Beating Hearts

Whole World Gone Blind

So. This chapter touches on mental disorders and the like. If you're sensitive to these topics, then I don't go too in depth, however this is a warning. If I say something incorrect or that you perceive as offensive, don't hesitate to correct me. Not everyone can see my intentions from the words on a screen, especially not on such serious topics. Regardless of any of my personal experiences, I am not good at explaining things, so if you have a more gentle way of talking about this, please comment.

Everyday, Percy went to the hospital with one container of blue cookies and another with one or two letters from concerned English students.

Everyday, Percy cursed the gods that he was getting better at making the cookies, that the letters were more organised when he accepted them, because it meant that there was practice going into these tasks, and that always brought him back to the reason for doing them.

Everyday, Percy felt irrevocably bitter.

They had never found the culprit.

Percy, rationally, knew they wouldn't have been able to. But he had still gotten worse. Fits of rage were more common, but not the kind that hit him deep, tapping into his powers, thank Chaos. This was more...superficial, in a way. It was a constant itch just under his skin, persistently refusing to leave unless he was epically down in the dumps. This kind of anger was the sort that lingered and burned and built up, with no real way to resolve it because there was no real instigator. No real reason.

He calmed down to an extent when visiting his mother and Paul, grateful that they were alive, but his blood boiled the moment he thought about the fact that they were injured at all. Luckily, they had remained somewhat prepared for small-scale monster attacks ever since Percy's 16th birthday/doomsday event. Even more luckily, Estelle had been kept completely safe in a back room, and Percy had passed her along into Will's temporary care.

His current situation was far from the worst he'd even found himself in, but there were so many things to think about that it felt like a divine punishment of some sort. For what, he had no clue, given how much he'd sacrificed for those same gods.

Those creepy stalker people from the government also didn't make Percy's life any easier, but they were really not that big a deal yet, and acted relatively harmless. The only reason Percy was still so on guard was because at any moment, they could turn around and go after his family.

Although, some of his alertness may have been his paranoia acting up.

It had been a month since he'd received the analysis from that doctor back in New Rome, and Percy was...coping. Or, maybe not coping, perse, but at least he could say he was dealing with everything.

Somewhat.

Okay, not really, but he was functioning and semi-stable. He wasn't shocked by his results, nor really distressed. All of those messy medical terms wouldn't change his life; they were just labels to smack on something he had already grown accustomed to living with. A name wouldn't change the substance, after all.

There had been an anxiety disorder—something that most demigods likely had at this point. Their kind lived constantly checking over their shoulders for threats, always keeping a weapon on hand and crafting elaborate cover stories to tell people so that the truth went undiscovered.

Demigods were restless, running on terror-driven adrenaline. It was normal for them to be in fight-or-flight mode, and if they weren't, that was when their bodies actually thought something was wrong. Hades, the more obvious symptoms would be the panic and anxiety attacks most of the older veterans have at least four times a month.