PERSEUS MEANS DESTROYER

I Miss Having Sex But At Least I Don't Wanna Die Anymore

"So when are you gonna sing for me?",

Ruining me completely.

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After Bruce and Tony had left, following Steve out of the hall—although, the two of them were headed to the lab, as far as Percy could gather, and Steve was going to the small on-board gym—Percy stayed at the table.

Natasha had passed through the dining hall before Steve had, but she hadn't really acknowledged Percy's presence, just eating her breakfast while he sat there, thinking.

Now the only one of the 'Avengers' he hadn't seen this morning was Clint.

And Thor, but the guy was probably still in Asgard, so he didn't really count.

After he had first found out the meaning of his name—his namesake's name—in a conversation with his mom, he had been disturbed for a while.

Destroyer, avenger.

The irony of the whole thing struck him now; these wannabe superheroes, adults in stupid costumes made of latex, calling themselves 'Earth's mightiest heroes' and 'the Avengers' after saving the world a total of once, when they shared a table with a boy who's name meant avenger, meant destroyer, and destroy he did.

Destroyed everything in his path that might have been a problem. Killed and slaughtered his way to where he was, lied and manipulated and bargained, hurt and been hurt, murdered and murdered and murdered, again and again and again.

And he was expected to keep a cover up.

Not by the gods. But the best way to keep his family safe—Paul, Sally with her pregnant belly and his little sister due in just over a month, both demigod camps—was to be inconspicuous.

And he was failing spectacularly.

So spectacularly, in fact, that he had already made himself known to two gods rather than one. At least neither of them had been stupid enough to point it out if they even knew of him in the first place (Poseidon had a... tendency to brag about his accomplishments. He viewed Percy as one of his accomplishments. Word got around).

By the time Clint undoubtedly made his way to the mess, Percy had gotten bored and moved on. He had dropped by the holding cells again, where Loki had given him a blank stare until he left. He'd spectated on Steve and Natasha's sparring match, then swung by the lab to see what Bruce and Tony were doing (nothing interesting, as far as Percy was concerned).

When eleven o'clock rolled around, he was sprawled across one of the benches in the mess with a pile of comic books he'd found packed up in a box in the—mostly digitised, and therefore dangerous, both in terms of the actual tech and the fact that 'real books' as Annabeth put them were pretty much only words, and dyslexia was a bitch—library aboard the Helicarrier.

In typical Tony Stark fashion, they were all about the adventures of Ironman (and sometimes his friend, War Machine).

Percy still found it funny that a thirty– forty–something guy couldn't come up with a better name than 'Ironman'.

Honestly, all their names were kind of funny and on–the–nose, except for Natasha's.

Ironman for a guy in a flying suit of armour.

Captain America for the dude who was about three inches off wearing the U.S.A.'s flag into battle.

Hawkeye for the archer (eyes of a hawk, he assumed it was meant to mean).

The Hulk(ing muscle mass), and then there was Natasha—the Black Widow.

And him. Percy Jackson, codename... nothing. Unrecognised, uncredited in the mortal world and happy to stay that way.

While he had a certain level of scorn for the Avengers claiming to be the world's mightiest heroes when they were far off it, at least they weren't child soldiers; at least they were adults, and at least they knew how to handle the media companies who wanted everything to do with them.

At around ten past eleven, Steve walked in. "Hey! Did you forget?"

Percy paused. No. He just didn't want to go.

"... Yes. Sorry."

Steve's smile felt too bright. "Don't worry. We can head down now; Bruce is waiting with one of the proper medics."

Percy felt kind of—more than kind of, if he was being honest—uncomfortable sitting on one of those weird beds in doctors' offices—the ones with paper over them and were too hard to be comfy.

The medic—in the stereotypical white coat, funnily enough—had poked and prodded around his leg for about twenty minutes before deciding she wanted an x–ray done on it.

That had been about two minutes ago; now he was waiting for her to come back with any results.

She—Dr Geohann—looked slightly puzzled when she walked back in, glancing between the x–ray, his leg and his face. Percy wasn't sure how to react, so he just kept still in case that had anything to do with it.

He decided cracking a joke might be the best approach. "What's up, Doc?"

"There's nothing particularly wrong with your leg at all—the x–ray does show calcium build-ups from previous fractures or breaks—based on the size of which, a couple look about two years old, and the others look a lot more recent—in the last eighteen months, if I had to guess? I'd say you've healed pretty well, but if you still need the crutch... it could be a bigger issue, like ligament damage," something about her face made Percy think it was more than just ligament damage, "or it could be linked to a psychological issue."

Percy quirked an eyebrow. "You're saying I hurt my leg because I'm sad?"

"I'm saying you might have hurt your leg during a traumatic experience. Maybe you haven't moved on properly and that's something that you need to do, but until then, while your brain is aware you haven't recovered, it's going to convince itself that you still need the crutch to move. I'd recommend for the moment you speak with a psychiatric professional before jumping to conclusions; it's not my field, but I can give you access to one if you need."

What the fuck.

Yeah, maybe the whole thing with Gaia and the two camps could be classified as a traumatic experience, but not much of everything else counted much toward 'trauma'.

"Now, for record reasons, we have to write up a report of this session. I would have told you at the start, and I know this might make you mad, but I figured you wouldn't bother showing up if you knew."

Bruce could tell from Perseus' expression that he was disappointed but not overly surprised.

"Great."

Dr Geohann offered Perseus a small smile, moving out of his way to the door.

"So my leg is pretty much fine, but my head is so fucked up it's taking it out on my body."

Dr Geohann—Georgia—opened her mouth, then paused with it agape as Bruce spoke up. "That's... very indelicately phrased, but essentially, yes."

"Welp. That's great," Percy deadpanned. "Just wonderful."

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First published ::: 05.07.22
First edit ::: n/a
Wordcount ::: 1145
Chapter dedication ::: n/a

<3

Yours, l0v3rboy_