Four Months Later...

Percy's POV:

"It wasn't supposed to end that way Annabeth, not for any of them." I can't look her in the eyes. 

"It wasn't your fault Percy." There's such fierce conviction in her voice I nearly look up. But I don't.

"If I hadn't pushed Joselyn out of the way of Peter's bullet it wouldn't have hit Ms. Parker. She wouldn't have died."

"But Joselyn would've."

"Joselyn died anyway."

"You know what Percy, it was an impossible situation. You tried to save Joselyn and in the process Ms. Parker and Joselyn got killed. You couldn't have planned for it. You were doing the best you could with what you were given, even though there was no good way out." Annabeth tries to comfort me, tries to make me feel better. But there's nothing she can do.

There's nothing anyone can do now.

It's been four months. I haven't spoken to my mom, I haven't seen her. How could I? How could I after this? New York isn't in chaos, but it isn't as safe as it was, either. The people who said Spiderman was a menace, who said he needed to be stopped? Their eating their words now. The ones who hated him the most are practically begging for him to come back. 

And history is repeating itself. Another Stark is looking for another young super-powered boy who's lost. Except this time he doesn't want to be found. 

If I were Peter I wouldn't want to be found either. I'd want to hide on the most isolated island in the world, never to be seen again.  Even though I didn't lose what Peter did, even though I lost nothing more than a few friends I'd hardly made and two innocent people that I barely knew it was enough. Enough to make me want to leave. Enough for me to fall back into the pit of my mind; deeper, darker, and much for terrifying than Tartarus could ever be. Because the higher you rise the farther you have to fall. 

"Percy?" Annabeth tries to speak to me but I turn away. This place isn't a sanctuary, it's a prison. But everywhere is a prison when the real cell is within your own mind.

I'm just walking. Walking walking walking. Going nowhere, coming from nowhere, trying to forget the earth under my feet. Trying to pretend the sound of gun shots don't resound in my ears even now, so long after. Trying to remember that four months is more than long enough for physical blood to wash off my hands.

But there's still blood on my hands. There are still gunshots in my ears. Copper in my nose, regret on my tongue. The hurt of the ones left behind pumps through my veins.

Maybe that's what it feels like to be a god. Unable to look at your hands because of the blood you didn't mean to spill, always shifting form, changing, adapting. Always hoping to find a body where the regret can't follow.

Or maybe Peter is like a god, left behind. Everyone else being gone. The questions. The "if they're gone then why am I not?" The running from city to city pretending that there chaos in your wake. Trying to live when living is impossible. Except it isn't living that's impossible. No, for you it seems like dying is.

The warehouse is dark and dust filled, the air heavy with something thicker than air. It's pain. It's fists being slammed against concret. It's sobbs for her not to be dead. It's apologizes given a lifetime to late. It's family dinners and I love you's and don't forget to do your homework and I'm so proud of you and I will always protect you no matter what dying. It's love that has nowhere to go, so it has to turn to grief. It's pure, undiluted anguish. It's heartache but it's more than that. It's heartbreak.  

It's Stark finding the body of his friend, shot execution style, just out of sight. It's a son who already lost his father losing the person his father admired more than anything else in the world. It's a petty feud ended because in the end death come to us all, but for some people it comes to soon. 

It's America mourning for the loss of a soldier, a patriot, a model. It's America mourning for the captain named after her. But America doesn't mourn for a friend. She doesn't mourn for the man who knocked gently and was willing to give even the least likely case a chance. America doesn't mourn for the man who accepted a boy named Peter even though he was from Queens.

America doesn't mourn for a boy named Peter. May and Peter Parker, an aunt and her nephew, tragically killed in a warehouse fire along with an unidentified body. That's what the newspaper said.

The paper didn't say that the unidentified body was an eighteen year old girl named Joselyn, or that she had killed Captain America himself. The paper didn't say that Peter was a hero.

And the paper certainly didn't say that Peter wasn't dead. Somethings don't have to be true to be true. Because yeah, his dead body wasn't created, but Peter Parker was dead. So many bodies can turn anyone into a body and nothing more.

And it's bodies. It's bodies and bodies and bodies and I can't handle it I can't handle this I can't I can't I can't. 

But I'm not in that warehouse. Pipes aren't bursting with my pain. Questions I can't answer aren't being asked. 

I'm home-ish. I'm at camp but I'm on the outside. I tried to try. I tried to be a good role model, tried to be a hero, tried to not show weakness, tried to be perfect. But I'm not a good role model, I'm not a hero, I am not perfect. I am weak. I'm just a fraud. Some hero who directly causes the death of a middle aged, completely innocent woman. Who doesn't stop someone who might be their friend from killing an almost innocent teenaged girl. 

Remix was not innocent. Remix murdered Captain America is cold blood. Remix was dangerous, a villain, maybe even evil. 

But Joselyn wasn't. Joselyn was my age. Joselyn was young and stupid and was thrust into a situation that nobody should have to handle. And I could have been her.

I could have so easily become Remix. But the thing is Joselyn wasn't evil, not even a little. Bitter? Sure. Mislead? No doubt. Completely and utterly wrong? Certainly. That shouldn't write a death sentence for someone though. Bad choices shouldn't be the end. 

It's not as though Joselyn's death only affected her. Because now Peter's gone. Not dead, probably, but gone. No matter how angry someone is, and no matter how much the other person deserves it they don't. Or maybe they do. But Peter didn't. This isn't something you just get over. Killing anyone, or anything, ever, is hard. Killing someone who didn't know what they were doing and might just have been innocent? That's a million times worse. I shouldn't have let him do it. I should have stopped him. And so, in a way, this is all my fault. Which is cliche and stupid but so true it hurts.

The worst part? It never goes away. Every moment of every day it's there. I thought maybe it would stop, one day the guilt would go away. Except it hasn't. None of it has. 

Luke's death still keeps me up at night. Every child of Hephaestus could be Beckendorf. I can't look at the sky without seeing Zoe. Everytime I think of Nico I can't help but remember Bianca. Lee, Castor, Michael, Silena, Ethan, Bob, a million others. Their names a never ending list inside my head. It's been years but it isn't better. It's just learning to hide the pain until it all hurts so much that you have to try to do something, anything, to make it better. And then it just gets worse. Because now there's Radi, there's Joy, there's Dj and Matt and Josiah. There's Ms. Parker, Joselyn, Robby- Steve. 

People die. Death is what gives life meaning. But it doesn't seem quite fair that I've had to shoulder so much of it. So much death, so much pain. 

It's inside me, part of me. Permanently engraved on me. It's in my head but it's not going away. So maybe nowhere's safe, not inside my head. Especially not inside my head.

Because when the pain is inside your head can you ever be safe? Can it ever be gone? Can you ever get rid of it? Or is it just doomed to be there until the end?

A/N

THE END AND EIGHT PEOPLE DIED AND NOBODY LIVED HAPPILY EVER AFTER!!!

But seriously, this is it. I have no idea what I'm going to do next, but I assure you it will be completely fabulous.

Actually I lied. A while ago I started a fanfiction with a friend, a sort of "What Happened in Budapest" thing. Maybe I'll finish that. And I'll actually finish that "Not a Hero" which I sort of haven't updated in months. 

And then who knows. If I want to keep writing without parents going insane I'm going to have to write something original at some point, so maybe that'll happen.

But I just want to thank peoples who are amazing.  RadiXD (I'd mention her but it isn't letting me...)of course, because when you look fabulous up in the dictionary there is Radi telling me I can't kill Peter OR Percy. Which I didn't do, you're all welcome.

And of course we can't forget all my wonderful editors who all sort of eventually had to stop because half an hour isn't long enough to edit a chapter and I'm really sorry for all of your pain... On that note if anyone's interested in being my editor I'd be much obliged (I'm getting much better at finishing the chapters early I swear). No list would be complete without CHAOS_WAYNE (once again  mentions aren't working, sorry), who made me the best cover ever.

So thanks everyone, and I hoped you liked it!

WHAT WILL I DO WITH ALL MY FREE TIME NOW THAT THIS IS OVER????????????????????//