Chapter Text
Percy learned to live his life on autopilot. He spent every waking hour making sure there was absolutely no possibility of thinking.
Here’s how a normal day on the Argo ll went:
First, he’d wake up. Instead of lying in bed and soaking in the last remnants of a dream, he jolted out of bed the moment he started to rise. He’d learned the hard way that the early moments in the morning were when he was most vulnerable to intrusive whisperings; they could seep in and poison his mind without him ever noticing. That led to a day full of pondering and reflecting: i.e. the worst day ever.
Once he was out of bed, and the room stopped swaying around him, he went into the bathroom. Percy avoided all eye contact with himself in the mirror and rushed to wash up. He let the cold water run over his shaking hands and soothe them, if only temporarily. He toweled off and changed into his clothes for the day.
At breakfast, he tried to be as upbeat and supportive as possible. He knew the others looked to him for guidance and advice, so he focused on sounding positive. His mask could never slip, lest they realize how despondent he felt and internalized it themselves. Leo’s incessant chatter usually bounced off of his jokes, and they started a banter that either annoyed or amused the rest of the crew.
At least nobody was calling him a failure or a disappointment. At least out loud.
During the day at some point, they were usually attacked by monsters. This was actually Percy’s favorite part of the day. He could unleash Riptide and blend with the sword, becoming one as they slashed and pummeled and twirled with a vicious accuracy. It was the only time of day when he could drop his front and release some pent-up fear. The slaughtering was never enough to ease the seemingly constant pressure that wrapped around his lungs, but at least it forced his mind off of other things. One should never fight while thinking.
Sometimes, sneaky little notions crept in anyway, whispering that he was a murderer, a horrible person, and that he would suffer and burn in Tartarus.
After that, the day blurred a little bit. Some days he would find himself sitting near the edge of the boat, right over the ocean, shocked to learn it had been hours since someone had last seen him. Other times he was in his room and lost track of time again, coming out only when the moon was high in the sky and the stars were twinkling softly. Usually, though, he was at the bow of the ship, steering the boat with full concentration and calming ridiculously aggressive waves for the rest of the day.
Lunch and dinner felt less important, and he only grabbed a meal when he remembered to. It was more crucial to plan their attack strategy and where they wanted to sail next, and to ensure the waters were clear. It was more crucial to not fail than to do trivial things like eat and socialize.
When the day was over in some way or another, Percy usually felt it with an incessant buzzing in his brain. It started off quiet, even unnoticeable in the morning, but by nine or ten pm it amplified to be unbearable. The loud noise sometimes pained him, giving him headaches or jolts in his mind, but usually Percy just felt out of it. He didn’t realize when people were talking to him. He couldn’t pay attention to any conversation or subject. Once his brain started buzzing, it was only a matter of time before objects and his vision started getting fuzzy too, and then his whole body would shake physically. He eventually learned to go back to his cabin before it got that bad, even if the others were still out talking or planning. It was too much.
As soon as he got into his room, exhausted and drained from the day, he collapsed into his bed, and his fatigued brain sent him straight into a deep, dreamless sleep.
If he was lucky. Recently, his tranquil sleep had been getting interrupted by disturbing dreams and memories. Once he woke up, he couldn't ever remember what they’d been about, but he could never shake the feeling of deep fear and pain.
And then, after catching his breath on his bed, Percy’s day would start again.
༄༄༄
One Tuesday, a group of evil, monstrous bird-like demons started divebombing the deck of the Argo ll. Percy jumped into action. He killed a good chunk of them by himself before the others came and helped out, but still, by the end everything was covered in feathers and golden dust. Percy managed to avoid getting clawed completely, but Jason and Frank weren’t so lucky. Jason sported a nasty scrape on his forearm, and Frank got clawed and pecked all over. Percy’d used Riptide and six years of experience to effortlessly dodge and swipe, so although he was left tired and aching, he wasn't actually hurt.
Because of that, he insisted he was fine to mop up the deck once again, while Frank and Jason went to wash off and get bandaged. Hazel and Leo helped him, or tried, but he knew he could cover the largest area with the most effectiveness given his powers. That was fine; he liked being helpful to the whole team. And their mindless chatter also distracted him and blended in with the constant swish-swish of the mop.
Still, once the floors were sparkling clean and the sun was setting, Percy was totally spent. His arm muscles burned, and his vision took on a slight blurriness that made it even harder to read and see. He wiped the sweat off his forehead with the bottom of his shirt. He’d long ago sent Leo and Hazel off to get dinner, insisting that he was fine by himself. It was true; he was probably the most productive when he worked alone, but a part of his heart was pinched by the fact that they didn’t insist on staying and helping. A bigger part scolded himself for feeling that way.
Percy leaned the mop against the wall and admired his hard work. It wouldn’t be long before another disaster wrecked the boat’s now-pristine condition. He put one arm against the railing and stood there for a moment, slowing his breathing. Despite only fighting one battle and just cleaning, his heart was racing like a rabbit's, and it was getting difficult to draw in a full breath. His vision spiraled.
Stop, he told himself. They can’t see you like this. Pull yourself together.
The waves crashed against the side of the boat. Someone screamed. A volcano exploded. Luke sacrificed himself. A seagull squawked, anchoring him back to reality.
Percy looked at the beady-eyed bird. It cocked its white feathery head, staring at him intently. Great. With his luck, this was a messenger for some god or goddess looking to give him more shit to deal with. Just as he was about to yell at it, it squawked again, flapped its wings, and flew away.
“Percy? Dinner!” Someone called his name from inside the dining hall.
“Yeah, coming,” he yelled back. He hoped the tremor in his voice didn’t carry. “Just finished cleaning the deck.”
༄༄༄
Dinner couldn’t pass fast enough. Percy tried to enjoy the time with his friends, he really did, but there was a constant pressure building on his head that made it pretty hard to focus on a conversation. He stared at the pasta in front of him and tried once again to fork it into a nice spiral, but he missed and scraped the edge of his plate.
“Really, Percy? You can kill a whole army of demons, but you can’t fork your spaghetti?” Leo called out from across the table.
Percy looked up. His face suddenly felt hot. “Hey, maneuvering pasta onto a fork is way harder than that,” he half joked.
Percy knew Leo was just poking fun, but he couldn’t help but feel like it had exposed a truth that even he didn’t want to realize. Percy was only good at fighting and killing; he was basically incompetent otherwise.
After that, he shut off his ears and tried to avoid having any more people talk to him. He knew they would just thank him for fighting those monsters or make fun of him or ask why he was being so weird, and he didn’t want to deal with any of it. Was that all they saw? Was that all he was? His ears rang and his vision blurred with each time his heart thumped another beat.
“...and then, we came out onto the deck, and it was totally covered in golden dust. There were, like, five birds left for us!”
Percy made the mistake of zoning back in and catching Frank’s recap of that afternoon. He hated the admiration in the boy’s voice, and the awe with which he described Percy’s fighting. No, he wanted to shake into Frank’s mind. Being a killer isn’t something to look up to. Murdering hundreds doesn’t make someone a hero. But his words just echoed around in his own head, and he saw the rest of the teens stare at him with respect.
The buzzing got worse.
“Good job, boy,” Coach Hedge grumbled. “We need strong, capable young demigods like you to lead us into the future. Well, you’re not as strong as me, but you’re second best.”
Percy’s head ached and he tried again to get a forkful of pasta.
༄༄༄
Once Percy got through the threshold of his room, all the tension that had been cooped up in his muscles immediately melted away. He leaned against his door with his full weight and slid down, too tired to even walk to his bed. Dinner had been a nightmare to endure, and he’d been wishing he could be sleeping the whole time. Listening to everyone applaud his strength and courage was bad enough to send him into a spiral, but something else made it feel like his brain was disconnected from his body. He couldn’t move his hands right or stop himself from shaking, the air felt thick, and his chest felt compressed.
Percy hung his head between his knees and tried to take a deep breath. His back pressed against the hard, heavy door. The wooden panels of the floor looked like they were playing jenga. He took his shaking hands and pressed them against his face. They felt weak and fragile.
Something was happening to him. Every part of his body tingled in almost pain, and he could no longer feel his fingers and toes. Was he having a heart attack? Percy whimpered softly in pain, and fear, and curled his hands into fists to press against his eyes. Images flashed lightning quick in his mind — his mother disappearing, the life leaving Zoe Nightshade’s eyes, Charles Beckendorf telling him to run, New York on fire, monsters and gods telling him he was doomed. Percy grunted and tried to force them out, but they kept coming. Horror after horror.
He furiously wiped tears from his cheeks and gasped for breath. Why couldn’t he breathe? He brought his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, making himself into a ball. If he could hide from the thoughts in his mind, compressed like this, he would, but there was no running from what he deserved. Percy knew he’d failed everyone before he even took this quest. So why had he gone? To prove himself wrong? To be a hero?
It was all a mistake. He didn’t deserve to be here and trick everyone into thinking he was a strong leader. He could barely keep it together for one day. Every night, he broke down in his room and his true weakness revealed itself. Percy was going to get all his friends killed, every single one of them, and he knew it. Fighting monsters and winning battles was all he was good at. His mind was broken. He was broken.
After what felt like a lifetime of torture, the visions faded. Percy realized he could take shallow breaths again. He stopped hyperventilating and opened his eyes.
The room spun around him. He looked down at his hands and was shocked to see small rivulets of blood running down from where he’d broken skin with his fingernails. His face was wet with tears and blood and sweat.
Now that the panic and fear had subsided, he felt a bone-crushing weariness settle in. Percy sank to his side on the floor and curled up in a ball right there, too drained to make it to his bed or to take a revitalizing shower. He knew the water would do him good, but the thought of walking — even crawling — all the way there was enough to put him to sleep.
A notion floated around his brain before he was dead to the world: a part of him didn’t want to go in the water and feel better. He didn’t deserve it.