Apparently, I'm Dead

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Disclaimer: I don't own anything that you recognize. Sorry about last week's delay. Here's the re-written chapter. 

PERCY

I haven't cried this hard in forever. I don't even remember the last time I had this many tears on my face. Of course I cried when Annabeth- when she died, but then I killed the snake. I've never had the time to process what happened. And that's a very common story throughout my demigod life. Someone I cared about died, and I didn't have time to grieve for them.

I think the last time I cried- really cried, sobbing, hiccups and all- was when I thought my mother died at the hand of the Minotaur. I stumbled up the hill towards the Big House, and there were definitely many tears.

The feeling of tears slipping down my face is almost unfamiliar to me. I reach up to wipe them away, but Magnus catches my hand. "Let them fall." His voice is gentle and soft. "Just cry. We won't judge you." Alex and Sam nod in agreement.

I scowl at the paler hand restraining mine. I let some power flow into me, and with the slightest twitch of finger, my tears evaporate.

Magnus groans, exasperated. "Why won't you just let yourself cry?"

I watch as my body goes through the practice motions I've trained myself to do whenever anyone asks me about crying. A fake smile spreads across my face. I sit up straighter. My muscles visibly relax. And I say, "I'm fine now. I was done crying, anyway."

"No, you're not fine!" Sam cries. She is very obviously frustrated. "You were just tortured by a squirrel whose only purpose in life is to insult people using their deepest insecurities! If you can be alright after that, there is something seriously wrong with you." She drops to her knees in front of me, staring into my eyes. "Can't you just trust us?" she pleads.

I flinch back. "I-" I cough, my voice breaking. "I know I can trust you guys," I say in a small voice, "I just... can't cry."

I can see the question in Sam's eyes. "I mean, I can cry. Like biologically," I amend, "I just can't show other people, I guess."

"Why?" Magnus asks.

I open my mouth to answer, but nothing comes out. "I-I guess I don't know," I whisper softly. "I've just never felt right crying around other people. More than just humiliated, but like I'm doing something fundamentally wrong."

"Well, it's obvious why," Magnus blurts out. When I raise an eyebrow at him, he blushes, but continues, "You lead a war at fifteen, and even before that you were seen as a leader in your camp. It's no wonder that you feel like crying is a sin."

"I... don't understand," I lie. Well, not lie, exactly. I just want it to be the truth.

"I think you do," Sam says gently.

I crumple in on myself, folding my legs and bringing them up to my chest and my forehead on my knees. "I... suppose," I say slowly, trying to delay what I'm about to say for as long as I can, "that since people looked up to me, I thought I had to be strong for them. I'm like their anchor. If I break down, everyone else will, too."

I immediately cringe at what I just said. It sounds so conceited. Camp is important to me, and I am an important figure to everyone there, but saying that I'm their anchor? Claiming that they will fall apart without me? Everyone there is strong in their own right, and they can fend for themselves. They don't need me to protect them. The veterans of the Titan War can help protect the newbies.

But I think deeper, I realize that I really am almost a living legend for the campers. I've done what pretty much every other famous hero has done, and I've lived through Tartarus. In fact, it's probably better that I'm dead and not breaking down at Camp. Dying, at least, is the end of every hero's journey. I know for a fact that most people think it's weird that I'm still alive, as a son of Poseidon. Some even find it unsettling. I've heard them whisper before. "How powerful must he be to live this long?" "How much power do you need to walk through Tartarus?"

Crying at Camp, though? They would all think I'd given up, and as much as I hate to admit it, they would think 'what could make the great Perseus Jackson, the son of Poseidon, break down and cry like that? We'd never be able to fight such a thing.'

"Why'd you flinch like that?" Alex asks bluntly.

I startle. I had forgotten that there was anyone else here, since I was thinking so hard, I suppose. "I sounded so haughty," I admit. "Cornerstone of Camp? How could you say that in a not prideful way?"

"But it's true, isn't it?" Magnus doesn't ask. It's really a statement. Magnus is weirdly intuitive about this kind of stuff.

"Yes," I answer, letting him lead me to a conclusion. I don't know what it is yet, but I'll get there eventually.

"And the reason you won't cry, or show any weakness, really, is because you didn't want the people following you to lose hope."

I nod.

"But you aren't a leader here."

It clicks.

When I was younger, when Thalia had just become a person, I resented her for taking leadership of Camp from me. I had been prepared to lead Camp and take on the prophecy since I was twelve, and here was this new girl who came and lifted it off my shoulders. I was utterly relieved, but strangely, also scared that she would drop the responsibility back onto me.

And I was right to be scared, because she did.

I don't resent her for it all that much. She found a way to get out of the prophecy, so she did. If I could have escaped the prophecy, I would have. I didn't need that much responsibility at such a young age.

Gods, I don't need that much responsibility now.

But the point is...

I don't have that responsibility.

Thanks,

ATOTALMUSICALNERD