Authors Note: God. This fic took me ages to write! Absolute ages. It was around ten pages on word, and finally part one is done. I must thank OakeX the amazing beta! And also, who I bounced ideas off of. Thank you! Thank you ember53608 for the prompt! And fluggerbutter- your fics are so fantastic, so if I don't win, I am glad it will be someone as talented as you!

Also, I'm still in the process of learning. I have issues with verb tenses, which I tried to fix, but I hope that it doesn't interfere too much with the flow of the story.

Puck and Sabrina and the SG universe are my babies, and I hope I've done them justice! Enjoy! 3

Puck felt a bead of sweat glide down his cheek. He brushed it away with the back of his hand, panting from the long walk. Soon, he would never feel uncomfortable, never have to deal with the constraints of being mortal. He had been travelling for weeks, in search for this damned rock, and finally he had found it. The thought strengthened his resolve.

Puck unsheathed from his side armor a small but sharp knife. Staring into it, he saw the reflection of a man who had gone mad in pursuit of immortality. The knife was cursed from her previous owner, a maniacal warrior whose dying wish was to become one of the gods, sit alongside their thrones. He felt for the man in the picture, especially since he had trouble distinguishing himself from it at times. Puck breathed in hard and slit the palm of his left hand. He lifted the pulsing bloody hand and pressed it into the boulder that was in front of him. The rock let out an unpleasant crunching noise and shifted into a long forgotten opening.

He looked at his palm and saw that his flesh already rebound together as if he had never cut it. He was thankful- the journey ahead of him would be difficult. Not impossible, he reminded himself, Apollo would not have sent him on a mission he could not complete.

Before trudging forward into the dark and seemingly endless cavern, Puck took one last look at the forest behind him and let the sun beat on his tanned skin. He would never be more ready.

He soon discovered that the only light that was available was that of the torches that flickered ominously. He kept walking, even though every atom in his body buzzed for him to turn back. For a while, he could stand the smell- but every step felt like the walking through a musty fog. He felt like gagging. He kept walking in the underground prison, and it made him think. Puck thought about the miles of dirt on every side of him, how it could all collapse, and how his best efforts would be for nothing. At one point he was sure the ground was speaking- not in any legible way, but making some pounding rhythmic noise. A sound that said- I know everything you have ever done. I was here when you were borne to a father who loved your brother more, I was here when you got sick. Soon we will see each other again. It was just Puck and the endless dirt speaking in those rough tones. It made him feel at peace, to know there was something constant.

After what felt like days, but could only have been hours, Puck saw what he was looking for.

Covered in grime, sweat slicking to him from the muggy underground air, he spoke, "Thought you'd look older."

The boy did not respond. He almost looked bored, but Puck knew that the guard was lethal. There was something clearly off about him, something other than the dead look in his brown eyes, that makes Puck uneasy. Puck stares at him only for a beat longer, until he is hit by the realisation that he doesn't seem to be breathing. His chest is stiff, and Puck peers more intensely to discover that none of the boy is moving. He knows what this creature with a human's face must be. Apollo warned him, but he thought they were myths, something mothers told their children to spook them into obedience.

Puck keeps staring. The stillness unnerves him. He swallows, gives the boy his most charming smile, and says, "I'm a warrior of the gods, and I come with presents." He shakes the pouch, and places it in the waiting hands of the guard.

"Gold." The boy says, "You think the king of gold would want yours?"

Puck smiles, and tilts his head, "Think again, jackal boy."

"Are these… human teeth?" His eyes widen for a split second, but then he just nods. "This is acceptable. You may pass."

Puck lets out a relieved breath but plasters on his cheesiest grin and saunters past. It is the thing he is best at- pretending to be braver than he is.

The journey from that point is even more difficult, laden with lost souls and the feeling of unsettling darkness. He knows that this is a good sign, and that it means he is even closer to his destination.

Still, the screaming gets to him.

He wants to put them all out of their misery but he can't- they're already dead, so he just plunges onwards, occasionally handing out presents to the jackal-boys, always human teeth. What they did with these teeth, he couldn't tell. He was unaware as to where Apollo had gotten them too.

But, he wasn't in the business of asking questions, and honestly preferred not to know the answer.

He pushed past mobs of screaming souls and bribed his way into oblivion before finally seeing Charon. The sight of the River Styx and the man beside it made him want to weep. The river was a blackish colour, and had the viscosity of honey. Charon dismissed carelessly the crying and distressed souls if they didn't have proper payment. He suddenly felt very possessive of his drachmas, and held them tightly in his hand. The line moved fast, until he was up close to Charon. The ferryman wasn't gruesome, but like the ground- steady and neutral.

He wanted to strike up a conversation, but felt that would not end well for him. His mouth suddenly felt impossibly dry. He was going to see Hades.

Hades.

He might die. He had never considered that a real possibility before. Pride was his hamartia, clearly. He looked back at the faceless souls. Fantastic, it would be a short trip. He licked his cracked lips, and caught sight of himself in the reflection of the turbulent waters. He stared at the golden curls that made his father furious.

He thinks again of his mother, stroking down his wild hair, telling him she was sorry for how his father had treated him. He never understood why his father had hated his light features, his defined jaw- until a neighbor had yelled bastard at him. Even now, he remembers crying, not fully understanding the meaning of the word, only that it was insulting. His father offered no consolation, but he had never expected him to. But, he assumed that is the thing about family, sometimes they are impossible to love.

When Charon stops, Puck takes a breath. He gets off the boat and stepped into a chamber. Everything he saw seemed to be made of gold, which was both impressive and intimidating.

"Puck, servant of the gods, coming to play?" The voice is too loud and reverberates within the room.

"Play?" Puck frowns like he smells something bad. "I was not aware my…gifts would be so well received."

The god, in all his glory and grandeur seems to grow even larger, if possible. "You must stop leaving dead bodies in my kitchen." He smiles this time- like the two are old friends, except his eyes have become animated with fire. This is the Hades that everyone fears, the sickly looking one, with long and stringy black hair. The sight of him should have struck Puck with fear, but adrenaline courses through his body.

"Would you like them somewhere else?"

Hades glares at him. Puck understands, the hatred in Hades' eyes isn't irrational. He had been delivering to him dead servants and demi gods, sometimes attached with poems, which Apollo thought made them seem more personal. Puck thought it was pompous, and self obsessive- in other words, he loved it.

"Speak, tell me what it is you desire."

"Why do you think I want something?"

That is a lie, he wants immortality- he needs it. He wants to save the prophet, he wants not to turn out like the man that was reflected in his knife. He wants so much that it fills him up sometimes.

"Humans will never come this far and not have a request. You are too expectable. I bet you think that you somehow are special for being able to reach me, when so many others have failed."

Puck licks his lips, ignoring the demeaning remarks, says, "Apollo has sent me, as his warrior, as a—"

"Bet you think that you can be redeemed. I can smell your sickness."

Puck inhales sharply at the comment, feels his muscles tense up.

"Now, before you swallow your tongue, boy, what have you come for."

Puck swallows. "Apollo wants her back."

A silence, heavy and dark, clouds the room. Puck can feel it coil around his throat and threaten to squeeze. In response to this, he straightens his back, and smiles wildly. The ground is yelling at him, now, unrelentingly.

"Tell your master, that if he wants her back," Hades pauses and smiles to reveal multiple rows of teeth, all of them different in size and colour, "To meet me personally. I don't make arrangements with boys who so desperately need power."

Puck shakes with adrenaline and humiliation. "She is not some toy; she is a prophet and property of Apollo. Give her back, or face the Sun King's wrath." He feels his cheeks burn.

Hades smirks. "Come on. Show me a little more fight, boy."

It's that- the degrading tone that sends Puck into a frenzy. He is a warrior and his fear only makes him stronger. He slices the hundred skeleton soldiers that are between him and Hades into bits and pieces. They attack messily, and this is Pucks greatest advantage. When he is fighting he sees nothing but points of weakness. Bones fall in a cacophony around him, and each time his sword cuts through it becomes easier. One skeleton tries to ram a ragged blade directly into his chest, but he just side steps and slices his own sword in a wide arc. The heads of skeletons clatter around him. He knows that he's bleeding- heavily, only because he can see it. He doesn't feel a thing.

Hades doesn't look surprised or impressed. He practically doesn't notice Puck- red-faced, spittle flying out of his mouth, standing in front of him.

Puck removes the sword Apollo gave him from its sheath at his side, and, seeing red, raises it, and slashes with anger- an anger that has been there for a long time. An anger that is primal, one that is ready to fuel him in a fight against a towering god.

Hades snarls in pain. He had cut through bone, and golden ichor was pooling from his thigh. Hades had not bothered to even stand from his throne. For a moment, Puck is distracted. Hades blood was divine, glimmery and glinting. He only pauses for a moment though, and then brings his sword crashing down.

Well, he wants to bring it crashing down, he wants to spill ichor and make a damn mess, he wants to save Apollos girl, but mostly he wants to become immortal.

He can't though- Hades just snaps his fingers and time feels warped. Everything he does is suddenly slowed down. He feels like an insect caught in sap.

Hades smiles, his rows of discoloured teeth threatening Puck, but instead of killing him, looks at the young girl who is walking in normal speed next to him.

Puck's mind makes the connection, and how he wants to tear the young oracle from this god, but he can barely move.

She is crying and begging, and he wishes he could understand what she is saying. Instead he can only barely watch the events unfolding in front of him. Hades tenses his jaw, and silences the young girl with a stern look. She's still bawling though, so Hades yells something at her, and her eyes regain hope.

Maybe Hades would be distracted enough…but even that is hopeful thinking. Puck is moving too slowly to reach the king fast enough.

Hades rolls his eyes, and presses his ring finger to Puck's forehead.

Then, blackness.

The first thing Puck realizes when he wakes up, is that he smells like death. Literally. He rubs his eyes, and looks around, confusedly. Surrounding him are plants and flowers, and he can hear a brook bubling away somewhere. It isn't the worst place he's ever woken up.

When he stands up, his head spins with headrush, and he almost falls over. A woman catches him from behind.

She murmurs, "Steady."

This has the opposite effect on him, and his knife is against her throat in a moment. He ignores how his head pounds and how tight his neck feels.

She smiles something charming, and disarms him of his weapon. He lets her, because for a moment he is taken aback by her beauty. Her hair is honey coloured and wavy and her eyes sparkle with amusement.

"Glad you're finally awake. Thought you were dead, 'til you snored like a caged lion." She laughs at this. Puck just stares at her, and at this beautiful place. He knows well enough that fate would never let him wake up somewhere so peaceful without some kind of twist. He waits for something bad to happen like waiting for an avalanche to fall on his head.

"Sorry, what's your name?" she asks.

It takes him a moment to answer, and clear his throat. "Puck." Gods, is he thirsty.

"No family name?"

He just stares her down and she shrugs. "No matter, come then. You must bathe. You smell."

His brows furrow, and all his questions suddenly come pouring out of him. "Where am I? Am I alive? Are you alive? What's happening?"

She smiles like she had expected his mini meltdown. "Calm down. The answers will still be here when you have cleaned yourself. Go on." She pushes him towards the stream, and waves a goodbye. He doesn't ask how he'll find her before he steps into the revitalizing water. He feels his body slump in relief at the feeling of his worst ails healing, and the feeling of the water sliding down this throat.

After he towels off, with pristine towels she presumably left for him, he changes into the clothes that she had folded beside the towel. It was a simple white garb, with woven sandals. They felt cleaner than any clothing he had ever owned or worn.

As Puck walked down the path, he stared at the long lush grass, and its inhabitants. The tiny frogs that were hopping about could not be too dangerous, he reasoned. Even looking up at the sky, he was placated, with the birds chirping happily and freely. He found her farther down the brook and waved. She spotted him and called him over.

"Puck No-Last-Name!" She laughs, again, at her own joke.

Puck walks over to the woman, and greets her properly. She is sitting in a gazebo structure, and the clouds above them set the scene to some perfect spring day. While the wariness has abated, he is still confused. She has told him nothing so far. She seems to be kind, but he simply can't trust his luck to have him end up... wherever here was.

"Are you the woman of the island?"

"You can call me…Sabrina." She smiles, "And yes, you are somewhere where, for the time being, I am the only one."

"Hmm. I'm not dead."

"No, you do look much better. But I must ask you how in Zeus' name you found this island. It's only open to visitors once every thirteen years." She seems to be happy that he is somehow breaking this rule.

"Last I can remember I was… fighting with Hades. He tapped my forehead… and I guess I woke up here."

Her mouth sours, instantly, "Ah."

"I was under orders from Apollo."

"Yes, I imagine you were." Her eyes are hard and storm like.

"You seem upset, did I offend you?" He really hopes he hasn't. He doesn't trust this stranger, but he wants to.

She doesn't respond. She stands up, and yells in frustration at the sky, "Another? ANOTHER?!" He tries to right the chair she flipped over, but she glares at his shocked face, and mutters something about boys who believed they were heroes.

When the sun had begun to set, she had finds him sitting, ripping out stray weeds, but if she had looked closer she would have realized that he was muttering to the ground.

"Follow me."

He doesn't hesitate to stand, hungry, and still weak. If she tries to kill him now… he won't be able to fight back. He doubts she would, because even though she seems incredibly capable, she didn't kill him when he was knocked out for what he estimated was nearly a day.

Her white dress billows softly behind her, and he admires it in his slightly dazed state. When she leads him to the round wooden table, Puck just slumps into one of the two chairs available.

She pours them both a glass of white wine and sets two bowls out. He doesn't bother looking at the food before shoveling it into his mouth. She eats her portion of the bread and broth much slower, and barely touches her wine.

"I'm unsure of what I did earlier to upset you, but you're a gracious host."

Her frown softens, and for a moment she looks genuinely upset. Her hair frizzes up a bit and creates a small halo of blond hairs. Puck finds it incredibly charming.

"Tell me about your travels, Puck." Her voice is soft, or at least softer than before. He thinks maybe he is forgiven, for whatever thing she was mad about.

He wonders if it is the night that makes her softer. Because, Puck knows, that things are blurrier at night. People let down their guard more when they can't see what they're so afraid of.

And so he does. Her eyes are still stormy, but as he tells her his journey across an ocean to discover Hades' Entrance, she loses herself in his story.

"Seeing Charon- there was a moment of bliss. I was close to my destination. My mind was set on saving the oracle girl, poor child who couldn't have been a day over ten-"

"You were going to rescue the oracle?!" Her eyes widen and flush with tears.

He frowns at her outburst of emotion. "That was the plan..." he says slowly "from there I would have returned her to her home in Mount Olympus, alongside Apollo." He's confused, and finds himself wanting to comfort her, but he doesn't know how she would react to that.

"How was she?" It is a strange question to ask, but he wants to provide some comfort, in any way he can, so he thinks before responding.

As he recollects his memories his brows furrow. "Surprisingly, she seemed… clean. Too pale, but clean and healthy."

"What was she wearing?"

"I can't quite remember, I think she had her hair pulled into plaits."

This causes more crying, so Puck tries to backtrack, but she just shushes him.

"Thank you, Puck. You are a good man." She stands up and wipes away any stray tears. She picks up her dishes, and gestures for him to do the same. Together, they walk a well-worn path, feet crunching on rocks and rubble underneath them. The night air is pleasant, and the two moons that glint in the sky are a strange yet not unwelcome sight. Every time his arm brushes against hers, he feels fire and the realization comforts him. He might have been on a strange island, but its only other resident was Sabrina. It could be worse.

She could be an irrational wreck. Oh. Wait.

There is a tiny cottage, and he holds the door open for her. She rolls her eyes but thanks him. Then, she walks up to a silver basin. She turns a nozzle and water starts to spray out of it. He stares in wonderment at the contraption, mutters, "Such strange magic."

She turns to him, and snorts. "Not magic, science."

He nods his head like he understands but revels in the wonders of her home. Even though, he tries to fight sleep and help her clean, she just nods her head towards the bedroom.

"Puck, I respect you, but if you try anything in bed I will cut your hand clean off." She turns around to say this, and the look she gives is piercing.

He nods, slightly offended, but the second his head hits the pillow he falls into a deep slumber.