Mom.
A ball of fire blasted into the night air, steaming against the all-encompassing coldness of being up so high.
Nico.
A scream was thrown to the wind, ripping from a throat so ready to let it out.
Dad.
More fire, burning the sky and threatening to burn up the entire ship.
Mom.
He wasn't even trying to keep quiet anymore.
Nico.
He was past the point of giving a damn if he woke everyone up; let them hear his pain, he thought selfishly.
Dad.
Maybe the sound was meant for his father, too.
Percy. Jason. Annabeth. Piper. Frank. Hazel.
Maybe the screaming was meant for them.
Maybe it wasn't meant for anyone. Maybe his cries to the wind and his fire to the stars was only for himself. He was tired of being the seventh wheel, the comic relief, the simple mechanic. Nemesis had said it best: he would always be alone.
How was that fair at all?
Simple answer: it wasn't.
Complex answer: still wasn't.
Complexity wasn't supposed to be for people. He couldn't figure people out, couldn't take them apart and fix them again at his leisure. Hell, he couldn't fix himself.
He wasn't a machine, he thought bitterly. He was a person who wanted desperately to be mechanic. He was a backwards Pinocchio.
Tears dripped down his cheeks as the bitter and lonely consumed him. He sank to his knees, and for once, wished he could burn.
He wished he could burn away his pain until his soul was all shiny new, pink skin that he could go over again.
The gods were cruel, though. They wouldn't let him burn, not until he was no longer needed. And if he died, well, he could do what he pleased. Dead heroes meant nothing.
His tears tasted salty as they got in his mouth. He leaned against the main mast and just...cried. He curled up against the mast and wept like a child.
But he wasn't allowed to be a child. He was only allowed to be the boy they all saw. This part of him, the one he never showed? He wasn't allowed to be like that. He was the big firebender, the confident little imp that never showed any true weak spot. That was his designated role.
Eventually his sorrowful thoughts and angry tears bled into numbness. There was nothing. He was done now. It was time to go back to his cabin and act like he was sleeping before waking up in the morning and playing his part to a T. It was a new day of pretending that he was alright and that nothing was wrong and that he wasn't slowly caving in on himself.
You wanna know something?
Leo Valdez was getting tired of pretending.