Percy lay on the bed, his legs propped against the wall, wearing loose jogging bottoms and his clay bead necklace, rhythmically bouncing a ball one of Stark's poor interns had delivered to him as he tried not to think about what happened. Physical activity had always been a release for him. Whether it was sword play or a simple game of catch.

The routine thudding of the ball drowned out his treacherous thoughts, the team of 'heroes' hadn't done anything except send him the ball since he lost it.

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"I didn't mean to." It was rare for Stark to show any guilt, but his confession was laced with it nevertheless. The memory of the fractured teen's horrific scars and broken words was haunting everyone. Aching like an open wound: not even the narcissistic billionaire could take the burden silently.

"And the Joker didn't mean to torture Batman." Snarked the archer, an automatic response; he was feeling as guilty as his co-worker.
"Not the time Barton." Romanov was too preoccupied with her own thoughts to deal with Stark and Barton.

"We have to do something, at least apologise." Bruce was ever the voice of reason.
"We can't let him go though, he may not be a terrorist, but he's still powerful enough to be a potential threat." Thor interjected at that. He'd returned in time to catch the end of Percy's rant and to rip into his team mates about it afterwards.

"Hero Perseus will not attack Midgard, he has done too much to protect it to go back on his quests now." This earned some curious looks.

"What do you mean Thor." The red haired assassin carefully calculated her words.

"Hero Perseus is not a terrorist. As I stated before you confronted him in combat!" Fury cut off  the argument.

"It doesn't matter, he needs to become an agent or he needs to be detained or watched. Those are the only options! He's too powerful to be left alone!"

"You sound like those he chose to get away from." Thor muttered darkly.

Romanov snapped to attention.

"What would you have us do, Sir?"
"Question him more, try to find out more about him. Determine whether he can be trusted, then report back."
So the agents did, and the rest of the team went to watch. Thor left; saying he wanted no part in this.

The Avengers were not prepared for what they saw.

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Percy was on catch 3,256, the ceiling may have been slightly scuffed.

The systematic thudding of the rubber ball against the roof dulling his thoughts.

He should've know it wouldn't last.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

Slowly, the soft thudding of the ball became the harsh cracking of bones.

Thud.

The stomping of giants faded over reality.

Thud.

The fall of bodies.

Thud.

The crack of the whip.

Thud.

The beatings from monsters.

Thud.

The cavern caving in.

He thought he heard the door open as the past consumed his senses.

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"Alright, Percy. We're only going to ask you some questions, we just want to get to know you." Barton tried to jump the gun and placate the formerly angry soldier before they started. His foot hit a rubber ball as he came in and he stumbled. "What the-?"

He looked up to see Percy writhing violently on the bed they provided him with. Obviously snared in the throes of a viscous flashback, he didn't seem to have any other kind.

"Shit." He, followed by his team once they realised what was happening, ran to help the teen. They were hesitant to touch him at first: remembering Thor's warning, but were forced to disregard that as Percy got close to hurting himself.

The men picked him up, Natasha waiting to either help or get the doors. They were all fully expecting the unconscious teen to fight them, and it didn't lessen their worry when he failed to respond.
"Hurry."
They rushed down to the lab, telling JARVIS to prepare  it. Bursting though the laboratory doors they carefully set him down on the bed, he was murmuring, pleading and screaming under his breath as they carried him. Acting as if their restraining hands were burning hot.

"Quickly, we need to see what he's seeing." The agents backed away as the two scientists went about connecting wires and the like to Percy, careful never to break his skin. They didn't want to make the situation worse.

Every noise and movement the scarred teen made wearing at their souls.

As the scientists stepped back the screen they'd attached Percy to flickered to life.
It was just reds, blacks and static at first, but when it cleared, they dearly wished it hadn't.

Ignorance is bliss, after all.

They were shown death, forced to watch, unable to turn away, as Percy's friends were slaughtered in front of them, in progressively horrendous ways, dreams for the future obliterated, starting with someone they called Selena and ending with Annabeth herself. They saw what the dead meant to him and his reaction to their being ripped from life.

They saw gore, as bodies were torn apart and mutilated, monsters as war raged. They saw fighting, such amazing fighting of such brave warriors. Who were children.

Hundreds of them. And all of them children.

The only adults in the entire war, in everything they saw, were some kind of revered, powerful beings dozens of feet tall, roughly 15 or so that weren't named or recognisable.

They saw Percy as he led, guiding an army in all their glory and fighting to save his home.

It was traumatising. Flashes of bodies, faces of people he loved never to open their eyes again, images of two other adults, in a different place, stabbed through the stomach, a half formed baby carved out of one and thrown across the room; the adults still reaching towards it in death, blood surrounding every image.

And just as they saw him cradling the mutilated body of his dead love, they heard a voice which curled all the suppressed fear from their darkest moments and made it lash at them, paralysing them.

"All your family will die."

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Barton vomited.

Hard.

How could an eighteen year old, a teenager's, dreams contain such horrors....such gore and suffering? It was wrong. So profoundly wrong. The boy was broken, so thoroughly broken that it hurt to look.

"What was that?!" Stark's strangled whisper sounded such too loud in the eerily silent room. Seeming to scrape against the feeling of horror, like a nail against a chalk board. It felt like sacrilege to break the silence.

They weren't expecting a hoarse, tortured voice to respond.

"That was the last time I saw my family."

Their heads snapped round so fast Percy would've wondered if they'd gotten whiplash, had he been in any other state of mind.

"That-" Banner could barely form words, there was a dangerous green tint to his skin, the sound of Clint's retching could once again be heard behind them. "That actually happened?"

The young soldier's lips thinned. He tensed even more, as taught as Apollo's bow string, so tense he looked ready to snap.

"Yes. I told you, I have more than enough experience with war. And please, I would really prefer not to talk about this." His words were clipped, forced. His face was grey, his eyes looking blood-shot all of a sudden.

"WHY WERE CHILDREN FIGHTING!?!" It seemed Stark hadn't processed it enough to let it go yet.

"Because no one else can." After saying that, the worn veteran started trying to get up, pulling the wires off his head and chest, starting to rise painfully from the bed.

"Hey, your not strong enough for that yet." It was rare for Natasha to show such concern for a stranger.

He chuckled darkly.

"That's never really made a difference." He kept sitting up and the assassin put out a hand, intending to grab his wrists to stop him from harming himself.

Percy flinched violently away, almost tipping the metal bed in his desperation.

"Please..." His plea was so quiet they almost thought they'd imagined it.

Natasha recoiled.

"I'm sorry! I was just trying to..." This had not been a normal day for the red head. Percy scowled.

"I know, I just can't help it." He seemed to scold himself, as if he'd admitted too much. The mask of the cold soldier-no, commander-slipped back into place, "I'm going back to my room, I would appreciate it if you didn't disturb me for a while." He stumbled out of the room, hiding his limp more with every step until an observer would have been hard pressed to notice anything wrong had it not been for his pained, haunted countenance.

They stared after him, for the second time in two days struck dumb.

"What do we do?" Barton was left clueless, the acrid taste of vomit still staining his mouth.

"We find Thor, and we get him to tell us everything." They nodded, the assassin was right, "We aren't going to hurt him. No matter what, at this point, we are not going to hurt him. In fact I will protect him if I can." The heroes had all been assaulted by a sudden need to protect the eighteen year old, he had been through so much, so much trauma and hardship, and at such a young age. the adults felt that he deserved, after so much fighting, to have someone fight for him, "So, we need to make Thor understand that and tell us how to help him."
They were determined.

They walked towards Thor's floor, stopping on the way to tell an employee to get anything Percy wanted and assign someone to look after him. Warning them to not react adversely to the man's scars, to be polite, but not overly formal, simply to treat him as an equal. It seemed to be the only way to stop him from instantly dismissing you, to retain at least a little respect.

They hurried to arrive at Thor's rooms.

"Thor?" The thunder patron sighed.

"What is it you require comrades?" He seemed reluctant, but his courtly manners would withhold unless forced.

"We need to know about Percy."
"We want to help him-"
"-We really do-"
"So please, tell us how."
"And why he needs it."
"What happened to him, Thor?" They were desperate.

Thor blinked at the barrage or questions.

"You truly do not have ill intentions. You no longer believe him a terror-maker?" Thor was still sceptical.

"Please Thor, we need to know." They were all in agreement.

Thor sighed, resigned.

"Alright, my friends. You already know of the Asgardian Gods." His statement met with nods, "What do you know of the Greeks?"