Percy looked out his window. It was one of those classic portholes. Thick streaky glass and all. It gave him the smallest, blurriest view of the ocean but gods did he appreciate it.
Here he was, sitting on his bed in his sweaty pyjama pants, still panting from the nightmare but at least he could see water. The nightmares used to come often; this was when he was only a common camper at camp half-blood, not in so deep yet. Then he fought on Mount Olympus and saw friends fall and the nightmares decided they were there to stay.
And he managed it and got used to it because that's what demigods do. They cope. They were given a shit hand and they needed to play their best poker face. The only problem now, was that ever since Percy made his way from Tartarus, the nightmares didn't come at night.
They slapped him and crushed him and overwhelmed him every time he closed his eyes. And Tartarus would freeze over before he would let the others down and tell them the truth; he didn't think he should be on this quest anymore.