Notes: This is my first fanfic, so please feel free to respectfully comment any advice you may have. I'd love to hear what you think about the story. Enjoy!
Chapter 1: Falling
Summary: Percy dreams of Tartarus and wakes up only to indulge in his newfound vices.
Notes: Song Inspiration: "Riptide" by Grandson
PLEASE NOTE this chapter contains detailed descriptions of panic attacks, depersonalization, and self-harm.
Percy
Falling. Falling. Falling. Splash.
The River Cocytus rose all around him, surrounding Percy. Although the sea never bothered him, these icy waters seemed to pierce his skin. He looked around, searching for Annabeth. He tried to swim to the surface, but instead of lifting him like it usually did, the water weighed him down. He forced himself to breathe, and it was as if he'd inhaled the very tears of the souls in the Fields of Punishment. Pure sorrow.
Visions flashed around him. Whether they were in the water, or his mind, Percy didn't know the difference. He was 12 again—no, younger—surrounded by kids who hated him and teachers just waiting for him to be expelled. Sitting alone. Coming home to Smelly Gabe and his drinking. Losing his mom. Finding a home at Camp Half-Blood only for Luke who had welcomed him like an older brother to betray him. Losing Bianca, failing Nico, seeing Zoe fade into the stars.
Percy hung there, in the water, watching the Andromeda explode like it was the first time. Realizing Beckendorf didn't make it. Remembering Michael Yew getting swept away by the river. Knowing what Luke meant to Annabeth and not being able to save him. Ethan Nakamura on Olympus. Then falling, falling, falling. It was fitting that he would find himself here. I deserve this. For all the demigods he'd fought. And the ones he'd killed.
It was too much. It was all too much. They called him a hero. The Cocytus whispered cold truths: You are nothing, Perseus Jackson. You failed them.
Percy woke to find tears streaming down his face. As memories of his nightmare seeped into reality, he started to lose himself. He cried, struggling to breathe. He was drowning all over again. He threw off the covers and collapsed onto the floor. Stop! Please, stop. It was useless.
The River's words echoed in his mind. You are nothing, Perseus Jackson. I am nothing, he thought to himself. I just want this to end.
Memories of his other nightmares flashed in his mind. Sometimes he would dream of when Hera sent him to Camp Jupiter without his memories of where, or even who he was. Or the monsters he and Annabeth had faced in Tartarus. The river of fire. At the thought of Tartarus, he seemed to leave his body.
He looked down at his legs. They felt foreign, like he was floating above them–outside of them. His breathing quickened. He focused on his hands. He held them together. Clasping, unclasping. Clasping, unclasping. He did this over and over again, trying to feel anything.
He instinctively reached for his nightstand, hoping to find something to calm him down, only to find a bottle, a pack of cigarettes, and a mini-ziplock bag. All empty. Since the nightmares had gotten worse, after the war with Gaea, he'd made sure to always have something on hand. But lately, he'd been so tired and distracted that he'd forgotten even that.
When that didn't work, he reached for Riptide. He tried to stop himself. Don't do this, a voice in his head said. But the racing heartbeat that pounded in his ears drowned it out. And with that, he slid the blade across his arm. He barely felt it. So he did it again. And again, until it hurt and the pain started bringing him back. His breathing and heartbeat slowly returned to normal. He felt calmer, although that was just from the blood loss.
Eventually, he realized what he'd done. A pool of blood had formed on the floor. Riptide's blade looked black with blood in the dim light. His arm—Oh, my gods. What have I done? No, no, no.
He quickly stood up. Another great idea! Only to sit right back down, this time on his bed. Blood loss and lack of sleep made him dizzy, and his vision started to fade. Riptide fell from his hand. He blinked away the darkness, focusing on the faint blue glow of the clock on his nightstand. 3:25 AM, it read.
He stumbled to his bathroom and caught himself on the doorframe. He threw off his blood-soaked clothes and hopped in the shower. Usually, the water would heal him, but this time he had no such luck. Thoughts of his father filled his mind. He must be so disappointed. Is that why I'm not healing? Does he not care about me anymore?
He rummaged below his sink, looking for gauze to wrap around his arm, which he found. Seeing as he wouldn't be going back to sleep anytime soon, he pulled on a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and a dark blue hoodie and stuffed the empty items from his nightstand in his pockets, along with some cash. That's when he saw the mess he'd made. A ball of water rose from the bathroom, which he used to clean Riptide and the floor. Weird, it's heavier than usual. He threw the floating water back in the shower, forgetting about the bloody clothes he'd left on the floor.
With Riptide at his side, he left the cabin and carefully made his way out of camp.