Sing to Me

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Jason pov


I honestly hadn't expected things to get worse. But as always, they did. I categorized disastrous events by comparison to a number of way way  worse things. Things that should be off the chart, if you're not a demigod that is.

For one- having your mind seared by a nuclear goddess that wipes your memories

Two- getting stabbed all the way through your stomach and back

Three- actually being a demigod

Four- returning home, friends trying to kill you and your /ex/ girlfriend

Five- (winner here) Your dad being the almighty Jupiter. AKA biggest asshole of the gods.

But what happened, these had to be at least a three on the emotional/physical/overall pain scale.

I don't understand why this hurt so bad; I mean after all, I had died and come back before. Sorta. But that's not the point. This was self sabotage.I knew what  it was like to not know who you were, I knew what it was like to forget everything that was dear to you. But I didn't know what it was like for the person on the other side. And to know that you couldn't have stopped it.

I knew frustration, I knew throat stopping, eye stinging pain. I knew terror. I didn't know the grief. Not like it was, like it is. ITs a different grief than losing someone. When you lose someone, you know that one day you'll slip away and they'll be there. You know that life goes on and they're okay. But when someone loses everything but their life, you cant help but wonder if they'll ever be back.

So here I was, throat stopped up, eyes stinging and fists trembling inside the casual Big House; staring at unclear green eyes. But what hurt the most, they weren't like they usually were. Sure, it was a change to see the lack of anger steaming behind them, the tsunami wrestling beneath his eyes and mind. But I, nobody, would see the crystal clear focus, the nostalgic mist in his eyes. The old humor that was only his. No one would see Percy.

I hate that I can remember what he caused.

A cool night, fire still fading out from hours ago, a warm orange. Hushed footsteps, crackling with the grass underfoot. Whispers, me, him. 

Yelling, fighting, pleading.

It wont be the same, you don't know what youre doing

I know exactly what I'm doing. I'm doing this for you, all of you. Me, Annabeth, my mom,my sister, Paul, all my friends, you-Jason.

A tight headshake, a hard hand gripping mine.

Go, soft but stern on salty lips. Ones that always smiled, that curved up when he laughed, that pouted when he was off, that kissed my cheek, my forehead.

I'm almost glad I don't remember what happened next, except a headache the next day and an eerily quiet camp. I remember a bruise, I couldn't see it, it was on the back of my head. I almost laughed in miserable humor when I saw it was a hoof print. I couldn't help but stare at the sulky Pegasus that trotted by. I didn't need to speak equine to know he was guilty, that he knew. And gods I wish I didn't remember shoving open the doors to the Big House, and shoving through the small crowd of campers, my family. I wish I didn't remember staring at him, with clueless eyes. Confusion. Peace.

I remember how he looked up at everyone, at me.

Who are you? Why are you looking at me like that? Where am I?

He didn't even remember me this time.

He didn't remember the jokes, the nights spent together, his mom, his sister, Chiron, his father, he didn't remember camp, me.

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