Disclaimer: I wish I was Rick Riordan.

The walls are closing in on them as they fall, giving Percy a faint sense of claustrophobia, which is ridiculous, since it's always been Grover whose scared of things like that. He brings Annabeth closer to him, shielding her with his body against the falling cars and spiderwebs and the pointy spines of rock protruding from the tunnel.

He can feel the ground approaching, even if he can't see it, because the evil that reverberates off of the stones and strikes his heart with heavy weights is growing by the second. But as long as this precious demigod in his arms is with him, alive and fighting with flashing grey eyes and bouncy golden curls, he is okay.

Or so he thinks.

There's no way they can get to the Doors of Death if they don't survive the crash first. So keeping a steady hold on Annabeth with one hand, Percy yanks the cap off Riptide, watching it fall into the darkness (will its powers still work in the depths of Tartarus?), and plunges it with all his might into the rock.

"Percy!" yells Annabeth, over the wind of their fall. "Stop! Your arm can't sustain the momentum!"

Percy knows she's being serious when she stops calling him Seaweed Brain, but at least this way, they have a chance at staying alive, regardless the state of his arm.

Dad? I don't know if you can hear me this deep down...but, uh, some help would be nice. Just this thing. And then help the others meet us at the Doors.

Loose pebbles and grit pummel the heroes in their faces as Riptide wavers under the enormous pressure. Percy's arm feels like it's being ripped off; nevertheless, he puts his entire body weight onto the sword, slowing their descend down tremendously.

The ride is not smooth, and he grunts as they rocket down the vertical pathway carved by his sword. Annabeth has lost her own dagger, so she helps by grabbing on to any small ledge she sees. The moments that frighten Percy the most are those few seconds when Annabeth's sweaty hands are separated from his own.

Percy lets out a breath when they at last skid to a stop. Thanks Dad.

His arm is on fire, with numbing pain spreading to his torso, and Annabeth's hands are scraped bloody and raw. He turns to Annabeth, and although she might not see it in the dark, he flashes her his typical crooked smile and says, "See? All those push-ups weren't for nothing."

Annabeth's face is red and she's panting hard, her heart hammering into his chest, when she rolls her eyes and replies, "Don't flatter yourself, Seaweed Brain."

Then they look down, fifty feet to where the ashen ground threatens them to jump, and all pretenses of normal banter fall as the demigods realize that they are literally fifty feet from Hell.

At this point, Percy isn't sure if he can unwrap his fingers from their rigid position clenching the hilt of Riptide, and he's pretty sure someone has taken a match to his sleeve and ignited his whole arm, with the way the burning sensation is throbbing through his whole body.

"Wise Girl, I'm going to need to you to piggyback me. My arm...kind of hurts."

Annabeth scoffs and shifts onto his back, latching her arms around his neck, but he feels her distribute her weight so that almost none of it is on his injured limb. Percy is relieved she passes it off as a joke and doesn't say anything; he can't be vulnerable right now and no one can see him weak in such a perilous situation like this.

Which, of course, is ridiculous, since this is Annabeth he's thinking about.

Slowly, he maneuvers his way down the rocks, and vaguely wonders if Chiron had this in mind when he built the climbing wall. Then again, he would rather scale the lava wall a hundred times than descend these rocks, where the gravity dragging them down exerts a hundred times its usual force. Luckily, all of the debris has fallen past them, so they are out of harm's way in regards to cars and cement. Pretty ironic, considering all the other monsters that are now out for their blood and flesh.

Halfway down, he pauses for a break, when suddenly, a weight lifts off his back, exposing his tattered t-shirt and bare skin.

"Annabeth? Annabeth! Where are you!" Percy frantically gropes around him. Gruesome images flood his mind- Annabeth falling, Annabeth's broken limbs scrawled on the floor below, her lifeless grey eyes, her non-responsive smile. Had he not held her tightly enough? Had he not felt her slipping? "Oh gods, Annabeth!"

"Right here, Seaweed Brain," comes Wise Girl's voice next to him. She is holding her own weight on the rocks. Percy whips his head around and he can faintly see the outline of blond curls bobbing in the blackness.

"Sorry," she apologizes. At least she acknowledges the fact that losing her is the scariest thing that could ever happen to Percy.

The pressure on his arms has lessened slightly, but somehow he aches to have it back. Percy scolds himself for not trusting Annabeth to take care of herself, because she has more than enough ability to.

"S'kay," Percy mutters, and the two climb down in silence.

When they reach the bottom, Percy just wants to lay down, douse his body in icy cold water, and sleep for a week. Something in his gut, though, makes him test out the sea of pebbles with a nudge of his sneaker before putting a whole foot on. Annabeth too seems wary when she steps down, her converse crunching popcorn on the gravel, leaning on Percy for support since her makeshift cast isn't the best painkiller in the world. Percy can't tell exactly what, but something is wrong. Even considering the fact that they're in Tartarus.

The air tints gray, and Percy has to squint to view Annabeth. Everything else is still a blur, a visage of storm clouds. The ashen ground extends for miles beyond what Percy can humanly see, without any sign of direction or landmarks.

"Something's wrong," says Annabeth, echoing Percy's thoughts. "Something's missing."

Percy groans, "Wise Girl, this is where you come into use."

She furrows her eyebrows and Percy waits for the genius plan that is sure to come.

"Sometime soon would be nice," teased Percy gently, trying to ease the mood. Waves of nervous and tension were rolling off both of them.

"Shut up, Seaweed Brain." Annabeth pushes Percy's shoulder.

It's a playful gesture, no more than a feather tap, but the contact spurs fiery agony through Percy, who can't keep in a gasp and falters a step back. He tastes hot salty blood in his mouth from where he bit his tongue.

The ends of Annabeth's lips pull down and she murmurs, "Where's the ambrosia when you need it?"

Percy says through gritted teeth, "I'm...fine." He switches Riptide to his left hand, the sword feeling ten times heavier in Tartarus than above ground. "Let's go."

Lead weights trap his feet when he tries to take a step, and looking down, he realizes the gravel is crumbling up, silently devouring away at their feet. It has risen up to Annabeth's ankle, black coals contrasting starkly with her starchy, pale flesh.

Percy turns to latch onto the wall in order to pull them up, but he whips around to blind air. The gravel lurches violently, and the more they struggle, the faster they sink. Their hands manage to meet while each is flailing in the dark and for a moment, the demigods steady themselves afloat.

"Sorry," amends Annabeth, when she tugs on Percy's injured arm to keep him (and herself) from toppling into the gravel, which seems to have a life of its own.

"I'm fine," Percy repeats, but his face is a sickly shade of yellow. "We just need to get out of these rocks. Any ideas, Wise Girl?"

Silence.

"Wise Girl?" Percy shakes her arm with his good hand. "Hello? Annabeth!"

"Wha-? Oh, he-" Annabeth almost falls over before Percy helps her upright again.

"Did you fall asleep or something?" Percy chuckles nervously.

"N-no," Annabeth stammers indignantly. "My-my head. I can't focus. What did you say?"

Percy half opens his mouth, then closes it again, and then opens it again to say something, but a sharp stab of fire erupting near his heel interrupts him. At this point, panic is settling in, a fast-paced breathless sensation that fires bullets of adrenaline through his system; Percy is submerged up to his shin, and Annabeth to her knees. Now the coal is on fire too?

Annabeth rubs her fingers against her temples and shakes her head. "Ah...Percy, water!"

"What?"

"Water!"

"Water what?"

Annabeth winces as something presses itself against her skin, charring a good size circular burn mark into her leg. "Are you a son of Poseidon or what?!"

Percy gives up trying to get her to elaborate and concentrates on the pressure in his gut. He holds his breath and tightens his muscles, but it feels like a hot leather band is wrapped around his stomach, guarding any demigod magic from escaping.

"Water!" Annabeth's senses seem to have virtually failed her, as she has only the mental capacity to recapitulate the same thing without furthering her piercing headache.

It's the sizzling of their skin and the acid ashen smell of burning flesh that makes Percy go crazy, releasing as much energy as he had exerted holding up the sky on Mt. Tamalpais to summon a surge of water. The river is warm and slow, soothing their feet and lifting them up out of the gravel.

Percy inches forward his big toe, now exposed to the foul air after the coals had burned through his shoes, tenderly experiments with the grumbling gravel, and shoots back when it hisses like a stove top. He wills the water to dribble in front of him, and sighs in relief when the liquid covers the hot surfaces.

"So where to, Wise Girl?"

"My gut is telling me that way." Annabeth points to a spot in the darkness. The area is no different from the other million spots of darkness, and they all broadcast a certain tantalizing wickedness, but Percy really has no better suggestion. He stretches out his water carpet and they continue along the pale blue road.

After a while, Percy's stomach begins to cramp and beads of sweat break out on his dry, clammy skin. Annabeth questions his limping gait, but it's obvious she's not really listening when he replies, busy dealing with her own monstrous headache that is buffeting the back of her skull.

"I think...Tartarus is killing our magic," Percy utters huskily, the river mandating all his energy now. "It probably even...affects Athena's kids' abilities too."

"Great," frowns Annabeth. "Are you saying I'm stupid now?"

"Now you know how I feel," Percy counters.

"I don't know how you- ow!" Annabeth jerks back mid-step with a scorched foot and massages it with the water behind them.

"Sorry," apologizes Percy meekly, his fists clenching as the water re-positions itself, like crawling fingers.

Annabeth is silent for a moment, and then: "We need to find land. Regular land. You're not going to be holding up much longer."

Usually Percy would have protested and insisted that they continue in the direction they've been going without catering to his needs, but his ragged unsteady wheezes and hunched shivering shoulders tells Annabeth his body is demanding an agreement. The layer of water beneath them is thinning and a dull floor of heat radiates under it.

"Maybe we can find a wall," suggests Percy. "Climb on it or something."

Annabeth picks up handfuls of gravel- small enough to warm her hands like they were around a campfire, but not enough to burn- and throws pebbles in different directions as they trudge on. By the time they hear a distant clink of the rock hitting a solid mass, Percy has already stopped them twice to throw up.

He wipes blood from his mouth and whispers feebly, with a swollen tongue and scratchy throat, "Thank the gods..."

Annabeth glances at her boyfriend worriedly. They refrain from talking to save him some strength, and she tries to keep her steps as in line as possible, so the water's width is barely the two of them standing shoulder-to-shoulder, huddling together. She holds half of Percy's weight: his arm is slung over her shoulder, relying on her support whenever he trips on his own two left feet.

As for Percy, the environment becomes a blur. All he sees is a visage of blue, that nearly looked white from him staring in concentration at the water so hard. A vacuum is fighting with him for air, sucking the precious gas away the moment it enters his lungs, and leaves him in a hacking, coughing fit that sends Annabeth into hysteria. What hurts the most, though, is his stomach. There are tsunamis and hurricanes and thunderstorms raging in there, churning his insides to pieces, lighting a fire, and burying it under three thousand tons of stone.

The bottoms of their feet are almost burning, but this is the most he can do.

"100 feet away," encourages Annabeth, her voice shaky, but intended to be fierce and hopeful. "Don't you dare give up on me now, Seaweed Brain."

Sweat drips down their bodies and the heat sizzles from the coals. The temperature is at least twenty degrees higher than the hottest heat wave in New York City.

When they get to the wall, Annabeth finds a narrow foothold wide enough for the both of them- their first coin of luck in Tartarus!- and Percy all but collapses onto the stone slab, which is burning hot, but still a couple watery degrees lower than their feverish skin.

Tartarus is already so black that Percy can barely tell unconsciousness from staying awake, but right before he goes, he notices Annabeth's determined and protective jaw set, scrunched eyebrows marred with a side of quiet distress, and grave look in her quivering hands and red eyes.

"I will...forever...sympathize with you...whenever you're...on your period...again." It's a weak effort, but anything is better than this serious silence that rings of despair. Annabeth relaxes a bit, seeing that Seaweed Brain is recovering well enough to make stupid jokes. He tries to swallow back the bile and blood that arise from the statement, and pass off the explosion in his chest for clearing his throat; which ends up sounding akin to Lupa's bark. If Annabeth notices, she doesn't show it, and Percy thanks her for it.

He wants more than anything to stay up with her, and even though it's not much, add his brain to hers to help her figure out a plan- but he can't. So he settles for wrapping one arm around her shoulder and standing half behind her, so that he's resting on wall behind them and she's leaning on his torso.

Percy figures it's better this way for the time being, since he trusts her a lot more than he trusts his own eyes to see approaching danger.

The camp is normal. Kids bearing the standard orange Camp Half-Blood shirt are milling around in their cabin groups. Silena chats with her Aphrodite friends by the lakeside, and she pulls one of the girls back from falling into the water after leaning over too far to check her reflection. Lee and Micheal from Apollo are having an archery contest at the shooting range to see which one of them will miss the bulls-eye first, which, of course, will never end since they never miss. Beckondorf hammers away at a sturdy silver broadsword, sparks flying and heat shimmering in the air around the workshop, occasionally glancing over at Silena with a timid smile.

Percy immediately knows something is sorely wrong, since these campers have been causing him heartache ever since their deaths in the Titan War. Still, he breaths in the sights and sounds of their presence, wishing he could go down and pat Beckondorf on the back, and start up a conversation about how he and Silena were doing.

And Beckondorf would reply, "I never thought I'd give up time working at the shop to spend time with a girl. But it's pretty damn awesome, especially since all that talk about her...role in the Titan War has blown over." Because everyone would honor Silena as a hero, not a traitor.

So Percy would laugh and say, "The other boys want your head, you know that? Silena is...pretty nice, if you know what I mean."

Beckondorf: "Yeah, and I'd have your head for saying that if you weren't already with Annabeth."

"Don't mention I said that to her."

"Hah, sure. You want to live another day?"

"This isn't a joking matter."

And they would both laugh, because they both knew he was entirely joking, and Annabeth would be the only one who would ever catch his eye.

"Say, when are you guys going off to the Roman camp?"

"I don't know, to be honest. It's on the other side of the country. We both have things to tie up."

Then a silence, because Beckondorf would be thinking what the camp would be like without Percy, and Percy would be thinking how life would be once he and Annabeth settled down in the peaceful Roman college campus. No gods, no wars, no nothing.

"Beckondorf, I've been thinking."

"You, thinking? What has the world come to?"

"Shut up. Anyways, I'm going to run this idea by Reyna and Jason and the others over there too, but...we should have a system where there's no discrimination between Romans and Greeks. Like, every demigod who's in the area could go to either camp. And be accepted, no matter who their parent or where their from."

"It's a venture, Percy. Some of the Romans still hate us."

"We've fought a war against Gaea, and won! We even helped each other rebuild the camps. Everybody in both camps knows how the other camp works by now."

"Well, I'm sure everyone here will help you convince them then. We'd never let you go alone."

And Percy would agree, and the plan would work. Not because it was him shouldering the leadership and diplomacy, but because both camps would agree to it and he wouldn't have to choose in an argument between them.

Then, out of nowhere, Beckondorf's face morphs into a mask of pain and he looks down at his stomach. A bloody knife sticks out. Behind him, the camp erupts into savage orange and red. The cabins come crashing down like dominoes and smoke envelops Percy.

From the mess, he hears someone calling his name.

He's frantic to find the person, but no matter where he runs, he just runs into more grey and red and black. He trips, stumbles over soft flesh, and sobs as he leaps over the bodies of his fallen friends.

"Annabeth!" he calls. His voice doesn't travel more than five feet and he can barely hear himself. He can barely hear anything, like someone is covering his head with a towel. All sounds are muffled, muted, and so is her voice when she calls back.

"Perc-" she's cut off abruptly, as if someone has pressed pause to a tape recorder, and Percy has never longed to hear the last "y" sound of his name so much.

"Annabeth! Where are you?"

And a stroke of brilliant luck: she appears in his arms. Something's wrong though. She's lying down, her face is pale, her grey eyes have no energy or strength. They're hurt and her mouth is open and filled with blood. There's a sword in her chest, aimed right at her heart. Percy's hands are holding the hilt, and he recognizes the sword to be the one he's used in battle time after time.

She chokes and whispers, "How could you-" and the tape recorder ends.

A/N: First part of a maybe-two-shot. Depends on reader reactions and depends on where the plot bunny takes me.

I welcome any kind of review. :)