The Mighty Fall

"Oh How the Mighty Fall, the Mighty Fall, They Fall in Love. Oh, How the Mighty Fall in love!"

Guilt. Anger. Pain.

That is what Percy Jackson was feeling that day. He was feeling guilt because all he cared about was killed, yet he was spared. Out of all the things Percy Jackson has dealt with, monsters, demons, even hell, Perseus Achilles Jackson was damaged beyond repair by a roll-over. Physically, he escaped with a few scuffs and bruises, but mentally, the 17 year old had the stability of a demented 70 year old. Guilt caused that stability to crash even further.

He was feeling anger. Anger towards the drunk driver that took his happiness on that rainy night in December. The 17th to be exact. That night… That night they were on their way home from the 1991, Toys for Tots, Christmas drive and party. Percy had gotten home from Camp that morning and they had immediately flown down to Malibu for the event when he had mentioned wanting to attend the toy drive. The night had been bright and fun, and Howard had donated a large portion of money to the organization, making it all the better. They had finally left and were on their way to the beach house when a tan SUV had swerved from the left lane right into the limo's path. It had made their driver try to turn and control the car, but it ended in a head-on collision and double roll-over. Percy was the only survivor. Jarvis, the families longtime driver, butler, and friend, had been the first to die. That was first real taste of hate Percy had ever felt. Not even Kronos, or even Gaea had made him feel this much hate. Then it was his mother. He held her hand and had felt it go slack in the second roll. The sour taste of hate grew stronger in his mouth at that moment. Howard was the last to go, but he still left. He had died in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. But he shared his last words with Percy before walking into that bright light that he hoped was Elysium. He had said,

"Percy… You were never just a Step-son to me… ever since I had met that shy three year old clutching the back of his mother's skirt… I had considered you a-a brother… a friend… you are my son… not by blood… but by heart… by soul and by mind… that's why… that's why I'm giving you the company… no don't argue… everything I taught you, that you taught yourself… use it for good, never evil… please… but promise me-promise me that you'll do better than I did… when you're old enough… keep Obadiah away from the company… make sure he doesn't change it… do whatever it takes… and remember… you will always… always be my son. Blood relation doesn't matter. Remember, Percy… I lo…" Howard Stark was never able to finish his statement. Because of that drunk driver. This is what made Percy Jackson angry.

He had felt pain. Hot, burning, disgusting, contorting pain. This pain was caused by the memories. The memories of everything. Mechanics with his step-father. Warm Milk and cookies with Jarvis when the nightmares were just too much. The old man didn't sleep anyways, yet no one knew why, exactly. Blue food with his mother after a long day at school, or returning from a tiring quest. The pain of knowing that none of that would happen ever again… No more mechanics with Howard. No more milk and cookies with the old man that looks like Batman's butler, Alfred. No more blue waffles or bags of blue candy when he got home. This is when Percy found out what true pain was. When the Mighty Perseus Achilles Jackson, fell.