Climb (Percy Jackson x Reader)

forty-seven

✺ THE MOST HUMAN THING ✺

I did love him. In a way.

I wanted to show him how it felt to be patient, and lie, and act when we didn't have to.

Everything we did has shaped you into who you are.

(Y/N) grits her teeth, staring daggers into her training dummy. She hardly feels her knuckles as they pummel against the burlap, her skin scraping and peeling upon contact. With each blow, she hears a justification, a reasoning, an excuse.

As her knuckles continue to bleed, her muscles growing wearier by the second, her ears ring with the commotion of Camp Half-Blood's members. Somewhere, she can place the laughter of people in the dining pavilion, the ringing weaponry of duels on the training grounds, the crackling embers of flame on steel in the forge—and still, everything was distant, overtaken by the reminiscence upon her long-sought truth.

Her father had been killed. Her mother was as good as dead to her.

The world had revealed its secrets, just as she'd been expecting it to since long ago. And as the understanding starts to settle, as the acceptance starts to solidify, she still feels caught in a rut.

Please, (Y/N). I'm your mother. I love you. Please.

Persephone cries in her memory, falling to her knees with desperation, and (Y/N) can feel her heart twist. Her throat knots.

She falters, her muscles suddenly failing her. Her knuckles graze the burlap, unable to follow through. Pain rips through her skin, burning within her exposed flesh and up her bones as she tightens her fists.

"(Y/N)?"

His voice was careful, smooth. Worried.

She swallows, battling the stiffness that overtakes her body. Again, she tries to punch. Again, she cannot make contact, barely able to extend her arm.

"Hey," Percy says, walking up from behind her. He holds her shoulders, turning her somewhat to face him as he moves around her side. "What's going on?"

His gaze drifts down to her fists. Her fingers drip with crimson, her knuckles so battered he nearly sees bone.

His grip tenses.

(Y/N) lowers her head.

As Percy grinds his teeth, he looks between (Y/N)'s hands and the training dummy. Old, fading scorch marks creep up the sides of its smiling face, and he loosens with understanding.

"Come on," he says, guiding her towards her porch. Her feet drag somewhat before she sits on the stairs, allowing Percy to tend to her hands.

She sighs, watching him control a stream of water to wash away her blood and stitch her skin together. "I'm sorry," she says, the words catching in her throat.

Percy glances up at her. "No," he returns, shaking his head. "I'm sorry."

(Y/N) frowns. "Why?"

"Because something long ago led you to believe that in order to fix a problem, you had to suffer." Percy's jaw sharpens as he carefully starts focusing his power on her other hand, lightening his touch when she winces. "And I'm sorry," he says, shifting closer, "that you feel like you're not worth enough to preserve."

He pulls the water from her fresh skin, allowing it to splash against the grass. Squeezing her hands, he leans over to kiss her forehead. "You have never deserved to believe that, and you have never deserved to put yourself in pain. You are worth so much more than that."