I Do Not Own Percy Jackson and The Olympians. Or Anything Else By Rick Riordan.
"Mommy, Mommy!" A six-year-old Percy Jackson giggled, his wild black hair sticking up in every direction as he pointed to the water excitedly. "I can see the sharks, Mommy!" Sally blinked, stunned, looking down into the water to only find nothing. Still, she offered her young son a smile, nodding her head. Percy's sea-green eyes lit up.
He felt as though the world was crashing around him in one big, treacherous wave. It was like he had lost his ability to breathe underwater, and was drowning as he was mercilessly thrown to the sharks. The sharks devoured his flesh—his mask of pure deception—and left only bones and organs. His bones were then spread and scattered by the restless tide, and they slowly crumbled into dust—his will and his extra layer of protection going with them. All his organs slowly rotted away, one by one, or were viciously eaten by the many animals that littered the ocean. Only one was left, his heart. And as his heart sunk to the bottom of the black sea he had drowned in, the pressure rose and smashed it.
How morbid. Percy smiled dryly. How ridiculously dark. He could only imagine the horrified look on his mother's face if he ever heard him thinking so brokenly.
It wasn't his fault for once, though. He had done the right thing. He knew he had. Percy had given up what the Olympians had wanted, yes, and that thing had been valuable to this war, yes, it was true. But he knew he was right. He had to be. When someone holds the people you love captive, it's hard not to give up everything you have. And all Percy had at the time was the weapon. He had handed it over, and he had got them back. Thank the gods.
The gods didn't thank him in return, though, and he doubted they ever would. They'd probably suspend him from his commanding rights; say he needed a break from the job. Not that he would protest. He'd just fight behind their backs anyway.
Be the hero no one ever saw.
His cred would drop in the army, yeah, but his body count would continue to rise. People would wonder who this new mystery savior was, while wishing he was their commander instead of Percy. He loved his demigod army, really, he did, but they were fickle beyond comprehension when it came to loyalty. It was almost as if they had a switch for it that was constantly flickering between 'on' and 'off'. Really, he didn't care if it stayed on 'off' permanently, as long as it meant he got to expect the fall. He could at least put out a hand to try to catch himself that way.
"You'd give up the world for your friends," he remembered Athena telling him once.
"No," he had disagreed, "I'd give up the world and more."
That hadn't changed, even now. His friends were dwindling, slowly losing faith in him and his judgment, and he didn't blame them. His plans were dangerous, suicidal, and he could never ask any of them to take a role in them. Maybe they thought Percy would, but he hadn't and didn't plan to. For once, Percy had an agenda, and there was no way he would allow them to get involved in it. Especially when the Olympians were so pissed at him.
Percy had seen this coming, so he couldn't say he was really surprised when Chiron had woken him up early in the morning to tell him to get dressed and take the Camp Van down to Olympus to meet the gods. He could only begin to imagine the rage on Zeus's face and the disappointment on his father's. Percy flinched. If anything could affect him, it would be disappointing his dad. Maybe it was that he used to strive for his approval, but the idea of harming his father in any way made him want to breakdown.
Though, Percy now found himself losing patience with all the hopeless bullshit that the gods had dished out, and he wanted nothing more than to scream at them until his throat went raw. How would they feel if the ones they loved were violently ripped away from them? How would they feel if their whole world had been savagely torn into pieces like it was only paper and then burned before their very eyes? What did they know about anything? Nothing! Not a thing!
Breathing ragged with unadulterated rage, the son of the sea-god slammed his fists against the wall of the elevator he was currently in, heart pumping faster and faster as it began to get nearer to Olympus. The whole elevator gave a great shudder, and for a second Percy thought the thing would stop before free-falling to the Earth. He could see the front page now: EIGHTEEN-YEAR-OLD PSYCHO CRASHES ELEVATOR INTO EMPIRE STATE BUILDING GROUND FLOOR. SUICIDE OR TERRORIST ATTACK?
I wouldn't put it passed myself to do the second option, Percy thought to himself grimly. With a shake of his head, he turned back to the elevator door. He figured it would open soon, and eventually he'd be forced to see the Olympians face-to-face. That had always been something Percy hadn't liked about Annabeth's design. It literally took two minutes to get to the throne room from the elevator. It didn't even give you enough time to bite your tongue before you walked in.
So, he found him doing exactly that, biting his tongue as the elevator let out an annoying "ding!" and the music he hadn't heard until just now—Free Fallin' by Tom Petty, go figure—stopped and the grey door slid open. Olympus was stunning, even more so than when he had first seen it. With magnificently carved columns in dashing silvers and startling golds and the salad bar crowded by minor gods and nymphs, Percy thought that it seemed oddly friendlier than the old Olympus, yet still refined enough that it shouted: Know your place!
Only Wise Girl could pull off something like this. He allowed a brief smirk to touch his lips, but it was gone as quickly as it came. A wide, humongous door covered in the Greek language stood in front of him, peculiarly intimating, despite it only being a door. Now that he thought about it, however, Percy knew this wasn't just any door; it was the entrance way to the throne room of the Olympians. The eighteen-year-old—almost nineteen—swallowed hard before pushing on the great door. A bright white light appeared through the cracks to show the illuminations of the other room.
Percy smiled as the doors swung open to reveal the Olympians in all their godly glory, his voice but a quiet whisper, "I can see the sharks, Mom."
This is an AU world, somewhat. The Second Giant War was lost and you can assume that some of The Seven died. Percy is now commander of the demigod armies, leading them against Gaea and her minions. If you want, even Kronos can be back. It's all up to you. Percy has recently given up an important item to the opposing side, in trade for his friends.
What Percy was trying to say in the second paragraph is that he was basically thrown to the wolves (Or the sharks, in this case) and he thinks that the Olympians are just going to chew him out for something he couldn't really control, therefore making him crack and tell them what he really thinks of them. With his façade gone, he's vulnerable, and little things slowly rub at him, and with that, his will crumbles. Everyone who believes he's done a wrong slowly rips him to pieces, leaving only his heart left. Then, a final blow (maybe one of his precious people blaming him) destroys the only thing he has left: his love.
It's really sappy, and Percy could just be overreacting and worrying too much, but I'm having this poetry unit in my English class and we've read some of Edgar Allan Poe's work. Hence the depressing aura this oneshot gives off in waves—heh, punny.
Well, that's it. Enjoy.
~Loyalty