I don't own Percy Jackson.

Remember

He doesn't remember.

That's what he tells you and you try to believe it, because everyone else does and maybe it will help him. And he says it so many times and you tell yourself so many times that maybe you start to believe it.

But you still see his eyes, they're different now. And people don't notice but you're his best friend and you have to notice. They used to sparkle and shine with laughter and mischief but now they don't, now they're cold and dead and you don't know how to get them back.

It doesn't surprise you when you walk into his cabin to find him sobbing, his arms covered in blood, a tiny black knife clutched in his hand. You say nothing, you only go to the bathroom and get a wet cloth and begin to clean him up.

And when he falls asleep that night with his head on your chest squeezing your shirt so tight you don't know if you'll ever get him to let go you're reminded of how young he is.

He loses weight but he insists that he's fine. His eyes have heavy bags under them and he never wears short sleeves anymore. He barely ever leaves his cabin.

Two months after he's rescued it rains one night and he knocks on your cabin door. He tells you that he does remember and you tell him that you know that already. His eyes aren't blank anymore, now they're like broken glass and it hurts to see him like that but anything's better than what he had before.

He leaves a month later and so do you. You get an apartment in the city and you get a job and for a while you're happy, almost living a normal life.

One night you're awakened by glass breaking and someone swearing. You go into the small kitchen to find him standing at the sink with a broken glass and the water that was in it at his feet. His hands are shaking as he looks up at you and apologizes, but you smile and tell him that it's okay. He stays the night and the rest of the week. You wake him up every night from a nightmare.

He leaves at the end of the week but he comes to visit every few days.

He stops coming after six weeks and you get a sinking feeling in your stomach.

The hospital calls you another two weeks later and you drive there to see him. He's lying on a bed staring up at the ceiling and they tell you that they're taking him to a place that specializes in cases like his. No one mentions the words loony bin.

You visit him at Sunny Brooks (which you've nicknamed "Scary Looks" because no matter how nice the people look when they smile at you they're still terrifying) at least once a week, and sometimes you can talk to him and you think maybe he's getting better.

A month into his stay he changes. He starts acting more paranoid, but you brush it off and tell him you'll see him next week.

Next week he's stopped talking. He listens and he looks at you but he doesn't say anything.

Two weeks later he stops moving. He lies on the bed and stares at the ceiling and sometimes he blinks but nothing else, and you know he isn't coming back.

Two more weeks and he's skin and bones. The doctors are feeding him through a tube.

Another week and the doctors ask you how much longer you want them to help. They say he isn't coming back, that maybe it would be best to just let him go. You tell them he'll get better.

The next week you know that it's too late.

You let them burn a shroud at camp but take his body to Italy to be buried with his mother and sister. The shroud is black silk, that's all, and it's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen.

There is no funeral because you know he wouldn't have liked that. His coffin is dark wood and after he is lowered into the ground the people from the morgue leave. You kneel in front of the grave and put a single white lily on top of the stone (he told you once that they were his favorite flower, and you laughed at the time because it was so unlike him). A tear runs down you cheek as you say good bye, and then you get up and walk away.

No one knows why he died and you're not going to tell them. They never noticed him, they didn't realize he was lying when he said he didn't remember, and for that they don't deserve to know.

You sit and stare at the stone, and when it starts to rain you almost laugh at how perfect the moment is. You think you hear his laugh, too, and it scares you because you think you're going crazy, or maybe you were already there.

But it will never matter because even if they lock you up like they locked him up you'll never let go of him, because you might have been the thing holding him together, but he was always the thing that kept you grounded, knowing that he still needed you.

So you lie on the ground beside his grave, the one he shares with his mother and sister, and the rain falls on your face and on the lily perched on top of the stone, and you remember just like he always said he didn't.

In case you didn't get it, the "you" in this story is Percy. I guess you could look at it like it was someone else, but I wrote it intending it to be Percy. And the "he" is Nico, and I really hope you did get that one, because I don't think I could have made it more obvious. I think this is one of the only Percy Jackson stories I've ever written that isn't AU, I think the only other one is Tired of Sorry. I wrote this in the notes section of my iPod. I love it when I get random inspiration.

FOR ANYONE WHO HAS READ WITHOUT YOU BY MY SIDE: I've been talking to xXGoldenDarknessXx about making Without You By My Side into a longer story, and I was wondering what you thought about that. I think I like the idea, but I also like the way it is now, and I feel like maybe making it longer will ruin it.

I've been saying this on everything I've uploaded since I uploaded Shatter, but I wrote a story called Shatter and put it on FictionPress, and I'd really appreciate it if you'd read it.

Here's the link (it's fictionpress): s/3137190/1/Shatter

Review!