Beating Hearts

Quiz Time!

I kept looking for images, and this is what I decided on, but now I keep thinking of J.D. from the beginning of Heathers, with a hoodie instead of a trench coat. This isn't the best chapter by the way- I just really had a case of writer's block and wanted to get something out, figuring I could get back to edit further if need be, y'know? I think you should get the idea of what I was going for. I'm planning to make things more personal later.

He did what he could.

He tried his best to make amends, and now all that was left was to hope the Avengers would go on to ignore him unless vital, and even then, leave him in relative peace.

Percy held his head in his hands, the stiff fabric of his gloves agitating the skin on his face whenever he pressed in too hard with the heel of his palm. His ankles ached under the twisting strain of supporting his whole body, and his abdomen was folding in on itself miserably.

His breathing was coming out loud and irregular, grating on his trachea. His head was pounding, like someone was banging a hammer about inside his skull. His blood rushed through veins and arteries in timely pulses that matched his erratic heartbeat.

Percy felt it all.

He felt the hot pressure of his exhales against his skin, and the sore throbbing in his muscles. He felt the stinging of tears in his eyes, and the cold, almost-numb kind of suffering in his right arm. The false nerves felt like they were locking up his arm, like waves of electricity were running through them.

Every bruise, cut, and break; every sensation that would go unnoticed by anyone else without the flowing of fluids, contractions of muscles, scraping of bones against cartilage and likened miseries constantly pressing up against the forefront of their mind. Senses so attuned they became a hinderance in not just battle, but day-to-day life was usually unattainable, so it was understandable that no one could understand.

He knew his body- all too well, honestly. No one should be able to feel their body(or anyone else's) like Percy knew his. But in this moment, he suddenly knew everything else just as well.

Percy didn't know if he was laughing, or why he would be, but the strange, lightheaded euphoria told him he was happy. He wasn't. 

Percy didn't know if he was crying, or why he would be, but the memories that flooded his head told him he was sad. Was he? 

Percy didn't know if he was screaming, out of fearful fury, or why he would be, but the pure, unfiltered wrath thrumming under his skin told him he was angry. He was.

What was he now?

Happy or sad or angry or nothing at all?

The abyss had looked down on him as though he were worthless, and if people that it was nothing, non-existent, then what did that mean Percy was?

Was he even capable of feeling normally at this point? Or would it only come in vexatious, insensate waves that jerked him beneath the surface of the sea, tumultuously wreaking havoc on his body and mind as he came apart at the seams, unable to drown and being pulled together right before he was ripped to shreds once more. There was a righteous sense of justice and sadistic delight driving the actions, but they were but an afterthought.

He was not broken, in one fell swoop, but disassembled, slowly and carefully; a methodical, beyond agonizing end, fitting for Perseus Jackson, harbinger of ruin, nigh executor of Lady Misery, freer of Lord Death, by-blow son of Poseidon.

Already, it had started.

Percy had had nightmares even before finding out he was a demigod(as any kid would, living with Gabe), but that fateful day with Alecto had brought down an unceasing onslaught of horrific, uncertain and unclear, visions every time his eyelids fluttered shut for longer than a blink.