Beating Hearts

That's Classified

Also, just for later, don't hate me for changing the year he was born. I want him to have just turned 17 about 3 months previous to this, so that S.H.I.E.L.D. will have the opportunity to essentially stalk him for nearly three months before he returns with the Avengers(because we all know that's what is going to happen, just like in every other story). Anyway, continue with the story!

Percy had on a warm letterman jacket and gloves (well, one glove— the other was stuffed in his pocket because he'd gotten leftover pizza sauce on it).

He'd been staying with his mom, Paul, and Estelle for almost two months now, with Nico popping back in to visit and Will waiting on the results from that brain test with the dude from New Rome. Reyna had given strict instructions for him to only come back after New Years, because he needed to spend time with his parents. She was right, but he still felt bad.

He was getting better, smiling a bit, almost chuckling on occasion. His happiness made others feel better too, which just made him more elated in a never-ceasing cycle. But a good one this time; instead of feeling trapped, he thought it funny.

There were times though, when he couldn't feel anything but sadness and guilt. He felt hopeless, and his silence reflected that. He was irritable, and tired, and hungry, but at the same time he didn't want to go out and relieve tension, or sleep, or eat. He zoned out more– maybe his ADHD was getting worse?

Then, like a switch had been flipped, he'd suddenly be feeling too much.

Sometimes his mouth would open in a muted laughter, and he wouldn't be able to stop it until something else happened and he started acting hostile, almost angry, but the fits were short-lived enough that his powers didn't act up yet. He was restless, and constantly agitated. The opposite of the sad days, he'd want less sleep, and his body agreed with his mind. There was, of course, the paranoia as well, but that may just have been him.

Whatever it was, the brief periods of normalcy in between these extremes was something Percy revelled in. Last week, during one of the peaceful days, his mom and Paul bought Soul Surfer, and they watched it together. His mom had called the DVD one of his late birthday gifts.

Speaking of, Percy forgotten about something. Something very important, that he should have been mindful of, but just didn't stick to his racing mind. It was his arm. Or, you know, lack thereof.

Back when Gaea...Back then, he'd reached his right arm out, and Percy had been told that...well, that his magic had wanted to destroy something so badly, that it had started consuming his arm after it ripped Gaea to shreds. Plates of different metals had been added on here and there in the desperate attempts to hold his arm together, and what the magic had gotten to...His hand had needed to be replaced, and there were splotches of dead, blackened skin trailing up to his shoulder.

The healing had only been able to start after the additions were made to stabilise him. Now, if he ever took his glove off, and wore sleeveless shirts, everyone would see the mess of rippling metals– bronze and gold and iron– protruding like bulging veins, and the decayed chunks sticking through from between the plates on his forearm. The skin, if it could be called that, faded into his less-sickly-than-before tan near the top of his bicep. His hand, and the nerves there, had needed to be entirely replaced with artificial sensors.

The complexities meant that it was literally just like his hand had never left. Only difference was the material it was made of, and the fact that his arm looked like the worst Neapolitan ice cream ever. Metal, melting into dark, dead cells only just alive enough that they were able to function at the forearm, fading into an almost healthy coloration at the shoulder.