Peter's POV:

"Peter, whatever happens you need to stay put and stay calm." Mr. Stark turns away from the road to give me a long, almost pitying look, "Promise me?"

"Why?" I'm entirely suspicious. Mr. Stark is never serious or pitying. He wouldn't show it, at least.

"There is a situation at Central Park, which is where we're going." Ah, so that's where we're headed. Mr. Stark had shoved me in his car without telling me a thing. "This one might seem personal, but you can't let that effect you."

"You've got to tell me whats going on." A tendril of fear in creeping through me, threatening to overwhelm me. He doesn't get a chance to answer me though, because we've seemingly arrived. Its sort of obvious, seeing as there are swarms of people being held back by equally large swarms of rather frazzled looking police officers.

"Sorry kid, you'll find out in a moment. If anyone asks you're my intern." Mr. Stark leaves the car before I can protest. There are worse things to be than Tony Stark's intern, which is the official cover story anyway. But somehow I don't think whatever is waiting outside the car will be pleasant. 

I go anyway. It's my job to go, even if all these people don't know it. Sometimes the most important jobs are the ones no one can know about. The things that change the world are the things we cannot speak of, the things that we hide because we are ashamed. But they are the things that truly make a difference, maybe because they are hidden. It's not as romantic as it sounds,  wining your personal battles, defeating your inner demons and all that crap. Because here's the secret about demons; they don't go away, ever. They will never die, forever they will haunt you and peak over your shoulder. 

My feet are heavy on the grass, I can't wait another moment to find out what's happened. I don't want to know. There's a clearing ahead that's silent, foreboding. Something terrible has happened here. And I'm about to learn what.

"Peter," a voice stops me, "I don't think you want to go in there son." When Captain America tells you to do something it's probably a good idea to do it. I ,however, have never paid much mind to good ideas. So I push past him. In that moment I'm doing so much more than that though. I'm pushing past my innocence, my naivety, my past. I'm pushing past all that is good and strong and trustworthy and trusting. Sometimes you can't do what everyone is telling you to. Sometime you should do exactly as you're told. There's a fine line. Sometimes that line doesn't exist.

My eyes sweep over the scene. I'm standing in a moderately sized, extremely secluded clearing. It's buzzing quietly with the energy of more than a dozen horrified paramedics and police officers. There's more than horror on their faces though, there's disgust. I don't understand what could be so awful in this quite spot.

Until I see the bodies.

They're only lumps, mounds, covered in sheets. But they're unmistakably bodies. In that instant relief washes over me because if it had been Aunt May there'd be but one body. The guilt comes right after, because these bodies were once somebodies. Not anymore. 

But then I see a sight that chills my blood, it sends terror through my veins, horror through my marrow. There is a boy with black hair on the ground. He's surrounded by paramedics and police.

The boy is no stranger to me. Just minutes before Mr. Stark and I had been speaking of him. Percy Jackson is huddled on the ground, alone. And there are five bodies.

A blade pierces my abdomen, and I heave in pain. For a moment I stand, frozen, knowing what happened, knowing who lies beneath those sheets in the cold grip of death, knowing but not believing. Because this can't be right. Because this wasn't how the story was supposed to go. This wasn't how their stories were supposed to end. 

I shouldn't walk over to the nearest lump. I shouldn't ignore peoples call for me to stop. I shouldn't lift that sterile white sheet. But I do. And the world tips. The sword in my stomach is twisted, causing me to cry out. I'm nearly doubled over in pain. 

But there's Radi, her features smoothed in death, hair turned red with drying blood. So much blood. Her trademark black clothes are shredded, looking almost as if they'd been burned in places. The skin underneath is charred black, the odor of burning flesh penetrating the air. Her limbs are bent in unnatural positions, broken. But it can't be Radi. Because Radi is so painfully alive, so present. She couldn't be reduced to an empty husk. 

"Peter." A hand pulls the sheet back over Radi's body. Everything is to bright, to colorful, to loud. The ground is covered in small white flowers, they're beautiful. Nothing should be beautiful. Everything should be turning dark, turning cold. But it isn't. 

My stomach heaves. Her image is seared into my eyes. Someones tries to guide me to the ground. Make me sit. But I can't sit. Because they're dead. And Percy is alive. 

Before I even know that I'm moving I'm standing next to Percy. A stab of pity goes through my heart, because he is broken. He's huddled on the ground, shaking violently. When he looks up I'm shocked to see tears streaming down his cheeks. The blade is twisted again, harder this time. But harsh words don't leave my lips, I don't let the bullets fly. Not yet.

"What happened?" My voice is unbelievably steady as I stare Percy in the eye. He says nothing. Everything within me is vibrating, shaking, trying to get be let free. It's as if the whole world is buzzing with my pent up emotions. But they can't be let lose. Not here and not now. 

Still, Percy is here and my friends are dead. It's a horrific, terrifying, guilt inducing thought. But I can't dwell on it. Because it will destroy me.  

Grabbing Percy's shirt I pull him slightly off the ground, forcing him to look straight into my eyes, "What happened? Who killed them?" I growl, trying to be strong, trying to be tough. My voice breaks but I'm to upset to care. Its only as my vision swims that I realize the tears streaming down my cheeks.  I'm angry, desperate. I need to know what happened. I need to know that my one remaining friends isn't a murderer.  

The wound on my stomach is bleeding, even though it isn't really there. It hurts more than any stab wound could. My entire body fills with exhaustion and I prepare myself to ask my question one more time, "Who killed them Percy?"

Silence. Nothing. Everything.

"I did." His voices cracks and I don't understand. At first. But everything is spinning. The world is falling. Gravity no longer works. The beast within me explodes. Everything I've tried to conceal, suppress, it flies from me. Down is up. Right is left. Black is white. The sun blinks on and off. I've been punched in the gut. Everything is wrong. 

I fall onto Percy. The only people who accepted me are dead. Because of him. They died in pain. Now its his turn.

My fist collides with his face. A waterfall of blood. A foot the the stomach. Another. And another. It's not enough. It will not be enough. Still I continue the onslaught. Arms around my waist. Pulling me back. Me pulling forward. Percy laying on the ground. Motionless. My food on his arm. A sickening snap. Music to my ears. Arms pulling me away. Screams. My screams. But there is nothing in the world. Nothing except this overwhelming, all consuming pain.

A/N

So that happened. Promise all this has a purpose.