The New Avenger

Sick of It

Percy's POV:

If I can help rescue Peter's aunt it won't make up for anything. It won't bring the dead to life. It won't ease my guilt, not even a little. 

But maybe it can save Peter from some pain, stop this darkness that has begun rushing into him. If I can help him, if I can save someone, well then it's my duty to do so. Healing myself wasn't for me. In fact, I'd welcome the pain. Now that it's gone I physically find myself missing it. Sure, it's sick, it's twisted but at least it was a sick twisted distraction. Something, anything to keep my mind off everything. 

"Hey," Peter looks suspicious, confused. A flash of panic jolts through me, "Weren't you just limping?"Peter isn't stupid but he's a mortal. They're conditioned to believe in the believable.

"No, my foot wasn't hurt at all. You punched my in the face, remember?" I let my eyebrows crease in confusion, but I also let a hind of sadisticness into my voice, like I mean to hurt him, like it brings me joy. Peter shakes his head in confusion, questioning his sanity. It's something that we all do at times, except right now Peter doesn't need more on his plate. Still, anyone would rather question their sanity than know the truth. Even if they wouldn't admit it till later.

"I swear you were limping." But Peter's voice has lost its certainty. And I know I've won.

"Maybe you should get some sleep or something, you've had a really long day." Now concern creeps into my voice, like he isn't the only one questioning his sanity.

"Nah, I'm good don't worry about it." Peter pauses, obviously worried about it. I don't have time to feel guilty though, this is truly for his own good.

"Okaaay." My voice drags out.

"Look Percy, before we go on this op there's something I need to tell you." He bites his lip nervously, hands twisting anxiously. I don't know what is going to be said, but whatever it is will change everything. Maybe it's time for everything to change. "You know me as Peter Parker, next door neighbor a school outcast. That's not all I am though. I got bitten by a radioactive spider. Instead of killing me though it gave me powers, weird powers. Everyone else thinks you already know so, um, if you could, you know, avoid telling them you didn't, um, that'd be good."

I want to believe the shock is getting to him, making him behave unreasonably, making him think he is something he is not. Except what he's saying is true. It is so, so true, whether I want it to be or not. "What exactly are these weird powers?"

"I'm Spiderman." Peter says it in a rush, yet slower than honey being poured. It means everything to him, it is his life. His real life, far from the people who are blind, far from those who chose not to open their eyes, far from this hate and the hurt and the cruelty. Spiderman is important. Not just to him though it seems, to the world. Except...

"I'm sorry Peter, I've never heard of Spiderman." Disappointment laces my voice. Not disappointment in him though, disappointment in me. In my own incompetence, in my own stupidity. Peter doesn't take it like that though. He thinks I doubt his story, that I doubt something like this could ever happen to a real person.

"It's true Percy, if you want to believe it or not." His words are hurt, but also accepting as though he expected this.

"It's not that I don't believe you, it's not that at all." I try and defend myself, try to make him understand, "It's just that I've been a bit busy these last months, so I haven't really had time to check the news, you know?"

Peter doesn't want to believe me, yet he wants me to be telling the truth more than anything in the world. He isn't used to kindness, acceptance, belief. Whoever this Spiderman is though, he is a hero. Because he's Peter and Peter could never be anything but a hero, whether he himself realizes it or not.

"Spiderman is a masked guy who goes around the city trying to stop crime." There's so much bitterness in Peter's voice. Bitterness and pain, things that stem from failure, from hatred. Hatred from others and hatred of ones self. The world isn't kind to heroes even though heroes save them everyday. In this moment though the hero needs to be saved. Why does the world forget that heroes are people? That heroes have to wake up every day and make a choice: to keep being a hero or to give in and become a villain? The darkness calls, louder and louder every single day. "Why don't they thank you?" It whispers. "What did they ever do to deserve to be saved?" It calls. Except no one deserves to be saved. Every day you have to see your own inadequacy, and everyone else's inadequacy and realizes you are the least unqualified person to save everyone. Being a hero is a choice made every single day, again and again and again. And every heroes biggest fear? That one day they'll choose to become the  bad guy, that they'll choose to become the thing they've been fighting. 

"Spiderman sounds like a hero to me." I tell Peter, trying to make my voice completely sure of itself.

"Yeah, and what would you know about being a hero?" Hurt. Hurt is in his voice. There's so much hurting inside him that all he want is to get it out, no matter the way.

"Enough."

"And what's enough?" A sneer works its way onto Peter's face but I can't be angry at him.

"Knowing that every day you have to wake up and wonder if this is the day you'll break. If this is the day you'll lose it. Maybe one of those bullies at school will push you over the edge. Or maybe it will be some idiot cutting you off when you're trying to cross the road. Or maybe it'll be your friends insistent questions that need to be answered but can never be. Maybe it'll be the memories that won't leave you alone, all the what-if's, all the regrets. Maybe it'll be an offer that you can't refuse. I know that you question every moment why they call you a hero, what makes you so special? You didn't choose this, and maybe it you'd had a choice you wouldn't have. I know that you are afraid of what you can do, what you have done, and what you could do. I know enough." Now my voice is bitter. Peter's seen things no one should have to see. I've seen things no one should have to see. And every single day I see them again and again and again. There's so much pain, so much hurt, so many betrayals. It always seems to land on my shoulders. The people we were supposed to be able to trust stab us in the back. The good in our lives is ripped away, again and again and again. We're so powerful and yet utterly powerless. 

And I'm sick of it. I'm sick of being surrounded by others and completely alone. I'm sick of people telling me that I'm a hero, that I saved the world. I'm sick of being pushed down, pushed aside. I'm sick of being held up, being told that I'm an example to us all. I'm sick of my worst moments being heralded as my greatest. The defeat of Kronos had nothing to do with me. It was Annabeth. It was Luke. When the Doors of Death were closed it was Bob. Not me. Not Annabeth. Bob, who will never get to say hello to the stars. Ethan, who got to make a difference but had to die for it. Beckendorf and Silena, who never got to live their lives. Leo, stupid, reckless, heroic Leo, whose missing, maybe dead. They're the heroes not me. I'm a front, a facade. And I'm sick of it. So, so sick of it.

After a long moment Peter finally speaks, "Percy Jackson, I think you're a lot more than you claim to be."