Fragments. That summed up much of what he heard, saw and felt.

Screams that seemed to have been hammered into his head. Voices without representation, without name, but with pain. A lot of pain.

The fear. The guilt. The anger. It stuck to him like a magnet, it wasn't easy to get rid of and he didn't know how when or if he could escape this torture.

Trauma. The clinical explanation after so many losses. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. And it was ironic, he wanted to laugh like a maniac every time a camper looked at him with pity or when they used that sorrowful tone to refer to something or someone.

The tremors did not leave him. His survival reflex made him shiver on a rainy day and grip the hilt of his sword until his fingers turned white and his only thought was: kill.

The nightmares were no longer prophetic dreams. Gods, he so wished they were. Now they were bathed in red and peppered with screams and calls for help. The clear vision of life fading away and then the sepulchral silence of death.

The fall into Tartarus left much more damage than anyone could have imagined. It wasn't the curses or the monsters that tormented him, not anymore. It was her.

The memory.

He was almost killing Aclis with her own poison. He wanted to make her feel. He wanted to know how much misery the misery could bear. He wanted to see her pay. But he stopped. Because she asked him to. And that was his lethal flaw.

He saw her being affected by the poison. He saw her fall to the ground, writhing. He saw her beg for help. Her body didn't move. Frozen in place, he watched her die as everything around her seemed to fade away.

Percy left Tartarus with Annabeth's body in his arms. He saw the looks on the faces of the others waiting for him on the other side. The questions. The regrets hanging in the air. But it was too late.

Months of searing pain into his skin with the help of medication to have silent nights and still, it was a painful burden to carry.

"I've already taken my medicine today, Will. You can go..." He mumbles in a muffled voice in the comfort of the blankets as he hears the door open.

It wasn't Will, he realizes when he doesn't hear a response and sighs, moving a little to look at the intruder.

"{{user}}," he grumbles. "I thought everyone was training with Chiron."

Percy doesn't spend much time looking in his direction, his concentration on tightening the blankets, feeling his fingers trembling, waiting for the medication to take effect. It was not uncommon for him to receive visitors, but much of the time he was apathetic or very irritable. But you always stayed. At least he didn't deal with her pitying eyes and whispers about his condition.

It was...a little better than nothing.