Percy couldn't believe it.

He absolutely could not believe that one metal Nike supporter had almost brought him down. He had always been able to hold his own in a fight. He'd battled Ares when he was twelve. And a little training with the Romans had only made him better, even if he was a little out of practice.

But he'd been in that arena, trying to fight Nike, and he'd heard Hazel cry out in pain – and suddenly he wasn't in that arena anymore. He was back in Tartarus, back in the deepest depths of the Underworld, and it wasn't Hazel crying out, it was Annabeth. She was weaponless and in danger, and even though she could fight fine, she didn't have a blade that would allow her to actually defeat her enemies. Percy's sword had to suffice for both of them, and he couldn't be in two places at once –

And then when he shook himself out of it, and went to defend Hazel, it was just too much. It was another spirit, or god, or monster, or something, it was another girl who was so important to him who was hurt. What was the difference between a Nik-whatever it was and an ara anyway?

He knew it wasn't real – somewhere back in the corner of his mind, he knew it wasn't real. But talking about Calypso and remembering her curse had brought it to the forefront for Percy, and he'd let Tartarus overcome him. It was never far from his thoughts, and he'd let it sneak in before going into battle. So when the Nikette started attacking him, he'd been lost in the memories of the arai. Hazel wasn't Hazel, she was Annabeth, blind and abandoned and needing his help – help that he couldn't give.

He forgot that he could fight, he forgot that he was good – the memories overcame him and he went numb.

It wasn't until Leo and Hazel attacked that Percy remembered where he was, remembered that he wasn't helpless. He remembered that he wasn't dying of gorgon's blood poison, and remembered that Damasen had cured him of that –

Oh, gods. Damasen.

Bob.

So Percy wasn't feeling good when they returned to the ship, dragging a bundled-up goddess in their wake. Bundled up no thanks to Percy. Leo and Hazel had saved the day, really. Frank had gagged the goddess. All Percy had done was make some water explode. Hardly heroic. Hardly what he should be doing.

He was getting to the point where he hated being a hero. For awhile it had been amazing – he'd thought that he'd found a real home, where people liked him, respected him, depended on him. He was the hero of Olympus, after all, and if he didn't want all the fanfare at least he knew he'd done something worthwhile in his life.

But now –

Now the gods had dragged him into another quest, another stupid prophecy, had wrecked his whole life to do it, and had eventually thrown him into the deepest pit of the Underworld – where gods themselves didn't even go. And maybe the gods hadn't actually thrown him down there – but if Hera hadn't kidnapped him, none of it would have ever happened.

Percy was a pawn. He was being used, and he hated it.

He wasn't as far gone as Luke had been – he knew the gods were a better alternative, and he knew that some of them could be great when they wanted to. But he was getting sick of being dragged into their quests, forced to run their stupid errands – and none of them really cared what happened to him in the process.

So they trudged back to the ship with their bound goddess in tow, and Percy walked back in silence, alternating between anger at the gods and guilt at his own helplessness (the same helplessness, by the way, that had led to the death of Bob and Damasen, brave and loyal friends), and they climbed onto the ship with Nike on the back of Frank the elephant, and Annabeth was there.

She took one look at his face and pulled him into her cabin. Percy stood uncertainly in the door – he was long past Coach-Hedge rules, but he still didn't always know what to do with himself in Annabeth's space. She gave him a gentle shove towards her bed, and he sat on the edge of it and put his face in his hands.

She didn't sit; instead, she paced back and forth in front of him, seeming unable to calm down. Which was odd, because usually she had more control over her ADHD than any other demigod Percy had ever seen.

"Let me guess," she speculated, "something happened, and you weren't able to be the hero and save the day, and now you're feeling guilty and helpless."

She knew him so well it was scary.

"How'd you know?"

"Two reasons." She stopped moving, placed her hands gently on the sides of his face and pushed it up until he was meeting her eyes. "One, you're Percy Jackson, and you have the biggest hero complex of anyone I know. And two, how do you think I've been feeling for the last few days?"

He gave up and slumped backwards, lying flat on his back on her bed and staring up at the ceiling. "I don't know what it is! It's just – something about it just sticks with me, you know? And it won't go away, and it" –

"I know." She sat beside him, pressing a hand to his chest. Her touch was calming, soothing. "I know. It's in my head all the time, too. The craziest things trigger it. You know," she paused and he turned his head so he could look at her, "I sometimes – I sometimes think – despite everything – it was easier than I thought it would be. Not that it was, but – but I wasn't expecting to make it out alive."

"We wouldn't have," Percy muttered, bitterness seeping out of his heart and into his words, "if" –

"I know." Annabeth's gray eyes were bright with unshed tears. "I know. But still – we made it out. And it – I don't know. But now I know – part of the curse of Tartarus, I think, is that it doesn't go away."

"Maybe you're right." Percy didn't want to think that. He didn't want to think that he would be so useless for the rest of his life as a hero – didn't want to always suffer these crippling flashbacks, these triggers that just made him so helpless. "But I don't want you to be."

"I don't want to be, either."

"Annabeth Chase doesn't want to be right?" Percy couldn't help laughing, despite everything. "Must be the first time that's ever happened."

She hit him lightly. "Shut up." Her smile faded. "You know I don't want to be like this forever."

"I know." He groaned a little, his skin feeling tender and bruised all over. "I don't either. We were just – we were fighting these Nikettes" –

"You were fighting what?"

"Nikettes? Nik-somethings? Nike supporters."

"Nikai?" Annabeth chuckled, seeming to snap out of her gloom, at least for a moment. "Such a Seaweed Brain."

"Hey," he defended himself, "I didn't come up with the name. Leo did."

"As if that makes it better." She rolled her eyes. "Anyway, tell."

He told.

As he did so, he felt the full weight of disappointment settle onto his shoulders. "Wow," he groaned, "I really messed up, didn't I?"

"No!" Annabeth was still sitting on the edge of her bed; she fumbled for his hand and held it. "Percy, you did great! You destroyed Nike's chariot, you fought Nikai, you helped defeat the goddess of victory! Do you realize how ridiculous that is?"

"But I didn't – I couldn't" –

"Hey." She squeezed his hand. "I know how you feel. But it's okay. I understand completely what happened, and Percy" –

She broke off, leaned over, and kissed him, long and deep. "We're not there anymore," she reminded him. "I'm right here, and we're together, remember? No matter what happens, it's okay."

"But you weren't with me earlier!" he protested. "And I wasn't with you when you went with Jason, and – we're not going to be able to protect each other all the time, Annabeth! What happens when you're in danger, and I'm not there? Like" – His voice broke. He remembered saying goodbye to her, letting her go on her quest to defeat Arachne. He remembered the spider silk wrapped around her bad foot, remembered that terrifying, terrifying instant when she'd slipped towards the edge of the cliff and he'd lunged for her hand, thought he wasn't going to get there in time –

It was stupid, maybe, but he still thought if he'd just gone with her to follow the Mark of Athena, none of it would have happened.

"We won't be together all the time, Seaweed Brain." The bedsprings squeaked as she lay down beside him, kissing his forehead. "But we will when it matters, okay?" She hugged him close. "Promise."

"Promise," he echoed, holding on tight.

He remembered dissolving in the River Styx, and then hearing Annabeth's voice and remembering who he was. He may have lost the Curse of Achilles, but she was still his anchor, his lifeline. As long as she was there, he'd be okay.

...

Because frankly, I find it ridiculous that Percy was "getting smacked around" by a statue. Percy, who literally fought a god at twelve years old and won. So I figured there had to be another explanation. I imagine that crazy things - memories, lines of dialogue, similar situations - trigger flashbacks, and they get stuck in their heads and can't focus on battle anymore.

Oh, also, they're really angry at the gods. And the monsters. And everything.