He didn't know where he was. Heck, he didn't know who he was, or what he's done. Well, that's a lie. He knew his name was Percy Jackson, and that his dad was the Greek god Poseidon.

He knew all of his achievements, from getting back his uncle's master bolt, to being one of the Seven of the prophecy and defeating the giants.

Sure, he knew all of that stuff, but he didn't know who he was. He had always known her. Ever since he was twelve, she had been his best friend. Along with the campers, and Grover, couldn't forget Grover. But Grover forgot you, didn't he?

Not that it mattered though. He couldn't blame his friend. He would want to forget him to.

"It's all your fault, seaweed brain."

The nickname no longer gave him that warm, fuzzy feeling in his chest. Only memories of it.

"Why did you even come here? We would've been so much better without you."

He wanted to argue with them, say that he had saved them too many times to count, but he knew deep down that what they said was true. If he hadn't been born, the first prophecy wouldn't have had to been fulfilled. The first war wouldn't have happened. And if the first war didn't happen, it wouldn't have triggered the second war.

"Why don't you just leave? No one wants you here."

And he wanted to, so badly, but he didn't have anywhere to go. This was his only home.

"Just, go to your mom's or something. Let someone else deal with you."

But he couldn't. Not unless he wanted to put his baby brother in danger. No, that wasn't an option.

He didn't know who he was anymore. He spent most of his life running around, doing quests, risking his life, having his friends look up to him. Now, he was that little kid he used to be all over again. The one everyone pushed to the side because he was a waste of space, the kid no one wanted. It wasn't his fault trouble was attached to him at the hip.

"Death follows you around like a lost puppy. An annoying lost puppy. Maybe you should go get lost with it, punk. We don't want either of you here anyway."

That one hurt more than the others. He wasn't sure why. It was as true as any of the other statements. Maybe it was because it implied the one thing he had been fearing. They truly didn't want him here. At first he thought maybe it was a cruel prank, or that it was all a nightmare and he would eventually wake up.

But then he came to his senses when he realized the truth; they thought he was the reason she was dead. They thought he left her there. Which, of course, wasn't true. No matter how much he tried to plead his case, to tell them that he would rather it be him that was dead, they never listened.

It didn't matter that he had saved them over and over again. They had all known her longer, grown up with her.

Soon enough, his sadness developed into anger. Was this what the Fates wanted him to feel? Lost? Abandoned? Betrayed? Did they want to break them? To take joy in breaking "Olympus's little hero" as he had been deemed?

He really understood where Luke was coming from. Except at a different angle. Maybe, sometimes, the mortals were worse than gods.