Percy Jackson cursed alcohol.

He refused to touch it, to let it near him. Once he had taken all the moisture from a beer bottle held by a drunk walking past him, the liquid splashed on the concrete while he had walked by. Gabe had used and abused alcohol constantly, and while Sally had it worse- Percy didn't get all his scars from monsters that could be killed by celestial bronze. Percy would venomously refuse any alcohol, even in medication form. If he felt sick he would ask for nectar, if he was injured for ambrosia. When Will tried to swab his arm with an alcohol wipe Percy accidentally drew the offending liquid from the wipe and sent it out backward; straight out to Wills' face. Thank the gods for sunglasses.

And so Percy despised alcohol.

Percy Jackson cursed the stars.

After Zoe died he could only see her in them. Every star was a backdrop for her, so she could chase them across the inky sky. The sky itself was hers, hers to run across forever. More than ever he would be reminded of his sheer inadequacy. His failure.

For that's what he was- a failure. He had failed to save Zoe, failed to mind his own business, failed failed, failed, failed, failed.

Zoe deserved more- the first guy she trusts since becoming a hunter and that's how he repaid her?

But she had gotten Percy as a friend, and Percy had failed.

So Percy wept under the stars.

Percy Jackson cursed fire.

He would sometimes just will it to die out, suffocating the flames with the moisture in the air around them, or even from his own body. Afterwards, it would be colder, and he even passed out sometimes. But it was so much better than having to endure it. Beckendorf had been a flame, a flare of joy and love everywhere he went. As the child of Hephaestus, he would constantly be around it, once he had spoken to Percy about perhaps getting a tattoo of a flame on his arm. Afterward- Percy had gotten the tattoo himself, and looking at it could sent him into anxiety attacks.

Beckendorf had died- burned alive for the sake of stopping Kronos.

Percy hated the fire.

Percy Jackson cursed the mirror.

While he had never been a big fan of his own reflection, he couldn't help but shatter any mirror he came across now. It was just another reminder of how much had changed, but it was also a reminder of Selina. Selina had once forced him to look in a mirror after Circe's Island. After he avoided them for days she forced one into his hands- and she told him that he was a beautiful person. That he wasn't a monster or a pig, that he was loved and respected. Selina had comforted him without having been asked.

Selina died- masquerading as a daughter of war.

And so Percy shattered mirrors.

Percy Jackson cursed his smile.

He smiled all the time, subconsciously and continuously. But now it felt like it was unwillingly tacked on with nails, and whenever he noticed it it would fall. He would twist his grin into a Lupa signature growl whenever he realized he was smiling. He remembered all too well how many times he had been mugged before, and how much it helped. Percy knew he was a soldier, Percy knew he had to be prepared. Percy hated his smile more than he should have.

And his smile was broken.

Percy tried to forget his smile.

Percy Jackson cursed medals.

It was a tradition, to give a hero back from a quest or any other noble deed- a small bronze medal. When you were buried, they would be pinned to your shirt, and stay with you- so that in the long future someone might be touched by your accomplishments. Percy hated them, he felt like he did not deserve them. He had help, it wasn't just him. Beckendorf deserved a medal, Selina, Luke, Zoe, Bob. They all deserved medals larger than they could carry. So Percy pined the medals to the punching bag he had set up in his cabin. When he practiced; striving to get better, they would dig into his skin and split his knuckles. Reminding him of his failures, and pushing him to get better, but they stung.

And so Percy hated medals.

Percy Jackson cursed his life.

He remembered all the scars, all the words, all the deaths. Percy remembered everything he ever failed at, he replayed every death in his mind while he slept. His hands would shake when he walked by a cemetery. His eyes would go bleak when the fates were mentioned. Because with all his being- Percy wished it had been him.

Burned, cut, blinded, cursed, possessed, stabbed, crushed, tortured, decapitated, turned into nothing but a memory.

Percy hated his life.

So Percy cursed it.

Before Percy went to bed he would roll up his sleeves, counting the lines cut so cleanly on his forearms- one for every death. He would look at the small burns the lay beside them- one for every unforgivable mistake.

Sometimes he would add another, sometimes he would just stare.

When Percy and Annabeth moved in together he didn't stop. Annabeth would grab his forearms, leaving light kisses on every burn, and every scar. They sat there for a good ten minutes the first time, and though the number would occasionally rise a little- she was there for it all. It happened most nights, but she would always end it with an Eskimo kiss, before coaxing him to sleep.

Percy Jackson loved Annabeth.

Thalia noticed the cuts as well, she dragged him outside every year on the anniversary of the day. And She faced him to look at the stars, she pointed to Zoe and she asked him to retell her tale. He would talk for hours, every time he would remember more, and Thalia would just listen. At the end of these nights- she would pull out a sharpie and over the scar he told her was for Zoe- she would write one word.

Percy would go through the next few days with the word 'Forgiven' written across his arm.

Percy Jackson loved Thalia.

The tattoo on Percy's arm was a sad reminder, and he would stare at it at the camp bonfire- sometimes he would socialize, sometimes he would cry, sometimes he would just sit there emotionless. One day a street taco was shoved under his nose, the smell of jalapeños attacking his senses, looking up he found Leo, impish grin on. Leo talked and talked- chatting about anything and everything occasionally he would subtly set a finger on fire, the tips of his ears. He slowly exposed Percy to seeing the flames. And if Percy ever started to blank out Leo would give him another taco, the spicy hot jalapeño bringing him back to the present. Eventually- when Leo set himself completely on fire, Percy did not flinch.

Percy Jackson loved Leo.

The sheets in the Poseidon cabin are stained, some little hints of pink-red trapped in the cloth that covered him while he slept. Waking up from nightmares sometimes meant a bloody nose- as if it was mocking him. Some nights Percy would scrub at the sheets with whatever water source was nearest until he passed out or breakfast came, but some nights he would just sit and stare taking in the violent red against the pinkish white. One night Percy found a statue clenched in his fist, a small replica of Poseidon. Looking up he found Nico, shifting awkwardly next to him. "Sometimes it's okay to be a kid." Percy learned to play Mythomagic, Nico had been patient about teaching him the game and would appear anytime Percy was having a nightmare no matter how miserably Percy was defeated. One day Nico woke him up, and when Nico once again destroyed Percy, Nico smiled at him. "You will get better," he promised.

Percy Jackson loved Nico.

Piper did not like mirrors either, on top of a kind of jaded self-image and a desperate desire to be different than her siblings she had her own reasons. She remembered- every time before a new addition, a new movie, show, an important date- Tristan McLean would keep a mirror with him. Piper remembered sitting at the table, while her father gazed at himself; a new world Narcissus. But when Percy smashed the mirror her father gave her on naive impulse Piper missed it, and Percy had noticed and tried to make it up to her. She suddenly began to carry around a hand mirror- though she hated how it reminded her of her father. She would constantly check her reflection, even though she didn't like too, even though people said she was self-absorbed. It was worth it. One day Percy took her old mirror and replaced the glass, and they sat under the warm sunshine and both made funny faces in it. (Percy totally won that) And Piper couldn't help but beam with pride. They both sat around the taboo object in the glittering sun.

Percy Jackson loved Piper.

Hazel had a million dollar smile like it was carved from precious gems. She beamed at Percy whenever she walked by him, and overtime Percy began cracking small grins back. One day while they were walking towards the diner where the rest of the 7 were they were ambushed by a street gang. Percy hadn't been smiling before and he wasn't then. However, Hazel simply shot Percy a smile and proceeded to beat up all the gang. As she and Percy punched and kicked through the four teens- Hazel made a point to smile brighter and brighter every time a man went down. Hazel smiled so much her face burned, but she kept smiling. One day during capture the flag, Hazel found herself laying in the dirt while Percy smiled down at her, flag in one hand, while the other carried his weapon.

Percy Jackson loved Hazel.

Jason saw first hand what happens when alcohol went anywhere near Percy. Juniors from the Hermes cabin snuck some beer on campus- and while they all began to drink Jason noticed how Percy flinched, eyes darkening, and the sea reacting. All the beer bottles imploded with the force of the alcohol breaking free and burying itself. Jason made it his mission from then on, he used his favor with a child of Hecate to give Percy the flu. His nose ran horribly, and his powers didn't help him, he was burning up and shivering. Jason stayed at his bedside- equipped with a few bottles of cold syrup. Finally, Percy obliged, taking the medicine, and from then on everything was simpler. Jason roughed him up worse in practice, and would always 'happen to have' some disinfectant wipes on him, quickly wiping the wound with his eyes fixed elsewhere. When Percy turned twenty one Jason didn't offer him any beer, in fact, he warded away an older camper who thought he might appreciate some. After all, Jason knew first hand what alcohol could do to a parent as well.

Percy Jackson loved Jason.

Reyna sometimes remembered, remembered her father. Or well- the slug who should have been a father to her and Hylla, a real father. Julian was not a father to her, similar to how Gabe was not a father to Percy. Of course, he had had it much worse. The first time she saw his chest, she had immediately noticed how there were scars from two types of monsters. Scars that formed a jagged resemblance of a circle, like a broken beer bottle, and cigarette burns covering him. Reyna sat with him and told him about her own experience, they didn't cry together, they just talked. She took nightly walks and whenever she saw him staring at into the see in his PJs she would know. They understood each other in that regard, and one day, he gave her a medal; 'World's Best Praetor.'

Percy Jackson loved Reyna

Everyone was silent, staring at Percy as he held in his hand a bronze dagger. The blade was positioned horizontally over his wrist, getting ready to add another tally to his list. When the news of Jason's death reached them Percy had appeared impassive- waiting till he thought they had left to pull it out. They were all exhausted, Hazel using all her strength to keep the blade there- leaving his skin unmarked as Percy tried to change that. Still, no one dared come closer. Suddenly- Frank did, and from his pocket, he pulled out a small piece of wood.

"Percy; what would you do, if I told you about my coping mechanisms?" Frank sat cross-legged on the floor across from Percy, on his bunk.

"What if- every time I made a mistake, or every time someone died- I burned another sliver of this stick?" That got Percy's attention- the dagger moving a centimeter farther from his skin. Frank smiled sadly, "It's not that big of a deal right? It's only a splinter, and it's my fault anyway right?"

Percy had tears in his eyes, understanding what Frank was saying- but still made no move.

"My Grandmother would've slapped me upside the head," Frank said letting half of a dark chuckle creep past his lips. Hazel's face grew slightly darker, though she was mostly concentrated on Percy at the moment.

Frank looked at Percy, eyes as wise as an owl, confidence as strong as a bear's- yet his form was still human. "How would your mother feel? How would we? Because you're killing yourself- little by little yes, but all the same."

Percy's eyes were misted over and his hand held the dagger loosely, Hazel was too exhausted to exploit it, however, simply concentrating on steadying it where it was.

"Percy- what if you became another scorch mark on my life?"

That did it- Percy's fatal flaw turned against him but this time for his own good. The dagger zoomed across the room and embedded itself less than an inch from Hazel's neck before she crumpled to the floor. Carrying Hazel swiftly to the bed, Frank was suddenly curled around his friend, pulling him as close as possible and shaking slightly.

"Oh my gods Percy- please don't ever do that again," Frank muttered as he held onto Percy like Thanatos would snatch him up any second.

They all crowded around Percy, sheltering him from everything, a temporary sanctuary in a storm. But it was all they could do.

Percy Jackson loved Frank.

Percy Jackson loved Annabeth.

Percy Jackson loved Hazel, and Reyna, Piper, Jason, Leo, Thalia, Nico.

And with their help- maybe Percy Jackson could learn to love himself.