as possible they would've thought to tell him sooner. He would figure out how to spend his summer by himself. It wouldn’t really be that bad, he was only going to be alone for a whole month with nobody that would want to see him.
Oh gods.
Tears brimmed Leo’s eyes and he was too tired to force them back. They poured onto the concrete floor beneath him, leaving dark splotches parallel to where his eyes were. Leo couldn’t do anything but stand there. He felt like an idiot. Seriously, how had he let himself become so pathetic? He had spent long periods of time alone before he had friends, this wasn’t any different. Leo tried to neglect the follow up to that thought, that those periods of time where he was alone had resulted in a detrimental affect to his physical health.
It wouldn’t be that different from now, too. He really only spoke to Jason, if he thought about it. He had been putting distance between himself and the rest of them for a while now. It was for the better, no one should have to put up with such an annoying, whiny little baby. This would just ensure that he couldn’t go crawling back to them when he thought that he wasn’t as bad as he was.
Maybe it would finally let Jason realize that Leo had been holding him back. The guy was destined for so much that Leo knew he couldn’t be a part of. And him? He was probably going to be stuck in limbo for the rest of his life, if not dead. Why did he even bother to stay anymore? All he did was push people away and – if unsuccessful – hurt them. Truly, there wasn’t a single redeeming quality about him. It would probably be better if he made sure that no one could have the utter misfortune of interacting with him. If he killed himself.
Leo’s crying seemed to be put on pause at the idea, which felt a little backwards. He should be even more upset at the thought of dying, no? But he didn’t feel like that at all; if anything the idea provided him with a sense of peace that he couldn’t remember feeling since he had been with his mother.
He could kill himself.
No one would be able to do anything about it, not that they’d step in to help. Leo could kill himself right here in the bunker and never again have to submit his friends to the torture that was his presence. They would be sad at first, maybe. He was sure it wouldn’t take long for them to get over it, though. In the end, they all seemed to like each other more than they liked him. The process of filling a Leo sized hole would be so easy, so simple. He couldn’t refuse an offer like that.
Leo took a few seconds to catch his breath. He couldn’t do it now, not with the risk of people finding him before it was over. It would have to be tonight, when no one was awake to disrupt. He went over to his work bench, pushing away the wooden carving that he had been working on for Frank’s birthday. Leo pulled out an empty notebook and his favourite pen.
His friends probably wouldn't even read a goodbye letter from him. They would laugh at it, feel glad that their time with him was over, and maybe toss it into the fire if they felt really vindictive. He would still write them, though, even if it is only to give them the proof that he was gone. That he wasn’t coming back.
Leo brandished his pen and began writing.
To Jason,
Do not blame yourself.
I wouldn’t ever expect you to know how much I’ve been struggling, so please don't blame yourself. It would hurt me more than this ever will. I pushed you away as much as everyone else. No one should have to deal with my own problems except for myself. Which is why I have to do this.
I don’t expect you to care much. And if you do I don’t think it will be for long. You’ll move on, like everyone else will. I won’t blame you either. It’s human nature to forget, even if you don’t think you will.
You are meant to do great things. It just can’t be with me.
He wanted to write more, he really did, but his hands started shaking and he started tearing up again and he couldn't breath and so he signed his name and flipped the page. He wrote five more, one for each of his friends. Then he pushed his book to the side of his desk and stood up, wiping his tears from his eyes and hoping his face wasn’t puffy.
He'd have to make appearances for dinner, otherwise someone might decide to check up on him. One more meal, and then he could be free.
Leo Valdez was going to die.
It was embedded deep in the stars, etched in the words of a prophecy, decided long before he came to be. His parents had assisted in his cheating death, and it was coming back for retribution. Simple cause and effect.
And that was that.
Leo Valdez was going to die.
He had come to this conclusion once he was back in Bunker Nine. Bleeding out on the bathroom floor can do that to a person, he supposed. Not that he had done anything to stop his unfortunate situation. In an odd way, Leo hadn’t seemed to process that he was actually going to kill himself. It felt as if the actions that he took to ensure death wouldn’t actually have the result of dying.
He had been carving the birthday gift, trying to perfect the wooden version of the Argo II’s crew for Frank. Sure, he had never been a woodworker, but his hands itched to get a hold of a new medium. And he didn't really know Frank outside of their trip together– where he spent as much time as he could avoiding the guy. He wanted to get it done before he followed through, maybe then he wouldn’t go out looking like a lousy friend
It helped that the wood was highly flammable. Anytime he got frustrated, his work went up into an orange ball of fire. He had restarted three times today.
Maybe it was insensitive to give Frank something so flammable, considering his life force was connected to a stick. Maybe it would serve as a reminder that Leo could kill him. Kill him like he did his mother. He was already a murderer once over, no wonder Frank hated his guts.
Suffice it to say that this late into the night, Leo had lost focus. It was only a matter of time, with his ADHD – battle reflexes, Chiron called it – messing up his attention span. The blade in his hand slipped, slicing open the pad of his index finger. He had dropped his art piece, cursing loudly as the pain hit him hard.
Dark, wet blood oozed out of the incision. It slowly, slowly, slowly ran down the side of his finger, dripping onto his workbench. He dropped the blade, using his other index finger to wipe up the small puddle of blood. It had yet to turn sticky, so it seeped into his finger print as if wanting to rejoin the veins and arteries within.
Leo eyes flicked back to the open wound, now rapidly dripping blood. He couldn’t fathom how such a small cut could run so deep and bleed so much.
When it came to what happened next, he hadn’t really been thinking.
One moment he was admiring his new piece of art – however gory it was – the next he was wondering how the rest of his arm would look, bloodied and raw and torn open for him to see. And then he just had to follow through on the idea. You would too, if you were him.
He picked up his carving knife once more, holding it to the underside of his forearm. The metallic look of the blade reflected his pale skin, a loud reminder of how little he’d been outside. Leo prepared himself, inhaling, exhaling, inhaling, exhaling. He pressed the blade down and dragged it across his arm.
The pain was immediate, searing as if he had one large papercut. Leo hissed, but he didn't look away. No, he had to see his results.
And oh, was it worth it. If the blood from his finger pooled quickly, then the cut to his arm was gushing. He watched as it flowed down the sides of his arm. If he thought back, he would swear that he almost heard the sound of blade serrating against skin.
It was intoxicating.
He had cut himself in the past, he had the scars to prove it, scattered down his thighs. But it had never affected him the way it was right now. Maybe it was because he had been sad the other times, unable to appreciate the pure ecstasy that came with a knife to his skin.
Leo wasted no time in doing it again, this time pushing down harder into his arm. He grinned in pleasure as he felt skin tear apart when it made contact with his knife. He was doing this. He was doing what no one else could have the courage too.
Because at the end of the day, he deserved this, right? He spent his whole life hurting others, and now he was hurting and it was vengeance for everyone that had the misfortune of meeting him.
And he cut.
Again. And again. And again. And again and again and again and again and again and
Dark dark red coated the length of his forearm when he came back to his senses. Leo’s hand shook violently, almost losing grip of his blade. He had half a mind to relocate to the bathroom before he continued. It would be much easier to wipe blood off of tiles.
He practically fell to the ground when he made it into the claustrophobic room. He was exhausted, but the kick of euphoria hadn't worn off. Leo turned to address his author arm, desperate to feel the cuts embedded deeper into his skin. He needed, needed, it.
Leo held the blade to his skin, though this time was different. He dug the knife into his skin, pushing down with all of the pressure his body would allow, and then he dragged.
It was hurt and it was euphoric and it was grief all at once. Leo cried out before repeating the process. He cut and cut and cut until his other arm was just as covered.
Which brought him here.
Bleeding out on the floor of Bunker 9.
It wasn’t ideal, Leo thought. He had snuck into the medical supply and stocked up on pills before he rushed to the bunker. It probably would’ve been much less painful than what he had just done. In a way, though, his cause of death did fit. He would die alone and tattered. It wasn’t a hard assumption to make. All he brought to other people was annoyance. Leo was so, so selfless, and yet he always went about it in the wrong way. Putting others first only worked when they actually wanted you there. And they didn't, and that was okay.
He just wished he knew how to back away, instead of prodding his way into his friends’ lives. So much of his time was put towards them, and he knew it was unwanted but he just couldn’t bring himself to stop. At least now they were going to get what they wanted.
Leo had tried to kill himself once before now. He had lost count of how many foster homes he’d been in at that point, but he distinctly remembers the night he attempted. He saved up his medication for 17 days, stowing pills away into a small plastic baggie he hid in his mattress. 17 days of pills he swallowed that night.
He had only been beginning to feel the effects when his foster mother came downstairs. Linda, a prudish old lady who needed the check that came with homing him for blunts. She took one look at Leo and knew right away. To this day, he hadn’t been sure what gave it away. He actually had felt quite composed at the time, if you’d believe it.
Dialling 911, she had asked how long ago it's been since he’d taken them. And then, without waiting for an answer to her question, said something else.
Leo could see it clearly, the details imprinted into the folds of his brain.
She had pursed her lips, looking him up and town, and said, “You are selfish, boy. You are lucky that anyone can stand to be around you.”
He had been rushed to the hospital shortly after and got his stomach pumped. Those words have stuck with him, though. Selfish, he thought to himself. After everything that had happened over these past few years, would that word still apply?
Even now, he allowed himself to bleed out on the bathroom floor because he was selfless. A last love letter to those around him, he supposed. They could be happy now. He had to accept that their futures didn’t involve him.
He wished that he didn't try to cheat death. It would've been so much easier to die then than now. No loose ends. The prophecy of seven would go back to how it meant to be in the beginning, without him.
Leo was growing woozy now. He was sure that there wasn't much time left before he died. He wondered what his funeral would look like. Camp Half-Blood held short ceremonies for fallen soldiers–which should not be how they refer to dead teenagers–but what would they do for someone who was too pathetic to continue living? Would they even consider a funeral?
His body wouldn’t even be found for days. He had made sure to leave the impression that he was about to be sick for the next few days. They would probably think it was contagious and do their best to avoid him until it was over. It would never be over.
In his dazed state, Leo laughed to himself. He should start a list of all the ways people avoid him. Directly or indirectly, it wouldn't matter. They seemed the same to him.
His eyes began to flutter shut. He didn’t fight it. There was no point, it was too late.
A tiny part of him held hope that he would end up in Elysium, though he knew that there was no chance. He wasn’t sure that he had accomplished any good deeds in his short lifetime. If he had, he might’ve been able to see his mother.
Finally, he allowed his consciousness to let go. He felt the dark pull of death. He’d read about dying before, spoken to patients in the medical building. They had all described death as a blinding light at the end of the tunnel. Leo had not understood this. The death surrounding him was inky, pitch black. All consuming and hungry.
Leo Valdez was going to die. And this was okay.
His breathing slowed, and he fell deeper,
deeper,
deeper.
“... –eo?”
“Leo!”
“Oh Jupiter…”
“...h-hang in there for me…”