Heyyyy... I'm not gonna make up an excuse. So here we go:

The sun was sharp to his skin. He raised a hand to shield his eyes from the blinding rays. He stumbled out of the shadows and grunted in pain. He held his side and gingerly rose from his position on the tree whose shadow he came from.

He pulled his hand away from his side with a wince. He swallowed and forced himself to look at it. The wound was a tripled slash. It didn't go wide—just deep. He was almost sure an organ or two was damaged.

He was tired. He didn't feel like deciding what he was tired about or with. There were too many things to be tired about. Too many things…

He snapped his eyes open again. He wouldn't succumb to sleep. Now was not the right time, nor the place.

Pain shot up his side as he attempted walking and he fell to the ground and groaned.

The sun was rapidly setting. Time seemed to burn away, and soon, he was covered in darkness.

He didn't know how much time had passed, or how he was still alive, or why he couldn't just die, or everything in life.

He watched the moon and her round face. He immediately thought of Bianca. His eyes watered, this time not from the pain.

He could see a face in the stars. A face with brown eyes and brown hair. A face with a smile and a laugh. A face with hope.

Somewhere inside him knew that he wouldn't see his sister again. Somewhere, he knew his time had come.

And from there, he wasn't sure where he would go.

Now, the tears wouldn't stop flowing. He didn't know why. He wanted it to stop. His side felt just as fresh as it had an hour ago, but the pain had numbed. The tears kept coming.

Nico thought of Percy. Nico thought of Hazel. His mother. Jason.

Nico blinked. The stars blurred into tiny white streaks that seemed to reach out to him.

Nico coughed roughly. His breaths slowed and heaved. He reached a hand out to the sky, trying to touch the light. He wanted to feel warmth, love. He wanted to be wanted. He clenched his fist in the air and let it fall back to his side.

Nico breathed out words he would never say in front of another, "I'm...sorry. I love you."

Then, with a choke and an almost insane laugh, he slept as he had lived: completely and utterly alone.

Everyone was silent on the ship. They were soaring over the Atlantic back to New York. Most of both camps were dead. They did a traditional funeral as best they could with what little they had. Fire burned. Greece would be filled with smoke for the next few days.

Jason watched countless bodies crumble in the flames. He knew most of them. He wished he died in lieu of them.

Percy stared helplessly into the flames as the heat licked away Annabeth's body. He appeared emotionless, hardened. Jason gripped Piper's hand tighter at the newly acquired memories.

All too soon, it was time to go back into the Argo II. Jason and Percy were the last to load on board. Most were venturing back to the bunks.

Reyna and the other legionnaires shared a cabin. The Greeks filled in where they could fit. No one took Annabeth's bunk.

Now, Percy was sitting at the helm, gazing at the water. Jason knew it was in his better judgement to leave him be, but he instead opted to sit down next to the son of Poseidon. Percy didn't move; Jason sat in silence. He watched Percy glare at the ocean, angry. Percy's fists bunched into his orange shirt, and his knuckles turned white. Jason didn't speak.

Jason tried to keep his face neutral, but it was hard. So many deaths, so much blood, so many family members dead. Nico.

Jason glanced at Percy, whose expression had softened as he blinked away tears at the stars. Jason didn't know how, but he knew that the stars held a connection to Annabeth. Whether the memories were recent or aged, or both, Jason wouldn't know.

Percy's eyes glazed over, the dim light reflected on his defeated irises. The shadows had given Percy a sharp, unfamiliar look… It was dark and unsettling. Jason's mind wandered. He wondered what had actually happened in Tartarus with Percy and Annabeth, and Nico.

"Do you think everything is fated?" Percy asked out of nowhere. "Or do you think things happen because of our choices? Because what if we are meant to choose our choices? Do we control anything in our life?! What are we supposed to do except bend to the gods' wills?"

Jason knew Percy was bitter and had a lifetime of more resentment to share. Percy didn't say anything more, and for a moment, Jason wondered if this was truly all about Annabeth.

Jason let the silence suffocate him before answering. "I want to believe there is more in me than what I'm expected to do, but I really don't know. I like to think that I can decide on my own. The Fates are in charge of the universe though, and I can't do anything about that. Neither can you."

Percy's lip trembled once, but nothing else happened. "I want to stop fighting everyone. I don't want to be the hero anymore."

Jason sympathized. "Anyone who would still at this point would be crazy."

Taking in a shuddering breath, Percy looked back up at the night sky and mumbled nonsense about a Bob and an elevator and a Damasen that Jason didn't bother trying to understand.

Now that Percy seemed a little more human, perhaps in the worst possible way, Jason could see how Nico was attracted to the dark-haired boy.

Jason sighed. He wished Nico would stop running.

But Nico would always run, and he had run, until he could run no more.

There was a man with a gaunt face, tight skin over thin bones, and oily black hair. He was alone, and had seemingly walked out of the dark. His eyes were like spilled pools of ink, sharp and stained.

He stepped into the pale moonlight and glared at it, as if it were watching and warning him. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, obviously fatigued.

Glancing at his watch, he counted how many more seconds late he would be before the boy's life would officially be over.

Moving with a speed he didn't know he possessed, he reached a lone tree in a field of tall dead grass where a lone corpse-like figure lay. With only minutes to spare, he hefted the boy on to his shoulders and disappeared into the darkness of the night.

Nico opened his eyes to pain and burning brightness.

So he wasn't dead then.

That kinda sucked.

Once the realization settled in, he was overwhelmed with confusion. Where was he? How was he still alive? He felt himself dying.

Nico kicked off the thin sheets that covered his chest and gasped at his naked skin. There was only a horrible scar left where the wound was. Three white lines with swollen skin.

Nico touched it gingerly and regretted it. Gods it hurt like Tartarus woke up to personally torment him.

Wary of this person's power to heal him so well, Nico's eyes flitted across the room. He spotted his jacket on the chair beside the bed and inspected it for anything foreign. It was just his jacket. Clean and in great condition.

The walls were as blank as the ceiling, strangely leaving no room for shadow. There was nothing else in the room, save for a door at the far end of the ten by ten square capacity.

Nico cautiously made his way to the door. He opened the door and stepped out.

It was daytime, and somehow the sun was still brighter than the whiteness. He grimaced at the sky and turned around to look at where he had just exited, only to find nothing.

He was alone and completely alive in the middle of the field where he had thought he had died.

Fearing he was hallucinating, he saw the tree stained with blood a few feet away and reassured himself that this was indeed happening.

A tug in his gut. Retching. Only blood came out of his mouth. He smeared it with his sleeve, tasting the liveliness of rust.

Gulping, Nico wondered who had saved him and why. He would've been better off dead anyway.

He turned and ran into the shadows, unaware of any eyes watching.

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