After like 2 years I am back. I don't know how much sense this chapter will make because I have personally been kept up by things very related to this fic and my brain doesn't work well when I'm sleep deprived. Honestly I did have another chapter written that I thought I had published, so I was a little shocked to see it wasn't there. This is basically a rewrite but I changed the mechanics of his powers so I think it makes a little more sense than my first draft.

Trigger warnings: suicide attempt, near death experience, flashback

Rating stuff: above and language

Percy heard the last couple of words as he was leaving the interior of the ship. He felt betrayed. His private mistake was supposed to be for him to ruminate over, not for half the people he knew to judge him for. The harsh wind dried up his tears as he marched to the end of the boat. In the moment, he hadn't wanted to die. That was true. But he'd meant to.

Fuck it. They could handle the quest without him.

The ball of anxiety in his chest throbbed and grew. It was a special kind. Fear and excitement all rolled up in one. As he threw himself overboard, relief joined the party. He hit the water hard and sank like an anchor. The cold was a shock compared to the warm air. The salt stung what was left of his wounds. The ship continued to sail away without him. With just as much concentration as it took to control the water, he chose not to let it protect him anymore. Suddenly the currents were sloshing him around, and his next breath was a gulp that he couldn't breathe. His lungs filled with water and he choked and coughed. He hadn't realized drowning would be such a painful way to go. He didn't try to swim but his limbs flailed without permission as he continued to fall deeper into the dark water. More breaths came up filled with water. His eyes were burning and he couldn't see. His lungs burned and he screamed. He didn't want this. He'd changed his mind. Please, he took it back. He didn't want to go like this. It hurt too much. Gods, it hurt. He couldn't focus to force the water out, and it didn't try to help him. This was what he had wanted. This was all his fault. The pressure of the water above him was forcing his chest inward. He couldn't concentrate on anything but the overwhelming agony. He desperately kicked to the surface, but he'd fallen so far. This was it. This was how he died.

He didn't mean to stop, but everything shuts down eventually. Two attempts in two days.

His eyes were closed, but he saw himself in third person floating down. His body didn't move. He couldn't feel. It looked peaceful. Maybe this wasn't too bad...

Suddenly he was in a hot, foggy room that he recognized but couldn't place. Echoes of screams filled his ears. Something swooped by and then he knew. He was in Tartarus. He went for his sword but it wasn't there. He tried to shout for help, for Annabeth. He couldn't hear his own voice. Panic overtook him and he screamed to no avail. Silent and sobbing. His body shook. His brain felt like it was melting. He tried to plead for his life from the fetal ball he'd made himself. Monsters descended on him to rip him up like vultures to a a fresh carcass.

Then a cannon ball of air shot into the water and encompassed his body. His brain felt like it had been slingshotted back into his head and the pain started to come back. The next thing he knew he was coughing up water on the deck of the Argo II with everyone crowded around him, Jason soaking wet and Annabeth sobbing while she did CPR. He immediately felt guilt over the pain. How could he have done this to them..? He still shook with the cold and fear. His brain wasn't holding up well after going offline.

They were talking. He only heard watery echoes. Annabeth kept pumping his chest. Somehow there was always more water to choke up. It was almost as unpleasant as the drowning itself. He saw himself in third person again and thought he might have been dying again. His brain refused to process what was happening, and his third person view turned away to look at the ocean instead. Only that also gave him a horrible sense of dread.

What had he done to himself? Whatever it was, it was definitely all his fault. He was just some piece of shit kid who got too cocky too fast, and he deserved to die for it. But he didn't want to. His mind was so torn, and eventually he figured that he was just too much of a pussy to go through with it. And he was glad, and angry about it all at once.