"Yeah... Thing is, as I was choking just now, I kept thinking this was payback for Akhlys. The Fates are letting me die the same way I tried to kill that goddess. And... honestly, a part of me felt I deserved it. That's why I didn't try to control the giant's poison and move it away from me. That probably sounds crazy."

"No, I think I get it."

But Percy knew Jason didn't get it. Couldn't get it. Would never get it. Because Jason never deserved it.

Jason had never done something so bad that the person he loved trembled with fear. Never tried to kill a goddess just because he could, because the power pumped through his veins.

Percy deserved it, he knew he did. Deserved to die for trying to kill someone else. Deserved to die for going to far.

He was disgusted with himself, couldn't even meet his own gaze in the mirror. Could barely meet Annabeth's because he couldn't stand remembering the fear that shattered hers back in hell.

Percy didn't know what to do, with himself, his powers, or his life. Sometimes he wished the fates would get bored with him, and just put him out of his misery so he could apologize to all the people he hurt.

Dozens of people had given their lives for him, sacrificed everything on his behalf. Because he had power, power enough to defend the world but not enough to keep the people he loves alive.

Somewhere inside him he knows that the world needs him, but why would it when it has new heroes, untainted. Why would the world need Percy Jackson when it has Piper McLean, Leo Valdez, Hazel Levesque, Frank Zhang, and Jason Grace?

Why does life still keep a desperate hold on him, why doesn't it let him have peace. Why does it need a hero that's seen too much but isn't strong enough to shoulder the weight of it on his shoulders.

He's not Annabeth. He's not Clarrisse. He's not Will, or Travis, or Connor, or Katie. He can't survive, he can't. Not without hurting everyone around him.

He says he's made peace with his ghosts but that's only because he's accepted that he's doomed to become one of them. A horror that's been scratched onto everyone's lives, something that haunts their nightmares.

It makes his chest feel hollow because as much as he loves Annabeth he can't stand not having Grover and Rachel by his side. Can't stand seeing Beckendorf change into Leo. Silena disappearing into Piper. And even though they're alive he can see Clarisse and Thalia disappearing only for Frank and Jason to take their place, but never in his heart or in his mind. And as much as he loves her, love how happy she makes her brother, Hazel will never be Bianca and that's not any of their fault's it's his because he has power but he isn't strong enough to keep the people he cares about in his life. And he can't stand to see the people he fought with and friended being replaced but him still standing their battle worn and covered in scars that criss-cross over his heart and lungs and make it impossible for him to breath at night when it's just him. Just him and his nightmares.

Percy's gone to hell and back and sometime's he thinks he should've stayed, stayed and let Annabeth go live her life and beg the fates to claim his. He can't stand how he treated Bob, manipulated him Damasne to throw their lives away. Two more lives that were lost attempting to save his.

Percy tried to kill a goddess, a goddess of pain and fear and posion, which is all that seems to be left of his heart after all that he's done to save the world but hurt the people.

Percy won't let people die for him. Won't let there be another Beckendorf, Silena, Zoe, Bianca, Ethan or Micheal. He knows he can't die because someone needs to keep his new friends alive, keep them healthy and happy without scars.

But if he stays with them, then they'll end up just like his old, dead and gone and replaced with new ones even if they were still alive no matter what he does.

He wanted to drop down on his knees and beg the fates to snip his string so he could go to the Underworld. See his friends. See's the people who have died for him and the people he owes everything to. Real heroes.

Heroes that died before they could become tainted, battle worn and scarred like Percy.

He wants to take the scissors in his own hands and cut away his life but he knows he can't because no one will let him. His mom, Paul, Annabeth. His new friends. His old. They won't let him.

All Percy can do is give up, give up when monsters— both out and inside his head— go for the kill. Let them snip his string, and he was so, so close. So unbelievably close with the poison that wrapped around his lungs, drowning him.

But Jason just had to save him. Be a hero. The hero he was supposed to be.

But Percy was tired, so tired, he wanted to close his eyes and never wake up as the darkness swirled. He was tired of life, tired of having life while others lost it. Tired of war, and fights, and monsters. Tired of swords, and hurricanes, and golden dust.

He was so tired.

And no one understood.

So instead of shouting at Jason that he didn't, couldn't, and wouldn't ever get it, would never deserve it, he just nodded along, and went back to the war like Jason's words had solved everything. Solved his hatred for the fact that he lived while everyone else died. Solved that he wished his string would be snipped. Solved the fact that he tried to kill a goddess, when really the only person he wanted to kill was himself.