He sat there, on his bed mulling over thoughts, his pen in hand.
Riptide… the pen that had been by his side every single day, from the time he fought his first monster. It took him through battles, armed him in wars and saved lives.
And it was going to do it again.
Save lives—many, many lives. Of the gods, the demigods, the mortals that knew him, even his girlfriend.
He couldn't stop himself from slipping off the edge.
He sat on his bed, in Cabin 3 alone in the darkness of the night. A single window let the dim light of the moon shine through.
Silence was thick across the camp.
He clutched the pen tightly while he continued to idly twirl it around. He flicked the cap and out sprung the gleaming Celestial Bronze blade.
He stared into it, seeing his haunted reflection. Broken, hollow green eyes looked back at him. Black bags hanged from underneath his eyes. His hair messier than normal. A small scar trailing across his cheek. Mouth in a straight line. Face expressionless.
This was the face of someone who was useless.
Someone who could not save lives and was at fault for several people who had died—Zoë, Bianca, Beckendorf…
Someone who caused problems everywhere he went, who couldn't fix anything he started.
Someone who was not good enough to live, unable to protect the ones he loved.
He didn't deserve to live, he had let so many people down. Every day, nightmares would tear at his sanity, hallucinations at what his mind perceived of reality and blackouts terrify his very soul.
What was he?
A lost, broken boy. Someone not worth saving. He was supposed to die a year ago.
His sea green eyes shut tightly, trying to stop the tears from coming out. He couldn't cry now.
It's all your fault…
He clenched the handle of his blade, and curled up.
You let so many people die…
A cry threatened to escape him…
Why are do you still live? You should be dead—you are always spared of death while others take your place…
A sob racked his throat.
No one would ever hear his cries, his pitiful wallows in the shadows of his cabin. No one could see how lost he was, unable to find his way through his own mind.
He was truly alone.
After the Giant War, everyone in the mythological world believed their hero came out unscathed other than a few cuts and injuries. Thanks to his forced smiles, positive words and happy attitude; it didn't take long for everything to be rebuilt and start to go back to usual.
Everyone was moving on, leaving him behind. They were healing—and they deserved it for everything they had done—while he couldn't even save a person, let alone the world.
He was deadweight. Everyone else did something amazing while he sat back, suffocating and growing in his own hell, plagued by depressing thoughts. Thoughts that were testing his sanity, his mind, his willpower.
Another sob let loose from the teenager's lips, and tears flowed freely from his eyes. Curled up in a ball, he rocked back and forth. The loyal sword clattered to the floor, as the boy only cradled himself.
Alone.
He remembered every time he had tried to help people.
He put up a strong attitude, smiling face and outgoing aura; and it worked, people fell for it. He didn't matter, only the people around him did. He couldn't let the people near him get hurt because of him.
Better to help before I go...
He remembered telling Piper how she was beautiful and not hideous nor fat, against the snarky insults she had heard. He held her while she cried, while she let out her bottled up emotions.
He remembered pushing the bullies away from his cousin, Nico Di Angelo. Telling them to never touch him again or there would be Hades. How his very words made his cousin smile, and not set himself in guilt.
He remembered arguing to Leo that he wasn't dead weight to the team. How he had created a flying ship only he could do, or even flew a fire-breathing dragon. Something only Leo could accomplish. That alone stopped the fire wielder from leaving camp for some alone time.
He remembered when Thalia went to his cabin one night to talk. And it led back to the sensitive topic of Luke. And in a second, Thalia's pent up feelings of anger, hatred and old love let loose. She couldn't hold it all in anymore; but all he had done was hold her close, like any family would do, and quietly listened to her and her sobs that wracked her body.
He remembered when Jason shared what was on his mind when he came back. He had felt guilty for leaving to catch up with the world, and had left both camps to Jason; but the green-eyed demigod sensed no resentment from the son of Jupiter. All his cousin did was talk about the pressure, how everyone relied on him and looked up to him as a leader, someone to follow. So he told him he shouldn't be holding it all, he should share the weight with him now that he was back.
Not like he was feeling the pressure of the world already…
He fell back onto the bed. Sprawled out and helplessly crying himself through the guilt, the pain, the hurt. He had never felt so alone.
He remembered when Hazel shared her worst fears, her insecurities with him once he caught her about to harm herself. He was livid as he got the knife and snapped it in half without breaking a sweat. And then all those feelings disappeared when he saw the frightened look in the daughter of Pluto's eyes. The fear. And so he told her—that everything will be okay, that everything will get better, and to always hope.
Hope.
Such a meaningless word. It was something to follow when you had nothing, lost everything and had something to look forward to—death. It was an illusion, hope didn't exist, you could not hope.
Another war would come back, and hit you harder than the previous. The nightmares wouldn't relent. People around you would keep on dying. Guilt would always continue eating at your mind.
Nothing ever went how you had hoped it would because you were at the Fates' mercy. Where they could make your life flourish in one second and as quickly destroy your entire life into ruins.
"Please…" the teenager whispered, heartbroken.
What did he even want anymore?
He remembered when Frank came to him that day, and asked why him. Why did he choose him? Why did he stay by his side of all people? All the legacy saw in himself was a weak leader, that couldn't even fight properly. And the answer was simple. He saw something in his friend, something that was one of a century and that was his devoted benevolence to the world; his loyalty to family and continued kindness, even if he had his ups and downs.
And then he remembered the final person.
Annabeth.
The one person he wished to be in his arms right now.
He couldn't count the amount of times he had left his sleep—or skipped it altogether—to caress his girlfriend's hair, and coax her back to sleep. To soothe her with false hope, and whisper that her dreams weren't real. That he was real in the flesh and blood.
And he was finally tired of it all.
The fighting, the helping, the guilt—the stupidity of it all.
Was it even worth the lives he had saved, the lives that had been lost, only to reach such an ending? Where the demigods are lost in the cycle of fighting and being torn down by deaths around them; while the gods sat high and mighty on their thrones on Olympus.
They were still as arrogant as ever. Problems still persisted with the minor gods. The gods hadn't changed, they were as cruel as they were thousands of years ago.
Was it worth it anymore?
Was it worth the lives of the campers who had sacrificed themselves for the gods, and those living suffering severe mental issues like PTSD?
It was too much. He had tried too much to keep his mind together. It was only so long before his sanity would crack and he would slip off the edge.
And that process was almost at its peak.
All he had ever wanted was a normal mortal life. If not that, a normal demigod life. Not to be thrown into wars.
Not watch as people he loved died, helpless to stop it.
Not feel the pressure of hundreds of people.
The guilt, the pain, the questions, the nightmares, it all plagued him and he could do nothing as it gnawed away at him.
And now, his end was near and he had accepted it.
The son of Poseidon sat up shakily on the edge of the bed. His sword was no longer on the floor and he took it out again from his pocket.
The moon was almost at its midpoint in the sky, ready to reach midnight, and signify the date of his birth.
All he wanted was someone right now, to show him they loved him. To show him they cared. To embrace him and promise him that they will never leave him. To tell him that everything will be okay.
Even if it was a lie...
Because he had never felt so isolated, so deep in his own mind, so far away from everyone.
So alone…
He just wanted someone to talk to him and sit by his side for once and put him to sleep. Be ready to listen to all of his problems and understand. Quietly hear what was going on in his mind and help him out of it.
Was it too much to ask for?
Too selfish?
Maybe it was. He didn't want to put the pressure on his friends' and family's shoulders; so instead of sharing the problem…
...he would remove it completely.
He looked through the window. The moon was almost there. He heard hushed whispers outside of his cabin and the shuffling of some feet. He imagined that it was only some midnight campers or the harpies.
He put the pen on his chest, the tip aimed at his heart.
He would have a swift death but embrace any punishment that was fit for him in the Underworld. His hands trembled, and he didn't want to leave his family.
But why stay?
He was doing nobody any good and he would soon become insane. He couldn't let his family see himself become that, he couldn't allow them to witness such a thing. He couldn't make them try and fix him—he was already too broken to be fixed.
No-one would be able to put together the broken pieces.
His body froze, and he flicked off the cap of his pen for the second time.
And in the next second, the whole world slowed down.
The inhabitant of Cabin 3 let out a silent gasp, still sat upright. His face showed no emotions as he embraced his death. His blade protruded from his back, blood trickling out.
Then the door opened, with a series of campers and demigods, and even mortals, swarming through. There were lights, cakes, smiles.
And then with each millisecond they were wiped off, and ruined.
The light from their saviour's eyes dimmed and became nonexistent. His final breath came out and his eyes lost all signs of life.
He had finally escaped the true torture of the world—life.
Everyone around him let out stunned gasps and were frozen in shock at what just happened.
Their leader, twice the Hero of Olympus, had done something no one ever thought he would do.
He had commit suicide.
His mother took a step forward, tears openly flowing out of her eyes. Her body trembled with every step and she fainted after one word, unable to comprehend it all.
"Percy."