Broken and Lost

Prologue

Percy was not what you'd call a crying man.  He had fought in two wars, fought numerous Gods, Titans, and Giants, and had literally been through hell and back. He didn't cry at the funerals of Charlie Beckendorf and Silena Beauregard or any of the other heroes who had perished in the second Titanomachy. 

He didn't cry when his Poseidon had told him the news that his mother and Paul had somehow been targeted by the Titans, and had died bravely protecting other mortals. He didn't cry when he told him his mother had been pregnant.

When he met Annabeth at the party the Olympians threw in celebration of their victory, he had thought that it was all over. That war had its sacrifices, but the sacrifices wouldn't be in vain. That he and Annabeth could live happily together and grow old.

Oh, how naive he had been.

Or perhaps he was just pretending. Just pretending that every single death in that damn war had a purpose, that his mother and stepfather and unborn sibling were giving a fair ending to their lives. 

Pretending that Annabeth hadn't whispered to Luke just before he died, "I love you."

The party was painfully boring. There was no big kiss, no exchanged glances between friends, as if to say, "Told you so.". Just a broken man trying to keep it together, and not break down in front of his family and friends. He tried to crack jokes and to smile. His jokes were cynical and his "smile" was more of a grimace. Everyone gave him a wide berth at the party.

 So he left. He went home. Home to his late mother's apartment. He unlocked the door, went into the kitchen, pulled a beer out of the fridge and drank. He did not cry. But goddammit he mourned. He had never been what you'd call a crying man.