Warning: You have to read a previous story of mine (Blood(ied) Lines) to understand this ficlet. This is a direct 'sequel' to that story.

6. Self-Inflicted

The low hum of medical equipment permeated the relative silence of the university medical research center, lazily filtering through the halls, curling around the ankles of nurses and lab technicians as they worked in the fractured mid-evening sunlight. Dr. Stevens gave an absent nod to a nurse as he flicked through his files, mentally sorting the evening's task in the hopes of being warm and at home by eight. He wasn't a man prone to distraction nor unobservant tendencies, so when he turned to close his office door and found the space occupied, he nearly jumped in surprise.

"Hello," the man said pleasantly, stepping uninvited into the doctor's office. "Could you spare a moment?"

Despite it being far past any reasonable consultation hour and antithetical to scheduling policy, Dr. Stevens found himself welcoming the man in, gesturing towards the office chairs with an, "of course."

"That won't be necessary, I won't be long," the man assured him, critical eyes surveying the corners of the room.

The man's moment of scrutiny allowed Dr. Stevens his own scrutiny of the uninvited person; he couldn't explain it but there was something . . . unsettling about his bold visitor. The man cut an imposing figure despite an almost comically casual attire consisting of a Hawaiian shirt and khaki pants; tall and broad, his well-defined features spoke of age and wisdom, sea-green eyes dark with a depth unfathomable to the seasoned doctor. When said eyes turned to Dr. Stevens, the physician shivered despite himself, the room suddenly growing cold.

"Sorry to keep you from home, Dr. Stevens," the man laughed, shattering the eerie calm. "I had a couple questions about a patient of yours—my son, Percy Jackson."

"Oh yes Percy," the doctor said, recalling the teenage boy who did bear a striking resemblance to the man standing before him.

Yet Dr. Stevens knew he had never seen this man before. When Percy came in for his not-as-frequent-as-they-should-be therapeutic phlebotomy appointments, his mother or step-father usually accompanied him. Never this man. Dr. Stevens wouldn't forget an aura like his.

"Well, I'm afraid without the patient present—"

"He did a rather foolish thing not too long ago," the man continued, talking over the doctor as he walked further into the room, giving the various tomes of medical journals a curtsey glance over. "He had a concussion. He believed it to be caused by the disease, indirectly in that it made him too tired to function properly. I don't know if that's true—it might have been the concussion talking."

Dr. Steven wasn't entirely sure what the man was talking about. "Percy did mention—" well the pretty blonde girl who dragged him into the office mentioned it while the patient himself looked chagrined "—an incident. But he was perfectly good health, his iron levels were completely normal which is a good—"

"It wasn't good," the man interrupted. "He did a stupid thing and I want—I need to know how to stop him from doing it again. How can one tell when his levels are getting too low?"

"Well, you might notice him being overly tired, fatigued quicker than usual, increase irritability—"

The man frowned at him, annoyance visible on his features. "That's not very helpful, he is all of those things after any monster attack."

"I'm sorry, did you say monster attack?"

The man ignored him. "I need a way to identify when this is happening that is reliable. None of that will help me, tell me something useful."

"Well I'm sorry, but the symptoms aren't very exciting, it can be difficult to know without a test for sure if his iron levels are causing any abnormalities or if it's stress from normal everyday life—"

"You are exceedingly unhelpful—"

"The best thing to do is simply make sure that he's actually going to his appointments every three months," the doctor interrupted exasperated. "If he gets his blood drawn every three months, his iron levels will never rise beyond the level of acceptability and you won't have to worry about the iron poisoning his organs."

"Or my son doing something stupid again," the man muttered darkly, taking up pacing again. "What if he can't make an appointment?"

"Well as his father and someone who cares about his health, I suggest you ensure he can make them."

"The life of a demigod is anything but predictable there will be times when he simply won't be able to, and he is too stupid, too loyal to abandon his friends to attend," the man sounded like he was speaking more to himself than the doctor.

Dr. Stevens eyed him nervously, wondering if he should be concerned. The man didn't seem entire all there.

The man suddenly stopped pacing, hands clasped behind his back as he pivoted to stare at the doctor, striking fathomless green eyes boring into his very soul.

"Do you have any idea what it's like, doctor, to feel your child die?"

Dr. Steven's mouth worked soundlessly.

"You can't. Your feeble human brain cannot comprehend the severance. Sure, you humans all feel sadness and loss, but you don't feel death. Your children aren't a part of you like Percy is a part of the sea. You can't feel the connection, the strength, and understand the magnitude of a god's loss. When Percy . . . I felt it. I felt him leave my domain, a part of myself torn away by something so trivial, so ridiculously human and idiotic as iron in human blood."

The man's presence filled the room, suffocating and terrible, and the doctor found himself shaking, a horrible sense of dread overtaking him.

"That's unacceptable," the man declared. "I won't allow it to happen again. Every three months you say?"

"Ah, for, wh-what?"

"Every three months, he needs to release the iron in his blood every three months?"

"Y-yes, every three months."

"Every three months," the man repeated thoughtfully. "An exceedingly human concept. Thank you, doctor, you have been absolutely no help at all and it's only to spare Sally the headache of finding a new doctor that I leave you as you are."

"Huh?" the doctor didn't understand, but dread pounded through his veins as he backed up until he was flush against the wall, heart hammering in his chest.

"Good evening, doctor," the man said . . . and vanished before the astounded doctor's very office.

Dr. Stevens stared at his empty office. The darkened space remained still and silent, smelling faintly of sea spray.

A/n Is it cheating if the self-inflicted happened in a different story? I don't think so. Shoutout to MugetsuPipefox for the idea. This might have been a full story in another life, but this works out much better.

Up Next: Starvation