I was inspired by the Will Rogers quote 'heroing is the shortest-lived profession there is'. Reminded me a bit of our favorite teenaged demigods, so I wrote this. Enjoy!
Annabeth wakes to darkness. The first thing she registers is the blackness: a pressing, penetrating darkness. The second is the cold. It's a freezing, bone-numbing cold. Her entire body aches, aches terribly and relentlessly. Still, she fights the pain and rolls over, onto her elbows. Someone groans beside her, and she gropes blindly for them, her fingers making contact with warm flesh.
"Annabeth?"
She would recognize that voice anywhere: groggy, slightly slurred, but hers.
"Percy," she breathes. Her eyes adjust to the light, slowly, and she sees his face: bloody, caked with dirt, his green eyes dull and confused.
"Where are we?" He murmurs, and she reaches for his hand.
"A cavern," she says, because the walls are black rock, and there are staglagtites sprouting from the ground like strange plants. But there's no ceiling, not so far as she can tell, and if there is it must be miles high. A sick fear, a chilling realization, is creeping into her stomach. "Percy, do you remember what happened before we woke up?"
He shakes his head.
"Falling," he says slowly. "I remember falling."
"Before that," she presses. "Before we fell."
He brings one hand to the side of his head; his dark hair is matted with blood.
"We were underground, in the sewers. Under a city...Rome, I think. There were spiders, a giant web...you were there. You were hurt."
It's true, Annabeth's leg is killing her. But nothing hurts worse than what she has to tell Percy next.
"Annabeth, where are we?"
She leans closer, twining their fingers together.
"Tartarus."
The fear registers, blank and frantic, in his eyes. His body tenses, then his shoulders sag, as if all the fight as gone out of him.
"No," he murmurs, and he's gripping her shoulders now, pulling her closer. "Not now. Not with you."
She holds him closer, pressed tight against her body, feeling the cold air sapping their warmth. She feels his heart beat in his chest, and reminds herself that for now, at least, they are alive.
"It was bound to happen sooner or later, Seaweed Brain," she scolds gently. "Heroing is one of the shortest-lived professions there is."