A/N: I'm sorry for this. This is angsty and terrible and I regret nothing. I was up until six in the morning the other night because I couldn't stop worrying over my grades and graduating and lots of shit and I took it out on Annabeth. Sorry, baby, I'll make it up to you and Percy. Well, someone had asked me for a Tartarus scene anyway, so I took the chance to write it. Here's my (third) half-assed attempt at post-Tartarus trauma.

Night

The shadows move across the wall. She grips her dagger tighter under her pillow, knuckles white, shaking hands. She knows it's just the lack of light playing tricks on her fearful brain, but at night, in the dead silence of cabin six, they look like enemies, monsters coming to get her. The wind rustles the leaves outside, and what should have been a comforting sound reminiscent of cool summer days turns into a deadly symphony of terror. It could so easily be rustling of clothes, heavy steps crushing the grass as they march ahead, coming to get her.

Her eyes are wide, dark iron swirling with even darker images among the ashen color of her face. She's tired. She's so, so tired. But she can't fall asleep. Her mind won't let her. Her heart beats fast, adrenaline coursing through her veins. She wants to sleep, she needs to sleep, but she's ready to run, ready to jump, ready to fight.

There's a cracking noise outside the cabin, the snapping of wooden floorboards. Her heart pounds inside her chest, threatening to burst through her rib cage. Fear heightens to a frenzied state of panic, because she's sure this time it's them. They came. They're here to get her. She scrambles to a sitting position, clutching her dagger, holding on to it like a lifeline. She readies her arm, managing to keep a steady grip even through her shaking. She's terrified, but she's a warrior, through the scars and the brokenness, she's a fighter. If the door moves, if the door knob turns, she will attack. She waits, waits, waits, in the horrible eternity of those who wait for death. Nothing happens. Nothing. Of course nothing happens. There's nothing there.

She falls back to the bed, a burning sensation bubbling up her throat. She bites her lips, trying to hold it back, but her body shakes with the force of her silent sobs. Her eyes close, tears stream down the sides of her face. She still sees it all, burned in the back of her eyelids, all the darkness and horror of the world. Trapped. Ambushed. Cornered. Her friends do what they can, they remind her she's out, she's safe, it's just a nightmare, but she still feels like this is the dream, that she will wake up again in that dark, dark corner of the world, or maybe never wake up at all. She still sees things, hears things, and it kills her because there's nothing there.

Some nights, she can get up, get out, run from the scary quiet of cabin six, into the arms of the one person she calls home. She longs for his warmth, his hands, his lips, his smiles. His eyes on hers, filled with love and understanding. She needs to touch him, run her hands through his hair, trace his every feature with the tips of her fingers, kiss him, desperately at first, to reassure herself that this is real, he is there, alive and breathing, they are together, they made it. And then slowly, tenderly, to bring her back, to remind her that not everything is lost, that there's still good in the world, because they might be just a pile of broken pieces, but when he's with her, she feels whole again.

Some nights, she's so scared, she's paralyzed. She can't make the trip. She lies awake, terrified, alone, fighting the horrors produced by her mind until the first rays of sunlight come out and she's finally reminded that this isn't the dream, this is the outside world, this is the right here and now. They won the battle, they won the war, they are the victors with the crown of laurels. She doesn't feel like a winner. She lost so much along the way.

Maybe someday this will go away. Maybe someday she won't feel like the world is crushing her with each spin. Maybe someday she will feel like a person again.

But this is a bad night, so she'll stay in her bed, eyes firmly shut, teeth digging through her lips as she tries to muffle the sobs, clutching a dagger, hoping, wishing, praying the sun comes sooner.