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leo never cries.
he hasn't cried in a long, long time; not since he was a child. when he was young, he'd burst out wailing at every slight inconvenience. when he was young, his mother would always be there to comfort him - calling him sweet nicknames, making him laugh through his tears.
and when she died, he'd cried like he'd never cried before, hiccuping and sobbing until his throat was dry and he had nothing left to give. he cried on the streets, too, under the bridges where he slept and at the orphanages that took him in and starved him, beat him until he was quiet.
(luckily, he was smart enough to never stick around for long. it scares him to think about what would have happened if he had.)
but no matter how much he cried, no one came. no one ever helped. and as the days and weeks and months dragged on, hungry and so absolutely alone, the hope died out.
so, right. first life lesson: crying does nothing. actually, that might be the second. first life lesson, ever, taught to him by his mother: don't touch the stove when it's hot. it never hurt when he did, but leo trusted his mother enough to not do it if she said so.
second life lesson: crying does nothing. it just wastes energy you could spend doing something else, like actually doing something about your life. when the tears threaten to fall, he reminds himself how useless they were; and how useless they still are. nobody cares. nobody will help. he has to help himself. no one else will do it for him.
(the third life lesson is never trust people you think you can trust.)
leo always gets motion sick in cars.
he expected to get sick in giant warships, as well, but surprisingly the rocking of the waves isn't as head-pounding. it's almost calming. no, scratch that - it is calming. funny, maybe, how as connected to fire he is, he finds the water relaxing, too.
he's never been on a boat before. when did he even get the chance? his mother never really took him on vacations, much less any boats. there's something reassuring about the unsteadiness of it all, that no matter the way the ship rocks this way and that, waves crashing against the wood, it'll stay upright. it'll stay.
nothing else in his life is that consistent. except maybe his sadness, but he doesn't want to think about that. it's too depressing. his smarts, too, maybe, except he was never smart enough to stop trusting people entirely, even after he learnt his lesson.
and he got hurt again, and again, and again.
the engine is humming, as engines tend to do, and leo presses his face against it. a little weird (actually, a lot weird), but it wasn't like anyone was exactly around to watch. everyone's probably asleep. or hanging out in their rooms, kissing, or whatever... couples do. whatever people do when they love each other. he sighs, wishing he had something to do.
but for once, the engines are working properly. nothing to fix, nothing to clean. no one to entertain. and he's useless, like he so often is.
it's at its worst when he's alone with his thoughts. when he's talking, laughing, making people laugh (or roll their eyes, more often than not), it's easier to quiet the voices in his own head. easier to chase away whatever self-deprecating thought will come next.
when he's alone, and no one's talking - not even himself - it's bad. because the voices seem louder than ever in the silence, and he has no choice but to listen to them, because he hasn't figured out yet how to shut them up, and he can't run from himself.
sometimes leo wishes he were a quieter person. maybe then his thoughts would be quieter, too.
they think he's annoying. all of them - even jason and piper, he knows it. saw that look in someone's eyes so often that he can tell now, can identify it at a glance. it's fine. he's gotten used to it. he just wished that... maybe, for once...
it's fine. he's fine. he is annoying; leo knows that. it would be naive to deny it, say that it was entirely everyone else's fault that they rolled his eyes at him, told him to shut up, that they wanted to make him sad. but when everything came along, the knowledge that he was a demigod, that he was a part of something entirely bigger than himself and he mattered, not just to someone but to everyone, to save the world and to be useful for once -
well, he thought that maybe it would be better. he wasn't imagining it - he was different from everyone else! and he'd finally found his people, people who were just as weird as he was.
but just like everything else, it failed to meet his expectations.
even among the outcasts, he's still annoying. still weird. the worst of the worst.
leo rubs his eyes, wiping at the tears there. damn it, he promised himself he wouldn't cry thinking about this. so stupid. how pathetic of a person do you have to be to get upset at things you've spent your whole life experiencing?
percy probably doesn't cry. leo wishes he were him. an actual hero, strong and noble and everything he should have been instead of... what he turned out to be. he wants to be him so bad it hurts. funny, charismatic, beloved by everyone.
the other day, he heard percy talking about his mother, how kind she was, the cookies she baked. it was the first time he saw percy look soft, almost, eyes full of love at the memory. leo almost wants to tell him not to fall for it. that the world isn't that kind, that the second you think you're safe, that you're happy, that someone loves you, it's taken away - but people aren't as unlucky as leo is.
why'd he have to get the short end of the stick?
something clunks in the engine, and leo smiles in relief. finally, something to tend to, even if it's nothing. then he'll stop thinking, even if only for a little while. after all, he has better things to do than to cry and whine.
when he stands up, the ship rocks violently, and he's slammed against the wall. groaning in pain, leo freezes in fear, waiting for it to start tipping over, for them to come crashing into the ocean. but it doesn't happen, and for the second time that night, leo smiles. (world record).
no matter what happens, the ship'll stay.
"ma?" leo is eight, and he scrunches his hands into the hem of his shirt. his mother turns to him, face falling at the tears pooling in his eyes, the way his lip trembles as if he's about to cry.
"what's wrong?" she asks, hoisting leo onto her lap. "are you hurt?"
he shakes his head, rubbing at his eyes. "no. it's just... i..." he takes a deep breath. "i don't want to be a girl anymore!" and he sees the way she freezes, eyes widening in surprise. "um... it feels wrong. so can you call me a boy? just for now? i want to... it feels nice."
for a second, the surprised look stays on her face, before she smiles. when esperenza smiles, it takes up all of her face - the corners of her eyes wrinkles, her nose scrunches up. her smile is brilliant, wide, but not in the way that's fake or forced at all. even now, in leo's memory, he thinks it's the most genuine smile he'd ever seen.
"of course. you can be a boy if you want to be." she pinches his cheek, and leo laughs, all the tears gone from his eyes, all the weight gone from his chest.
"and can you call me leo?" he asks, shyly.
"leo, huh?" she says, and her hair tickles his cheek. "leo... like a lion. they represent courage and fearlessness. my brave little lion." she smiles down at him, and leo looks back with stars in his eyes. the happiest he's ever been and will be. "my son."
the tears start coming back, but this time there's warmth in his chest instead of suffocating pressure. he wraps his arms around his mother's neck. "thank you," he murmurs into her shoulder, "i love you, mami."
she laughs, and her voice is like home. everything about her is home, her arms around him, the way she looks at him like he's the most precious thing she's ever created. "i love you too, leo," she says, softly, and kisses his cheek. he is warm, and he is home.
it almost hurts to remember. the dust particles floating in the air through the sunlight, how the stars looked in the sky back home. hurts to remember that there was a time when leo was happy, and peaceful, and okay. that was a different me, leo thinks. it has to be.
why else would he feel so empty now, when he was so happy then?
there are some things that can't be forgotten. the panic that rushed through his heart when the warehouse door clicked and locked shut. the sight of tia callida gaea, standing in black robes and a smug smile, looking as if she'd won. the rage rising through his body, the urge to get hold of the woman standing before him and tear her apart.
the way he had screamed his throat raw calling for his mother. his mother, who wasn't alive anymore, who had died at his hand.
does the blood on his hands grow redder every day, dripping down his burn-marked fingers and arms? does the weight of his sins grow heavier the longer he goes on, pretending like he isn't the killer of the one person he loved the most, fooling everyone into thinking he was a good person?
it sure feels like it.
how long will it be before leo finds himself not strong enough, too weak as he always is, to carry the weight of what he had done?
"there we go," leo murmurs, thumb running over the cure he's injected into festus. the dragon gives a low creaking sound. it's mechanical and slow, as always, but leo thinks he can hear some kind of concern in it, melancholy and sad. leo laughs at the thought - that the only person who'll ever love him is a machine. "yeah, buddy? it's okay. i'll be alright."
festus gives another groaning sound. "i didn't go all the way to make this cure just to fail," leo argues, "it's fine. i'll be fine. i won't die, fes. i - i can't. and if i do, at least i'll go out saving the world in an awesome blaze of glory."
he pats his dragon's head, standing up and brushing the dust off his pants. his cheek is wet, covered in grease and oil, and leo sticks his tongue out as he wipes it away. for the first time since he's boarded the argo ii, he decides to spend his night doing something else.
the planks of the ship creaks as he walks, but no one's around to hear. ascending to the deck of the ship, the air is cold, and the stars blink in the sky. no stymphalian birds or earth spirits, just leo and his own thoughts. he's not sure whether he's grateful or disappointed.
just when leo reaches the bow of the ship, a voice rings out behind him. "leo."
"gh!" leo spins around, arms raised in fighting stance, despite the fact he does not have the muscles nor the skill to fist fight. he relaxes a little when he sees who it is. "oh, it's you. thought it might've been some nutty old monster again."
"i'm flattered," comes the sarcastic reply, and leo watches as frank zhang walks up to him, standing at the bow of the ship with him. they're both quiet, for a long, tense moment, and leo can feel himself start to sweat.
"nice night, huh?" he says, trying to break the tension, but it clearly doesn't work.
all frank does is sigh and pinch his forehead. "leo, i -" he trails off, eyes darting to leo before going back to the sky, as if mapping out the stars. "there's got to be another way." leo looks up at the sky, too, stubbornly avoiding frank's concerned gaze. "it doesn't have to end like this."
"i don't think you're dumb enough to actually believe that, frankie," leo huffs out, crossing his arms, "besides, there's the cure. we didn't go all the way to asclepius to get it just to fail, trust me."
"and what if it doesn't work?" frank snaps.
"what about it? to storm or fire, the world must fall. well, i'll make that bitch fall." leo curls his hand into a fist, before looking back at frank. he knows frank is worried - because that's what frank does. he worries. he loves. too much, maybe. always too kind. "didn't know you cared that much about me."
frank rolls his eyes, and leo takes that a sign that he's given up. "i care about everyone on this ship," he says, like it's not obvious.
"that's why i'm doing this." leo gives a smug smile, knowing he's won. "because i care about everyone. because i don't want the world to go boom."
"well, you don't have to do it like this." frank frowns, and leo thinks about how far they've come from squabbling with each other over the dining table. as much as he loathes to admit it, he cares about frank, in all his righteousness and prudishness.
(third life lesson: never trust people you think you can trust.)
does that still apply if leo knows how purely and wholly good frank is? from the bottom of his heart, from the depths of his soul?
"aren't you scared?" frank asks.
"nope," leo lies, trying not to recall the way his hands shook when he received the cure, and again when he'd injected it into festus. not the way his heart pounds now, how the cold air and the orange watery beginnings of sunrise on the horizon feel so much more different when he knows it'll be one of his last. "heh. at least then i'll finally be a hero."
"you're already a hero," frank says, his hand inching toward leo's on the rough wood of the ship, "you don't have to die to be one, you know."
second life lesson: crying does nothing.
leo smiles through the tears in his eyes and rubs them away before frank can see. "sure," he forces out. stop making yourself look so goddamn pitiful. "that's good, 'cause i'm not going to die." it's not like he can do anything. "frank... trust me, okay? just this once." don't cry, don't cry, don't cry.
to leo's relief, frank gives in, curling his hand around leo's. "you make it awfully hard to trust you," he says, "but okay. i will. only because you're a stubborn little shit who probably won't back down even if i try to convince you."
"cursing? why, frank! i didn't know you were that devious!" leo mock gasps, clapping his hand over his mouth, relieved to feel that his eyes are (mostly) dry now. frank laughs, and it feels good. not in the usual i made someone laugh way - it was a different kind good. a different kind of warmth.
a warmth he hasn't felt since... not since...
maybe leo really is an idiot after all. what does of any of his intelligence mean if he can't even listen to his own lessons, his own rules? and he thinks that his past self must be scorned, jealous, after deciding that he would never trust anyone again. not after sleeping under the houston bridge for months because nobody cared enough to love him; not after being met with laughter when he said that he was a boy, so many times that he just let them call him a girl.
girl, girl, girl. the word tastes like poison in his mouth.
and it felt that way, too, like acid burning through him, whenever one of the foster homes called him that, like it was obvious. like that's who he was.
this would never happen if i was back home, he would think. but he wasn't home. he was here, at some strange house, that he would leave in a week because he wasn't strong enough. he would never be strong enough.
the least he can do is this.
frank's hand tightens around his. "leo, are you okay?" he asks, and his voice is so sincere, so genuine, in a way that frank zhang always is. go away, leo wants to snap, don't waste your breath on me.
when you find out who i am, what i did, will you worry the same? love the same?
or will you let me die in the fire?
leo's always wondered how burning feels. but it doesn't matter; he supposes he'll find out soon.
"i'm fine, frank," leo says, putting on a wide grin, and he hopes frank can't feel the way his hands are trembling. "anyway, you can't convince me not to do this. end of. you should go back to your room - the sun's about to rise." he jerks his head toward the slowly yellowing sky. "should try to get what little sleep you can."
"and you?"
he tilts his head. "i'll be working." leo doesn't miss the way frank's brows furrow with worry once more, but there must be something on leo's face that convinces frank not to push it. good decision, leo thinks. don't get too close to me, or i might burn you alive just like i did with my mother.
(maybe he doesn't want to be fine. maybe he wants to die, burn away, feel what his mother did in her last moments. maybe the blood on his hands will finally wash away when he dies for a world that gave him nothing.)
frank's footsteps are loud against the deck, and leo breathes a sigh of relief when he finally disappears below. he looks back at the sky, tinging with orange and yellow and red - like fire. burning and singing across the still-blue background. he remembers what the stars looked like back home; but no matter how much he squints, he can't see any now.
that really was a different him, then. the boy that had sat in his mother's lap, giggling and laughing away, was gone. when did he die? in the foster homes, under the bridge? when his warehouse burnt to ash?
his mother wasn't the only person leo killed that day. this is his second chance.
leo doesn't want to die.
but maybe he'll finally be loved when he's dead.
when leo wakes up, he is alive. he is so very alive.
the next thing he notices is that he's in pain. it flares up the right side of his body, the left side of his face, and he screams until his throat is sore, rolling over and shuddering against the grass. it was like someone had injected a thousand needles into his body at once; like his bloodstream had been replaced with burning, bubbling acid.
"help," he rasps out, and dimly he registers that everything around him is burning, crackling. his hand bunches in the grass, and that's when he realises that his other hand is gone. where there would usually be an arm and fingers and an elbow, there's nothing but blood and melted flesh. "help me!"
as usual, no one comes. leo grits his teeth and slams his remaining fist against the ground. "fuck," he says, before crawling toward festus. unsurprisingly, the dragon was a little broken down and ripped apart, but it was nothing leo couldn't fix. if he could just get himself to stop bleeding, that is.
"okay, fes, let's do this." festus creaks in support, and leo gingerly props himself up against the bronze dragon, reaching his hand into his toolbelt, which is thankfully unharmed. "bandages, bandages. wait - i gotta - cauterize, or something. shouldn't be too hard for someone like me, right?" he laughs weakly, wincing when something shifts in his ribs.
raising his hand and heating it up, leo decides to just get it over with, clamping his hand around the bloody stump of his arm. another scream rips itself from his throat, and leo keels over. "fuck!" he yells. "shit - this fucking hurts, fes, i'm gonna - fuck! - i'm gonna need a moment -!"
the dragon gives another groan, as if to say take your time. leo giggles at the thought, aware that he's probably going insane or something. "if this is what it feels like... when i'm immune to heat... wonder what it'd feel like if i wasn't, huh? shit."
he draws his hand away, shaking off the blood and wiping it against the grass. for all the pain, the wound did seem to have closed some. "hey, festus, can you hold this in place for me? uh-huh..." leo clamps the end of the bandage in festus' jaw, wrapping the other end around and around his stump of an arm. "okay, should be good for now. yeah? thank god i didn't lose any other limbs."
there's a dreaded stinging in his eyes. "not gonna cry," he scolds himself, "not at a time like this." there are too many things he needs to do, and here he is, talking to himself in a forest. fix festus. tend to my other wounds. get back home.
leo doesn't even know where 'home' is.
"not - gonna -" he grits his teeth and reaches into his toolbelt once again, pulling out a wrench and a hammer, "- waste my time. we gotta find your parts," he slurs, as if talking to his beheaded pet dragon will do anything. "gotta stand."
his legs are shaky, but it's fine. it's alright! he's sure he's gone through worse before. there's blood all over the place. oh god, there's so much blood. is that his? all of it? his eyesight is blurry. he didn't know being brought back to life would be so goddamn painful.
festus' eyes move to him, making another concerned creak. "i'll be fine," leo says, leaning against a tree, "it's okay, fes. i'll just search for your parts - and then - then..." his cheeks are wet. from the blood or the tears? does it matter?
something snaps in his hand when he slams it against the tree, trying to regain his balance. "s'okay," he murmurs, "i can do this by myself. i do everything by myself. i'll be fine. i'm fine, i'm... f...."
the last thing leo remembers is the ground spiralling beneath him as he collapses.
"leo! leo, oh my gods."
"come on, wake up wake up wake up wake up..."
"it's okay. it's alright. you're safe now."
when leo wakes up for the second time, he's still alive.
at least, he thinks he might be. the room he's in right now isn't exactly the most suitable place for a hero in elysium. unless he got sent to asphodel or something. that'd be pretty unfair, but leo thinks that if he had a choice, he'd probably send himself there, too.
is your worth judged by yourself, he thinks, or by others? is there an objective metric, set by the world to measure how pure you are? how good you are?
his second thought is that his face really fucking hurts.
"hey!" he shouts. well, he means to shout, but it comes off as more of a ragged whisper, with how hoarse and broken his voice is. his arm is wrapped in bandages more neatly now, and it isn't rapidly soaking in blood. in fact, the pain in his arm is nothing more than just an aching spot, though it doesn't diminish the agonizing feeling of his face. "hey, can someone - i'm awake!"
he runs his fingers over his face, the rough texture of the bandages. it's wrapped over the entire left side of his face, over his eye and the corner of his mouth. when he looks down, the other wounds on his legs and arms are healed over. most likely the work of ambrosia.
"leo?" he hears someone say, and there's a clattering sound outside the door. he recognizes it now; he's in the infirmary. at camp half-blood. at home. "leo, oh my gods!"
before he can even process who exactly the voice is, nyssa barrera is barreling toward him, squeezing him so tight his stump of an arm starts to hurt again. "leo," she sobs, and leo doesn't think he's ever heard someone so happy to see him. it's almost heartwarming. almost. (his face still hurts like a motherfucker.) "i'm so glad you're alive."
"duh, i'm alive." leo cracks a grin, as he always does, falling back into his old habit already. the side of his mouth flares up in pain, and he hopes nyssa doesn't notice how he winces. "i eat death for breakfast."
nyssa pulls away, but leo isn't given a reprieve from the pain when she punches him in the shoulder. "you're such an idiot," she sobbed, "hold on. let me go get the others. and some more ambrosia." he sighs in relief, leaning against the headboard as he watches nyssa run out of the room.
his arm is starting to ache again. he runs his fingers over the bandage once more. saved, for the first time in his life. back home, for the first time in a long, long while. maybe it's okay to depend on people once and a while, but what did it cost him?
a missing arm. a half-gone face, flesh melted off like skinning an animal. it's a miracle his eye still works beneath the bandages. what will the others think when they see this? leo grasps the end of the bandage, hanging limp next to his neck, wondering whether he should unwrap it. will they still like him?
for a second, he's reminded of the plastic surgery horror stories his mother used to tell him. he laughs at the memory, at his disbelief that anyone would ever want to change their face that bad. now, though, he thinks he gets it.
someone shouts his name again, and leo winces. did he rupture his eardrum too or something? everything feels so painfully loud, loud, loud. even though that doesn't make sense - even if leo's been loud his entire life. all he wants know is quiet. and sleep.
and some fucking painkillers for his fucking face, christ. when will nyssa be back?
the person who lunges at leo isn't nyssa. instead it's piper, who hugs him like she never has before, as if she hasn't seen him in years. and for all he knows, maybe that's true. he doesn't even know the date. it hurts like a bitch, but the warmth in his heart dulls it away, allows him to wrap his remaining arm around her. the power of love, he supposes.
"i'm so glad you're okay." her voice is thick with emotion, and she clambers up onto the infirmary bed, her weight on his injured legs. "you - i was so - i didn't know what i would have done if you had really died. if you had sacrificed your life for all of us."
"well, you don't have to think about it anymore. i'm here, pipes." leo squeezes back. he wipes away the tears in his eyes, begging himself not to look so depressing. "fuck, i missed you. but i'm here," he repeats, more to himself than to piper, "and you don't have to worry about me anymore."
she frowns, drawing back and (thank the gods) shifting off of his legs. "i'll keep worrying," she says. her hair is shorter, leo notices. it reached to her shoulders during the war - now it barely reaches her chin in a fluffy dark brown bob. choppy and messy, but it looks nice on her. piper's always been the type to look better with messy hair. (leo thinks it fits... everything about her.)
"'course you will," is all he manages to say before he can't take it anymore. "do you have any ambrosia on you? or at least painkillers? my face hurts like fuck."
"oh, yeah, yeah, sorry." to his relief, piper reaches back and pulls a cube of ambrosia out of her pocket. though the word cube wasn't so appropriate, seeing as it was flattened and out of shape. "um... it's a little squished. i think i may have sat on it."
leo laughs. the side of his mouth hurts even more. "only you, pipes."
"i bet you'd do the same, you clumsy idiot. here." she drops the thing into his hand, and he throws it into his mouth.
the first thing leo registers is that it kind of hurts to eat, a slight stinging in his cheek whenever his jaw closes, the way he has to force his mouth to snap shut, the concerning cracking sound whenever he does.
the second thing leo registers is that it tastes like nothing.
"hey, you okay?" piper asks, concern written all over her face. "you look kind of weird. does it hurt to eat? i can tell w -"
"no, i'm fine," he snaps, grabbing her wrist before she can go. he bites his lip, trying to find anything except the tasteless goop in his mouth. it tastes like sand and water and nothing. his hand tightens around piper's wrist. "it's just been..." he grits his teeth and lies through them. "a while, you know?'
"oh." her face relaxes, and she settles down again. "yeah. i get it."
do you? he thinks, finally releasing his grip on the poor girl's wrist. his face does feel better, but the rest of him is as cold as a corpse. and he might as well be, if he's forgotten his own mother's cooking. if there's nothing left of her left in him to remember.
(when the blood washed away, did the memories go too?)
"the others are here, you know," piper says softly, as if she's afraid of upsetting leo, "when we found you, they rushed over as quickly as they could. hazel and frank, i mean, from camp jupiter. they want to see you. and i know you've been through a lot, but if you feel up to it...?"
no, is what leo wants to say. what he wants to do is lay down in the pathetic infirmary bed and cry into the shitty quality pillows, break his own rules, and say go to hell to the little kid sleeping under the houston bridge and tending to the bruises all over his body, inevitably jealous of anyone who has time to cry.
"sure," is what he says instead.
sometimes leo will imagine things that don't exist.
he raises his right arm, only to remember it isn't there, that he can't gesture and move about like he used to. at times he swears it really does feel like it's still there - that he is whole and complete, like he was never broken at all. but when he looks down, nothing faces him but a rounded stump.
and then there are times when pain flares up where there no longer is. he'll wince and go to grab his arm, and his fingers will close around open air, and he's left wondering why it still feels like he's there. back in the forest, melting and helpless. like he's still burning. did he ever stop?
will tells him it's called 'phantom pain', after he trips and stumbles into the infirmary swearing, looking for something to ease the pain. leo thinks it's appropriate. at first he thought his arm would be gone, and that was it; he didn't know he'd be waking up every other night, pain sparking up nerves that aren't there, cramps and pins-and-needles in a body part that no longer exists.
(but maybe it's not exactly an entirely new experience. after all, he still feels love for a woman that no longer exists, for a home that no longer is, for a boy that died long ago when he was eight years old.)
sometimes leo will imagine things that don't exist, like the pain in his missing arm.
and sometimes, when he looks into the mirror, he thinks he can see his mother there, behind him, smiling like she used to. she is proud of him, and she is happy, and for a second he thinks he might be happy, too.
but when he turns around, she is gone. or rather, she was never there.
phantom pain, indeed.
"you know, the quest messed all of us up," jason says, one day, looking up into the starry sky. it's beautiful, leo admits, but it still doesn't look like how it did back home. "everyone always had these expectations and it sucked. i hated that. i hate expectations."
leo hums in agreement. "well, the prophecy was the first time anyone expected anything of me." and he thinks of how funny it is, that he and jason have led such different lives, but they're both here, now, on the same rooftop. "actually... maybe not. you know, when i was a child, hera gave me a snake and a stick. told me to poke it to show i was brave."
jason laughs. "did you?"
"i didn't. at the time, i remembered thinking... the snake hasn't done anything to me. why should i disturb it?" he shrugs. "she was mad, i think. hera. but she couldn't do anything. i was a baby, it was ridiculous."
"and she needed you. for the quest. she needed all of us." jason sighs. "all the gods ever do is depend on us. expect things from us that we don't owe them, and we're just forced to obey." jason's voice is irate, angry, and he slaps his hand over his forehead. "i'm tired of it."
he supposes jason is right, really, but leo's so used to serving and sacrificing he's never really thought of it before. too used to people thinking the worst of him that expectations seemed impossible, far away enough to forget how stifling and overwhelming they are.
but now that there's no prophecy, no quest, no war that needs to be won, who is leo? will he continue to pretend, like he did on the argo ii and years before that? maybe the prophecy fucked him up, but it had given him purpose. now that it's over, he's back to wondering why he's even still here. is it better to be fucked up or gone entirely, without meaning?
"can i ask you a question?" jason props himself up on his arm. there's something in his eyes, something downcast and sad. leo hopes it's not pity. he doesn't know how he'd handle his best friend of all people feeling pity for him. (pity is the most useless emotion, in leo's opinion, followed closely by sadness.) "does it... hurt?"
does what hurt? he wonders. dying? losing an arm? losing half of my face, so now my ugly mug matches my stupid fucking father's?
they say that when hephaestus was born, he was flung off olympus, deformed and monstrous. it's edgy, but leo thinks he might have understand just a little how hera felt in that moment when he looks in the mirror - staring at something too misshapen to be alive. but he wishes it were as easy as throwing a baby off of mount olympus.
it's easy to discard someone else. not as easy when the misshapen thing is yourself.
but he's here now, and he's alive, and he's living. and there are no mirrors here, just jason and the stars. he will not be cast off olympus just yet, won't scratch at his face until there is blood caked beneath his nails. here, the weight of his actions feel a little bit lighter.
"nope," leo says, breezily, and he's smiling. "didn't hurt at all."
sometimes all leo wants to do is be alone. like he'll scream if one more person tries to talk to him, feel so drained that just the sight of another human being feels like a challenge.
sometimes, the loneliness is unbearable. he'll claw his face off if he doesn't talk to someone right now - he'll wake up in the dead of night from the nightmares and scramble for someone, anyone, to say that he's okay, that he's alive. that his heart is beating, still, in his chest, that he didn't die in the blast and he's not a ghost pretending to be a human.
(it wouldn't be too far off, really. at times leo will feel transparent, and when he looks down the sight of his feet feel surreal.)
the worst days, though, are when he doesn't know which one he is. when he wants to talk to someone, feel normal again, but the second he steps out the doorway he's run dry of energy, like a well in a drought, hoping for rain. he'll fall in someday, leo knows it, knees scraping against the stone floor, looking up at the light of the sky, far, far away. unreachable, unattainable.
even with the sunlight on his skin and the fire in his veins, leo has never felt colder.
but life goes on. that's what everyone says - both to him and to themselves. life goes on, even when we lose people - the sun keeps rising and setting, day after day after day. the sound of a hammer banging against metal rings in leo's ears, and through the noise all he can wonder is whether it's just another cheap saying that people make up to make themselves feel better.
did life go on when his mother died, when he fell from the sky, burning orange and half melting flesh? it doesn't feel like it.
he's felt like a corpse recently; one that can only work - take things apart and put things together. if only he could get himself together. but there was logic in machinery. there was none in his feelings. (which he hated, by the way.)
"hey, you," someone says, and leo yelps, spinning around and chucking the hammer at the person who spoke. frank barely dodges and raises his hands out of fear, eyes wide and letting out a squeak of surprise. "i'm sorry! i didn't mean to disturb you, it's just - i haven't seen you in a while. want to join us at the campfire?"
leo almost considers it, but the thought of having to sing along happily makes him cringe. when did he lose the ability to be loud? annoying. "nah, i'm good. i have some work to do, i'm making -" he gestures to his anvil, suddenly unsure. what is he making? "- y'know, something. waiting for inspiration to strike! my genius works in mysterious ways."
frank smiles, like he can see right through leo (like a ghost) (see, he's good at metaphors), and crosses his arms. "looks like the only thing that's striking here is you with that hammer. give that poor sheet of metal a break and come eat with us." he sniffs and frowns. "wait... leo, when was the last time you showered?"
"oh, you know..." he wants to say today, but something in him keeps him from lying, despite the fact he knows how absolutely gross it is. "you know, it's, um, it's complicated. what do you count as a shower?"
"leo."
"i know, i know -"
"that's disgusting," frank says. he raises his hand to pinch the fabric of leo's jacket between his fingers, and to both he and leo's disgust, his skin comes away grimy with grease. "okay, yep, that's gross. leo, you have to take care of yourself. i haven't seen you at the dining pavilion for like, a week. you're covered in bruises and cuts when i'm pretty sure you have ambrosia in your toolbelt."
as much as he hates to admit it, frank is right, but it's not like leo is going to tell him that. even after his moment of sternness, frank softens, as he is prone to do (because he's frank), pushing a cube of ambrosia into leo's hand.
he eats it, ignoring the way it still tastes like nothing in his mouth, meaningless slop on his tongue. "why haven't you been showering, anyway?" frank asks, and leo shrugs pathetically.
what is he supposed to say? that showering has been hard for him, even when he was young, because he can't stand to look at his own body - too skinny and bony for a boy? that recently, taking off his arm feels like pain in itself, a reminder that he's unwhole?
maybe it'll be better with frank around.
"it's just too much sometimes," leo admits, walking over to pick his hammer off the floor, "can you maybe - i know it's kind of stupid - can you maybe come with? it's okay if you don't want to, i get it's kind of awkward, but -"
"hey," frank interrupts gently, batting leo's gesturing hands away from his face, "if it helps, then i'll do it. don't worry about it." he hesitates, before placing his hand on leo's shoulder. compared to leo, who's pretty small compared to anyone, but even smaller with frank. his hand engulfs leo's shoulder, and it almost hurts when he squeezes it, albeit gently.
it's a nice kind of pain, though. "thanks, dude," leo says, throwing in the nickname in an effort to make things more lighthearted, because the tension is choking him at this point. he walks toward the door, and frank follows.
the pitch black of the sky almost surprises him. last he saw the sky, it was still morning... the morning of yesterday, that is. he remembers watching the sunrise through the windows of bunker nine, registering that it's been a full week that he hasn't slept. at some point he thinks the pounding of his head, urging him to sleep, just becomes his default state.
"hey - so i've been meaning to ask," leo starts. it's a lie - he hasn't been meaning to ask, actually, because he rarely thinks about anyone but himself. he realises how self-centred he's been since the war's ended - focused on himself only. like he was the only who suffered. it makes the guilt in his chest grow larger. "why... haven't you gone back to camp jupiter? you're praetor now, right? that's awesome."
"it's complicated." frank shrugs, and leo can see that he doesn't want to talk about it. they stop at the hephaestus cabin, thankfully empty. "okay. we're here - uh."
"okay, well, last chance to back out," leo says, "it's prolly going to be pretty damn awkward - and i can do it by myself, it's not like i can't shower."
"it's fine. we've... we've been through a war. i think we can handle seeing each other naked." frank smiles crookedly and peers into the bathroom. "oh, your bathroom's way nicer than mine."
leo finds this hard to believe, considering there are stray machine parts littered over the sink counter (and in the sink itself). the walls are stained with oil, not enough to make the whole room look filthy, but enough that anyone who walked in could tell that this room had been through some shit.
"i'm serious," frank says, when he notices leo's raised eyebrows. "have you seen the ares cabin bathroom? that place is... a mess." he laughs. "i keep thinking one day i'll step in and there'll be a dead rabbit on the floor or something. back home, we never would've let anything like that happen."
"gods know clarisse probably hunts animals with her bare teeth." leo rolls his eyes, fiddling with the hem of his shirt and beginning to take it off - trying to decide whether doing it quickly or slowly would be less awkward. "don't tell her i said that, by the way."
"i don't hate you that much," frank jokes, and leo decides that he's got nothing else to lose anyway and rips off his shirt. "oh, right! we're standing in the bathroom for a reason, not just to talk."
despite the stupidity of it all, leo finds himself smiling. "there are better places to do that, yeah," he agrees, kicking off his jeans and socks. "alright, well, time to get in, i suppose."
"your underwear?"
"aw, damn it. i thought i could let my grimy dick slide, but i guess you're just a pervert."
frank recoils, and it's the funniest expression leo's ever seen in his life. "please never say that again," he says, and leo almost feels sorry from how stricken frank looks, "i will literally pay you to never say that again."
leo kicks off his underwear as well, sighing. "tempting business offer, but your face? man. worth more than anything money could buy." he steps into the shower, turning the knob, before slamming his back against the shower wall. "eugh! cold cold cold!"
"i thought you of all people would like it cold," frank says, stepping in with his underwear still on, adjusting the shower knob himself. the water grows warm. "seeing as you're a firebender at all."
"i'm just full of surprises, i know."
"well, i never said that..."
leo finds it harder and harder to restrain a genuine smile as he reaches over for the soap. "you implied it. that's, like, practically the same." he hesitates between the shampoo and the body soap. "hey, so, since my hair is so curly and messy and all, it kind of takes a long time to wash, so..."
he smiles toothily, and he thinks it would work a little better if half of his mouth wasn't a stitched together mess of flesh. frank looks unimpressed, even with his hair wet and sticking to his forehead. "we're washing your hair, leo. if i squeezed it over a glass, there'd probably be enough to fill it."
"okay, i'm not that dirty," leo claims, before grimacing and realising that the water running into the drain is tinged murky grey. "well, maybe a little. can you help? my hair's kind of..." he runs his fingers through it, wincing as he pulls on the tangled mess.
"oh, sure." frank rubs the shampoo into his hands before combing through leo's hair. despite his hands being much larger than leo's own, he's much gentler than leo ever was - or could be, really - with his hair. after a while it becomes almost relaxing, and they settle into silence.
it feels nice. to just do nothing, and let someone else take care of him. for the past few days - weeks, even, since he crash landed into the woods on fire - leo feels like he's done nothing but do something. anything. work on his machines, train, help the younger demigods with things that need helping with.
what does he have to show for it? any other child of hephaestus could do what he does, and among the many people at camp, he's sure it wouldn't make a difference if he disappeared. and he's standing here, letting someone else do something for him that he should be able to do by himself (for fuck's sake, it's showering).
maybe without the prophecy, he really is nothing.
at least the others have something going on. hazel and reyna will keep doing what they do back at camp jupiter. annabeth's off to college, because what is there that she can't do? jason and piper might still be figuring it out, but leo's sure of one thing; they'll do and matter much more than he does. and frank? frank is praetor, now. which still doesn't explain why he's here, at camp half-blood, instead of back at his home where he's meant to be.
"why are you still here?" leo asks abruptly, and frank jolts, accidentally pulling on leo's hair. leo winces, crossing his arms. "you're supposed to be back at camp jupiter, being praetor or whatever. don't tell me you're getting cold feet."
"no - no, i'm not. i still want to be praetor, and i'm really proud, and all that. i mean, i spent some time overseeing reconstruction and stuff back when you were still... m.i.a. anyway, i came back when they found you, and i decided to stay because..." frank's hands freeze at the back of leo's neck, and without even looking at him leo can tell he's tensed up. "because of you."
"what?" leo snaps, turning around. "you're joking, right?"
frank almost looks like a frightened animal, like a deer caught in headlights. he clasps his shampoo-covered hands together nervously, puffs of foam flying all over the place. "what? no, i'm not. i know it sounds silly, but i -" he hesitates, "i guess i wanted to take care of you?"
"you can't just ignore your responsibilities to do that!" leo yells, and he's not even sure why he's angry, he just knows that he is. "you think i need help? that i'm some kind of pet that you need to care for? well, i'm not, okay! people depend on you back at your home and you're here, ditching them for me."
"i'm not ditching them. reyna's taken care of the camp alone for a while, she can handle a few more days. listen, i know you probably don't like me, but seeing you like that? after we found you?" frank sighs. "i wanted to make sure you'd be okay before i left."
"well, i am okay. so you can leave."
a snort comes from frank, like leo's the one being ridiculous. "no, you're not! i don't mean to be rude, but i'm worried, leo. have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately? you've barely been eating, and -" he looks down. "the water's grey when you shower!" leo rolls his eyes and turns back around again, adamantly refusing to look frank in the eye. "you know... it's alright to not be okay. to need help. you did save the world, after all -"
"no, it's not okay! you know why?" leo trembles, slamming his fist against the wet shower wall. he's cold. so cold. this is why i don't take showers. he misses a time, back on the ship, where at least he could find the ocean and the water relaxing. now it just reminds him of how burnt out he is. a fire doused long ago. "because - because sometimes, there just aren't going to be any people around to help. and i just have to deal with it."
he takes a shivering breath, before stomping out of the shower and tugging on his underwear. "i need to get out of here."
"leo, stop! your hair's still -"
"i don't give a shit! okay! it doesn't matter how good i am or how hard i try, because now that the war's over, i don't matter. there's nothing left for me to do." frank opens his mouth and leo keeps talking because he doesn't want to hear frank's annoying, grating voice - always so kind. too kind. and infuriatingly gentle. leo wishes he had that.
"and you know what? you're right. i did save the world. want to know what i got in return? not a fucking prize or a thank you card. instead i got this -" he points at the stump of his arm, "and this!" he points at his face. "for most of my life i've had nothing but myself. and i gave that too."
a silence falls over them, and leo shivers in the cold air. frank touches him, hand on his shoulder, like he's a statue made of glass. fragile. like he could shatter any moment. it's not entirely inaccurate. "i told you that you didn't have to. you shouldn't have had to - there must have been another way. you don't owe your life or your death to a world as unkind as this one."
frank is warm where his skin meets leo's. ironic, maybe. who's the one who has to burn? who's the one who can't?
"maybe i don't," leo murmurs, "but what would i be if i didn't do it? a failed hero."
"you're worth more than just a prophecy." frank clasps both his hands around leo's, and his eyes are full of tears and stars and everything soft that leo wishes he had. "i know you think that you're not worth anything if you're not sacrificing yourself for everyone else, but it's not true. that's not true for anybody."
"right. so it's not a coincidence that the only time people paid attention to me is when i come back to life like fucking jesus or something." leo laughs, and it's bitter. "and it's not just that - you don't understand. there's something i did that i - i have to make up for. i know i'm a shitty person, but if i - if i do enough good. maybe she'll finally be able to forgive me. and be proud of me."
for a second, frank just stares, lip trembling. it's clear he doesn't know what to say, and leo thinks that he's done it again. driven yet another person away.
and maybe that's a good thing. maybe frank is the last person that leo should be around, because he's so good, and he really is everything soft and sweet and nice in the world. maybe not soft and sweet and nice enough to stick around when leo burns and reduces his lifeline to ash.
but he sticks around now, hands around leo's like he doesn't intend to ever let go.
"you said before that - that you saved the world and you didn't even get anything in return. and i think that people didn't say it because it was a given - because they thought you knew already - and i don't know if it counts for anything now, but." his shoulders sag. "thank you."
"fuck," leo murmurs, and he's shaking pathetically again.
"a lot of people care about you. jason, piper, hazel - they all do, and i know that for a fact. and i do too. a lot." another squeeze to his hands. "why else would i have stayed behind?"
"because you're an idiot who thinks everyone is good when they really aren't?"
frank laughs. "maybe that's true. but it's not true for you. you're one of the most selfless people i've ever met, leo. and you're not a bad person. no matter what you try to tell yourself." he reaches up with one hand and brushes leo's wet, still-soapy hair out of his eyes.
before leo knows it he's lunging at frank and wrapping his arms around him, wet and soapy and sticky and all. "shut up," he says, though it's muffled, and he's never felt anything like this before. it's not home, but it's... almost there. like he's on his way. not a fire, but a spark. the start of something. "i hate you. you don't know nothing."
there's a hand combing through his hair again, and leo's afraid he might start crying. he digs his nails so far into frank's back he's worried the other might bleed.
"you don't have to get her to forgive you, leo," frank says, "there was never anything to forgive."
leo's hands tremble where his hand meets the glass.
it's bandaged now, band-aids plastered over the cuts and bruises. he sits on the windowsill, and for once there isn't that crushing, suffocating pressure in his chest urging him to do something worthwhile. it'll probably come back later - never gone for long. but for now, he'll sit and do absolutely nothing, and he will be happy.
light streams in through the window. it's late afternoon - not late enough for the sun to start setting just yet or the sky to start turning shades of brilliant pink and orange, but late enough that everything is bathed in a soft yellow glow. maybe the world he died for isn't so terrible, after all.
dust particles float in the air, illuminated and beautiful in the stream of yellow. when leo looks down, the sunlight hits the floor just like it did when he was home.
home. is camp half-blood his home now? all the things he love are here: festus, curled up in the corner of bunker nine, creaking as he sleeps. the way the dining hall looks almost magnificent in the early light of sunrise, when no one else is around. and his friends, all the people here. the people who care about him... the people who loved him, who he needed when he was a child, who would help him no matter what.
maybe it's not too late to accept that help.
it seems impossible, but so did ending the war, so maybe it's not as far away as he feels. hopefully this time he won't die. maybe he never really did come back to life - with how he's been feeling, it doesn't feel like life at all.
(how long do wars last? people ask. no one focuses on how long it takes after they end to start living again.)
but for now, in the light of the sun that's about to set but hasn't started setting just yet, leo feels alive. not in a thrilling, adrenaline way, but in a way that makes him feel like he's truly here, that he's not a ghost living in a man.
"i'm sorry," he says. his voice is hoarse when he speaks, and his eyes are beginning to sting. he taps his fingers against the glass, a familiar pattern that he's tapped at least a thousand times before. i love you. "i don't want to be happy without you, mami. but i guess i don't have a choice, huh?"
he gives a weak smile, and it falters as soon as it appears. "i've been stupid," he says, lowly. "i know. and you'll never know how sorry i am, but - well, if you were alive, you'd probably want me to do this. i've been living for you all this time, but i think i have to start living for myself now."
the window is cold against his cheek, and he taps his finger again and again - hoping that somewhere, she'll be able to hear it, and know. and maybe she'll know, too, that the stars at camp half-blood don't look the way they did back home, but they're still as beautiful.
"te amo, mami," he whispers, and there are tears in his eyes.
when the frost under his skin finally melts away, it's replaced by warmth; the first good warmth in years, like spring breaking through the cold of snow. not the kind that destroys, but the kind that creates. not an end, but a beginning.
and for the first time in a long, long while, leo lets himself cry.