Hello everyone...This is my darker conclusion to my favorite series Heroes of Olympus. The idea has been bothering me since reading the final book to the HOH series, and I have finally written this. However, it is a cruel muse, and the later chapters will be very triggering. I would advise to read the author's notes to see the warnings, but the first chapter is very mild. Keep in mind this is my first time writing a dark story and my first time involving trigger concepts, so some chapters may be very uncomfortable later on. Besides that, I hope you enjoy.

LITTLE TIN SOLDIERS

Chapter 1: The Long Journey

There is a saying about the man behind the gun. He wields his weapon with the familiarity of a long-time friend, the caress of a lover, and the trust of an ally without fear, without courage, without mind. He enters battle tall and leaves small and humbled, the weapon dull and lank by his side. For he has hills and valleys etched in his skin from bullets coming too hot and too close; niches and dips exist where silver blades have made several attempts to make a new sheath; and a steady trail of blood clings to the soles of his boots the path created from the hordes of enemies he has cleaved through. He bares the scars—seen and unseen—when he is sent home with a little money and a high expectation to integrate back into modern society. But for those who have seen battle, in its intimately grim and glorious state, the battle is never over. Behind their eyes is a war and our little tin soldiers are standing weary and ready to crumble.

…

In theory, when a war is won and the swords are put away and the politicians prepare their gloating speeches, the world is supposed to seem a little happier, a little better, and more secure in the light of a new dawn. Right now, the world feels utterly and completely bleak as Jason stands over the pyre for Leo Valdez. His friend was dead; his life and light extinguished in an instant flame that had encompassed the sky. The Seven had defeated Gaea, but at too high a cost. Leo was his best friend and he had done absolutely nothing in his power to save him. What kind of person could he call himself? A fair leader who lets his friends die around him or a man who aspires to be great when all he could do was pass out in the sky? Jason shook his head to clear his thoughts. It was too early, too soon with the pain raw like a freshly opened wound on his heart. He could deal with his insecurities when the time was right. He glanced around at the remaining members of the Seven.

They were a subdued group. The sounds from the quiet mourning pyres in the background mingled with the hushed conversations barely reached the area they were standing upon. The remaining members of the Seven were standing grief bound around Leo's pyre. Annabeth and Percy were hunched together, red eyed and watching the plume of smoke lifting off as if repeating some ritual from the past. Hazel's small body was partially hidden by Frank's bulking mass. The poor girl was shaking immensely, her heart-wrenching sobs echoed loudly and no one had the heart to stop her. Jason knew Leo had like her once before he moved on and the pair had become friends, but he had not known the extent of their friendship. Now, she was expressing all of their grief.

And Piper was—Gods, Jason had never been so scared for her. She was silent, practically catatonic with long tear lines smearing across her beautiful face. The daughter of Aphrodite stared plainly ahead, watching the wreath she made disintegrate into ash. Her eyes were glossy, yet unseeing, and Jason fought the urge to punch a tree. If he had been stronger, faster, he didn't know! He did not know. But Jason knew if he was a better demigod, he could have saved Leo. Leo would have been here, alive and well, and the seven would have been enjoying the festivities. Instead he was dead.

In Jason's fair and subtle opinion, the world had gone to schist and he was not going to try to help it. No, he had paid his views and he would happily wait for the politics exchange to begin, eager to watch the Romans and Greeks falter over how to proceed. Their unwillingness to fight alongside one another in the beginning had led to many casualties. And their late agreement to be allies to stop Gaea's forces had cost him his best friend. Despite the logical part of his side claiming it was not their fault, Jason chose to follow the smaller voice in his head. He was not thinking rationally and he did not care to he was sad and had a damn right to be.

He wondered how Reyna was managing the cohorts. The Romans and Greeks had been bitter enemies for over a millennium and a swift change in the 21st century was not going to change everyone's opinion. At least there was less people out for Greek blood-ahem! Octavian. However, it did not guarantee that everyone would be happy with the arrangement. For now, he could allow the dust to settle and let the people bask in relief that they are alive before reparations are demanded and fists fly in the forums.

His eyes drew back to the fire raging at the pyre. There were so many littered around the camp that is was almost indistinguishable about who was burning where. Farther off was the beginning of a celebration, drinks were being shared and there was plenty of food. Jason knew the next night would entail some sort of extravagant celebration—the Greeks loved to party, but the Romans invented them. Leo would have loved them too.

A soft rustling to his right caused him to abruptly turn his head. The thudding of boots crunched on the grassy fields and the tall, imposing figure of Reyna appeared. Her braided hair was loose, stray hair strands framing her face. The praetor stood made her way into the soft evening glow, a frown marring her delicate face. She looked at the pyre and back at them. Slightly behind her, a short teen stepped out. He was dressed in a black tee that was very different from his old Hawaiian get up. Dark jeans and combat boots completed the look, while dark circles clung to the pallid flesh beneath his eye. Jason gave a nod to Nico di Angelo, who merely nodded back before a concerned look settled on his face.

Jason watched as the son of Hades walked past the rest of the group without them noticing before stopping in front of Hazel. She stepped away from Frank and walked into his open arms. He encircled the girl in a hug, stroking her curly hair and checking her for injuries.

"You're okay. Thank the gods." He kissed her forehead with another bout of tenderness. He wiped his pale hands across her skin, taking away tears.

"The question is whether you are okay." She took a step back and smiled at him. "And stop parenting me. You are barely older." He let out a breathless laugh and hugged her closer. Then he seemed to remember where he was as he dropped his hands from her person. She tugged his hands back and gasped at the long, stained bandages covering his arms.

"Nico, what?" He dropped his hands again. "We'll talk about it later." By now, everyone was staring at them unabashedly. She sniffed and wiped her eyes, looking at her brother with pleading eyes. Nico sighed and grabbed her hand and the two siblings turned away from each other, away from their private world.

The little touching scene made Jason smile. The son of Hades had someone who loved him just as much as he loved her. And he had complained about not belonging to either camp when there was someone who wanted him to be around. But, in the back of his head, Jason heard a nagging voice. His sister cannot make him stay. She would not understand. He jerked his head; Jason did not need to focus on those thoughts now.

An uneasy silence permeated the air between the eight demigods. The group transitioned into the phase, uninterrupted until the coals and embers died down and finally left little piles of ash. They stood there, still and unmoving, as the sun finally disappeared beyond the horizon, the fading light just waiting for some semblance of peace to be established before retreating from sight. The fire had died. What time was left of the day would be devoted to discovering how long their patience could last. In the end, it was Reyna who interrupted.

"I'm sorry for your loss." Reyna said. "I may not have liked the son of Hephaestus much, but he was a good guy. He didn't deserve this fate." None of us do. Jason knew the praetor long enough to know what was left unsaid.

Piper nodded. "He was one of the best of us."

"Is he really gone?" Jason's head snapped in Annabeth's direction. The daughter of Athena was addressing the children of the Underworld with critical eyes, a piercing gaze that made the two shift uncomfortably.

"I'll admit his death felt odd." Nico admitted looking at the remnants of the fire. "I'll investigate it more once I can get back into the Underworld. Or when Father lets me back in." He muttered the last part under his breath, possibly assuming that no one would hear it, but the wind caught and carried the message.

"Wait, when your father lets you back? Did you get kicked out of the Underworld?" Nico turned a cruel glare on the son of Poseidon.

"No, but he does not need me around to pester him with questions regarding another demigod's death, especially one he predicted. When he is done dealing with the dead and I am relieved of my duties here, I am going back. Does that answer satisfy your question Jackson?" He spat the words, the tone bitter cold compared the warmth it was once filled with for Hazel. Reyna placed a placating hand on his shoulder and Jason watched Nico bite his cheek.

"That's not what he meant Perc—"Jason started.

"And he doesn't need you to explain Jason. If you'll excuse me, I have somewhere else to be." The son of Hades stomped off into the descending night, fading into the shadow.

"I told him not to do that." Reyna muttered. "I'm sorry, but I have a meeting to attend to and I need to borrow Frank. Meet me at the Praetor's tent in fifteen minutes." She nodded at the rest of them, her purple cloak the last thing visible as she marched away from the Camp.

"Why did you have to do that?" Jason sighed looking at Percy. The other demigod looked confused.

"I didn't do anything. I just—"Annabeth held up a hand, interrupting her boyfriend.

"He said Leo's death was strange. How?" Her attention was focused on Hazel, who shifted away from Frank. The older demigod looked down at her.

"Can you handle it?" She gave him a watery smile and pushed him softly.

"Go off and be Mr. Praetor. I'll see you later." Frank kissed her forehead and looked the rest of them in the eye slowly.

"Do not give her a hard time about this. It was Leo's choice." And then he too stalked off. Frank's threat rested in the air with a gruff voice and a promise of hurt. Subconsciously, the son of Mars had tapped into his power, both assuring Hazel that no one would bother her but making sure the others knew she was not to blame for whatever had occurred. It made Jason all the more curious and scared. What did Hazel have to do with it?

"The physician's cure." Piper exclaimed. Her eyes were bright and watery, unseeing of anything besides the possibility that her friend could be alive. "It has to be. Leo is still alive."

"He can't be." Hazel muttered. She told about Leo's story and their plan. About what he wanted to do in order to fulfill the prophecy. "I may not be as good as my brother, but I am attuned to your life and death auras. Leo is gone and I messed with the Mist to help him and he—"she broke off, falling into another tear fit. "We couldn't save him."

Percy embraced her in a second as she dissolved into tears again. It was easy to forget they were young and had dealt with so much until someone close died, whether it was from an accident or a noble sacrifice. Jason couldn't stand it; the knowledge that Leo had knowingly committed suicide for their benefit—their lives. He reached out for Piper's hand and bid the others goodnight before flying off with his girlfriend. As they hung in the night sky, he buried his face into her hair and let his tears fall. The moonlight danced off the tears of his own and Piper's, but at that moment he could have cared less. He failed them. He failed them all when it really mattered.

…

The Roman encampment stood out tall on the edge of Camp Half-Blood, a stark contrast against the towering trees with white tips scraping the dark sky. Cloth tips were scattered and spread around the strawberry fields. Frank let his feet lead him through the settlement, trusting his instincts to lead him in the right direction. His feet pounded into the dirt, imprints of his path away from Leo's pyre. He was Praetor now, a leader and a symbol of the Roman legion, and a far-cry from the awkward stumbling boy he once was. His position was only solidified by the confidence of Jason and the acceptance of Reyna, albeit the latter was slightly scary. Despite his new responsibilities, Frank didn't feel like a leader. The praetor was supposed to inspire strength and fearlessness, but considering the outcome of the battle, all Frank had done was aid his friend in meaningless madness.

He found he could not dwell on the matter too long, however, once he approached the Praetor tent. Reyna was sitting in her chair, her dogs sitting obediently by her feet. She was staring at a map on the large strategy table, idly pushing little pawns around. It was the battle strategy planned to use against the Greeks. The tent was grandiose, filled with golden lanterns that made the room bright and covered in a plush carpeting. Chairs were set up around the strategy table, and plates of fruit were located at the side. Frank grabbed an apple and bit into the plump green skin, licking a little of the juice off of his lips.

"Hello, Frank." She said without looking up. "It seems we need a new augur."

She said it, as if it was a joke. As if Octavian was as replaceable as they come, but the fact was he wasn't. Octavian, ignoring his perverse dreams of power, was one of the smartest, charismatic people Frank knew. And Octavian had wielded it to his advantage. Frank nodded and thought on how to approach the subject.

"We would need one for the Roman people to follow. The truce with the Greeks won't easily be accepted without some sort of divine proof and we do not adhere to prophecies from an oracle." Reyna hummed, his answer accepted.

"Nico told me the oracle has lost her power. We are without divine help now Zhang. Perhaps, it would be best to start by announcing you as Praetor properly to the legions tomorrow. We will be starting council around 12 and I would prefer to get traditions out the way." She sighed.

"You can call me Frank, you know. Now that we will be working together." He supplied. She seemed tired and drained.

"Hey, I managed to get you some food. I didn't know what you wanted but I bought some asopao de pollo from this Puerto Rican restaurant in the city." Nico casually entered the tent, placing steaming plates of a rice chicken stew in front of the praetor. He laid out some napkins, utensils, and opened a bottle Snapple before sitting in the seat across from her. The domesticity of the scene stunned Frank. He had not known the two were so close.

"Did you eat?" Reyna asked conversationally. She took a mouthful of the food and moaned.

"I had an orange. I was more worried about you. You've been using too much of your strength and I don't recall whether you ate today." He shrugged.

"The same applies for you, di Angelo. I need you in top shape for tomorrow." Frank raised an eyebrow.

"You need Nico for tomorrow?" Reyna wiped her mouth with a napkin.

"Of course. He is, after all, the ambassador of Pluto and one of our only connections to the gods."

"Not to mention, I have a trial approaching." The son of Hades smirked.

Frank remembered. There was a time when any associations or affiliations with Greeks would warrant death, and in more modern times, those deaths came to include cruel and unusual punishments. Nico had gone beyond that. He had hid the identity of each camp from one another, like a spy. And spies deserved the worse from the Roman code.

"Do you think you can handle?" Can Hazel handle it? Frank asked, his eyes boring into the other male occupant. Nico waved a simple hand in his direction.

"The more appropriate question is if you can handle it Frank?" Can you be there for Hazel? "I know what I have to do in order for the camps to join together and that would take trials on both ends. They'll want to point fingers, and in this case, as both Leo and Octavian are dead, the next viable option would be me."

"So you want to be used as a scapegoat!" Frank shouted. Reyna stopped eating and looked at him.

"Frank, you are a Praetor now. There will be times when we have to make decisions we do not like because it is what is right for the People. For now, all we can hope is that Nico gets a fair trial on our end. I am sure Jason will do his part with the Greeks." Her fists tightened around her fork. "I do not think any of us like this idea, but it is a solid plan and we need a foundation to build on. Many communities bond through having a common goal and a common enemy."

"And you are just going to let this happen? What good are we doing for the people if we are putting an innocent guy on trial? Gaea is dead."

"Do you not get it Frank? You are entering the world of politics. There is no 'innocent' anymore!" Nico shouted, his chair shooting back. "If this was the legal system, we would all be on trial for doing something—stealing, killing, and assault and battery. But this isn't. If you expected everything to be fine after this battle, then you are wrong. Reyna and I have discussed this since leaving you guys at the pyre. It's a solid plan and the Romans nor the Greeks can pin me with anything since I cut ties with the latter."

"But—"

"This is our job. We do not have easy decisions to make. All we can hope is that the transition is fast and smooth and we can put this behind us. I hate doing this, but as the leader of New Rome I have to pass some judgement and make it as less severe as possible. He's my friend." Reyna breathed through her nostrils. "That's all I have to say for tonight. Thank you, Nico, for dinner, but make sure you eat something. I need to speak with you early tomorrow. Frank, I need to show you to your quarters." She stood with Argentum and Aurum at her heel.

"Hazel is staying with me tonight. I just wanted you to know in case you wanted to come by later." With that, Nico disappeared into the shadows. Frank followed Reyna out into the camp. It was mostly deserted. Many were still out talking with the Greeks or mourning the fallen.

"You are going to have a very tough time as Praetor. Because you left with the Greeks that assaulted our home, you are going to be under more scrutiny than I. Let's hope Simon and Ryan can sway the 1st and 3rd cohorts in your favor. They liked you more than Olivia ever did, but we all know Olivia was obsessed with Octavian." Her words fell through the air with a roughness he was unaccustomed to.

"I think you should be more worried about yourself Reyna. In your absence, Octavian had very likely swayed most of the cohorts against you in order to gain more power. We all know he had been attempting mutiny since Jason's disappearance. I'll handle Olivia when the time comes." Reyna gave him a tired smile and Frank couldn't help but to return a nervous one.

"I know what you think of me Frank and I cannot change your opinion. I have been ruling New Rome for a year now, without any assistance and I apologize if I seem rough or unapproachable. However, being a leader is hard. Like I said before, we have to make decisions we don't agree with to keep the peace. And I would prefer this treaty go thought without any hitches."

"Agreed. If I can ask, what was the previous meeting about?"

"Boring, day to day things. Nothing you should be concerning yourself with yet. Focus on the larger goal first and we can iron out the minor details later. Goodnight Frank." The daughter of Bellona turned and walked away. Frank sighed. He could feel the worry lines filing in and he straightened his shoulders. He would not fall under the extreme pressure of New Rome and he would not let Hazel's brother go to jail. He would need to ask Jason and Percy for help on the Greek end if nothing else mattered. Frank entered his tent, a new plan growing in his mind. He may not be the son of Minerva, but he would prove to make a strategy just as good as her offspring's. He would stop by the Hades cabin later.

…

After separating from Hazel and leaving her at the Hades Cabin, Percy had locked himself in his room to dwell on the events of the day. It had been his blood. His blood had led to the rise of Gaea, mingled with Annabeth's. Gaea, the primordial, who had caused the death of Leo. Percy dug his hands into the blue sheets of his bed. He had missed this—his cabin, his home, and his memories. Now he could not stand it! This entire quest had been a wild chase into the unknown; a way to find where he belonged on the spectrum next to the most powerful demigods of the century. And like so many times before, he managed to fail.

In his youth—Gods, he was already thinking of himself as an old man—and arrogance, his naivety even, he had lost friends, but triumphed from the efforts of others. Others like Silena and Beckendorf, Ethan and Luke, and Bianca and Zoe, who were some of the best warriors he had known in his entire life. And yet, here he was alive and well and young; most demigods barely made it to 21, and he was resting on a white cot, comfortable while his friends and allies were suffering, on a straight track to immortality.

The son of Poseidon was tired of the endless cycles of prophecies, death, and doing the gods' dirty work whilst they watched from their throne room in Olympus. Enough blood had been shared and spill; the expense of losing good friends and companions because the gods were too stubborn, too proud to fight their own battles was a punch to the throat. Unlike the others, Percy barely had time to truly bond with the son of Hephaestus, but from his interactions with the young demigod, he trusted him inexplicitly. Tears strung his eyes as they sprung forth. The simple fact that Leo was gone and his death could have been prevented was unacceptable. He couldn't bring himself to blame Hazel for her honest admission; the girl had revealed Leo's plan to them shortly after Frank left. He could not find it in himself to blame Jason or Piper or anyone else from their crew.

"Gah!" he yelled, punching the bed suddenly. The fountain bubbled dangerously in the background, whirlpools forming rapidly with each shuddering breath.

Percy was too old to cry for himself. Yet, as his emotions hit its peak, he was absorbed in an action he should have done long ago, after the Titan War. The tears for the innocent ones rolled over tanned skin, his lips opening to release shaky noises resembling sickening sobs. It was not fair. The life of a demigod was marked by misfortune and unpleasant indecencies, and still the cost was always the same—the life of a wet behind the ears child with hands on a weapon too heavy for his baby smooth hands to hold. A child with sloppy brown hair and wide adorable eyes, big with wonder for a world made to chew him up and spit him out. And they would soon go to the pile to be burned with the bodies of their peers as they served their purpose and any further use would be impractical. Gods, they had been so young; half younger than Percy had given their lives for a fight that only repeats on and off for millennia. As if their sacrifice did anything, Percy scoffed, he and his friends had only staved off the inevitable and condemned their descendants to the same misfortune that had befallen them.

Well, not all of the misfortune. At 16, Percy had defeated the titan Kronos, the titan's mother, and survived a personal tour through Tartarus. His only wish now was that his children and grandchildren would not have to face the same malicious forces for some time. He had gone through hell to save Annabeth, for a chance for a future, Percy shuddered and swallowed some of his tears. He did not want to relive those horrible memories. The horrors he had seen and the deeds he had participated in; the poor teen could feel his threads wearing away, fading and falling apart at the very seams that he so messily tried to stitch back together.

But, the needle thin and dull, could barely repair the damage; and so, he was already falling. Percy knew he was not okay, long before rejoining the crew of the Argo II. On the huge airship, he had felt the probing stares and glances of the others, each holding back their polite inquiries about his mental state. He would have caved if not for Annabeth. She had her pride about her and refused to be forced back by some inconvenient trip to hell, other masses of monsters. So, like any other rational boyfriend, Percy followed his girlfriend's example; he adopted a system of staving off the ache and pretending he was fine with a smile so fake it hurt to use it. He knew Jason has partially seen through the façade and the golden boy would put the pieces together eventually, especially after the near-drowning incident.

Wrapped in poison, Percy had felt himself drifting away. The sea was beckoning him, making sweet promises of relief and freedom from the stress of being a hero. At the time it felt –so right. To mix in with the sea, his birthright, and nestle into its soft embrace was one both a peaceful desire and a sickening plea. Percy did not consider himself to be suicidal nor did he have those intentions. Which was why he had been so shocked by his lack of a fight underneath the netting—when had Percy ever fought back hard enough?

All his life, Percy had known people who had something worth fighting for. Annabeth had her family—including him; Jason had his patron and his friends; Piper had her family; Leo was motivated by revenge before he devoted his full attention to rescuing Calypso; Hazel, Frank, and Reyna wanted to protect their last and final home. Hell, Nico had his own motivation that Percy didn't even know. And Percy had his family and his home. But combined, he was only the muscle. Not the person fighting desperately with every fiber of their being until their last breath, willing to forgo living in order to keep the world from falling into chaos.

People regarded him as a hero of Olympus, but Percy took the backseat compared to the others. They were smarter, faster, better than he could be on a daily basis. It was Annabeth's strategies that he followed; Jason and Piper's unswaying faith in their abilities; and he was the bran to boost their goals and ambitions. Heck, he still owed the tiny kid who fought in the streets of Manhattan to keep Kronos' army at bay while Percy tracked the titan down for the final battle in Olympus. He owed them all so much, because without them, Percy would be dead.

The fact hit him in his heart. He had hardly paid attention to those who led to his fame. Instead he had left some behind, trailing after his newfound glory with his giant ego and his new relationship and status among the campus. It was a selfish love that caused him this feeling. He was a selfish bastard.

The dam finally broke and Percy sobbed heart wrenching gasps that made his chest constrict painfully. What was he mourning now? Perhaps it was his actions or his allies dead and gone or demigod life in general—all of which accumulated in his heart and compressed into a cycle of thoughts in his mind. He turned over and buried his head into the pillow, hoping the bed would absorb his self-inflicted hatred. Gods, it was horrible. He broke down, hiccupping heavy sobs, curling into himself and retreating into the shell of a broken hero.

He didn't hear the door open and close with a hushed whisper. Light hands traced patterns over his back and he opened his eyes to see golden princess curls and elegant features marred by a frown.

"Wise Girl? Whah—"Percy hurriedly brush away his tears, praying he had not smeared snot everywhere.

"Shh, Percy, just scoot over." Annabeth moved beside him on the bed, cradling his head in her chest. "It's okay Percy. Let it out."

So he cried, jarring shoulder movements painfully beating his girlfriend's chest. The reverberation of his tears over took the noise of the twinkling fountain. Annabeth's shirt grew damp with the tears of her boyfriends and she caressed his unruly hair, making soothing reassurances. Time grew longer until Percy finally looked at her with leaky, red rimmed eyes.

"You can continue. It's okay to cry."

"No its not! We're too young Annabeth. We're too young for this and just when I thought we were done with the prophecy and then we got stuck in—"he cut himself off with a deep gulp of air.

"Percy, focus on my breaths, you're panicking. One, two, three, breathe in. That's good. Breathe out, one, two three." She wrapped his hands around her back and pulled his chest against hers to feel the rise and fall of her breathes from between cotton fabric. Percy took deep breaths, focusing on her and only her as she commanded him to breathe. They sat like that for a while, just breathing in the quiet even after his breathing corrected itself. He yawned despite himself, the low pace of her heartbeat lulling him into a deep sleep.

"Are you tired?" he nodded numbly.

"Then go to sleep. I'll be here in the morning. We can talk then." So he entrapped his savior into his arms and went into a dreamless sleep without being plagued by the faces of the people he hurt or the memories of Tartarus. And when the Apollo's chariot rose over the sky in the morning, all that could be seen in Cabin 3 was the painfully tight grip of two lovers clinging to each other to weather a storm.