Annabeth and Percy make their way to the Underworld.

Notes:

TW: non-explicit, implied underage r*pe. Child Abuse. Alcohol Abuse. Drug Misuse. Underage Drug misuse.

All concerns of men go wrong when they wish to cure evil with evil.

The deafening claps of thunder violently shake the makeshift tent Percy and Annabeth built.

Annabeth is asleep, but Percy remembers when his mother would hold him through a thunderstorm- gently rocking his fragile body- as Gabe would shout drunkenly at the tv that had just gone black.

Those were the worst nights.

By the time it's nine days to Percy's deadline, they decide to head west- as the prophecy suggested.

(When Percy recites to Annabeth what the old mummy sprouted, he leaves out the last two lines.

Now Annabeth skirts around him distractedly, like her mind his running one-thousand-miles per hour.)

The two of them hitch a ride with two mortals, Eddie and Maurice, who let them bunk in the back of their truck.

KINDNESS INTERNATIONAL is printed on the side in bold, bubbly letters making it hell for Percy's dyslexia to decipher. The title's ironic, considering the malnourished state in which the animals live- all sickle eyes and bony ribs.

The pink-painted zebra calls him lord and the albino lion licks his lips in anticipation for a meal. Tied to the antelope's horns is a single deflated balloon which reads OVER THE HILLS.

They continue to give Percy wanton looks until they collapse of exhaustion or starvation.

(That night Annabeth tells him of her dad, Frederick, and stepmom, Helen.

They share Oreos and talks of family as they promise to be each other's.

"I'll be your new family, Annabeth," he says, "I promise.")

They arrive in Las Vegas the next day. Refreshed with new vigour, they set out to find the master bolt. Entering the hotel was Percy's idea and the flashing red lights and blinking wheels abuse their senses. The smells, the alluring aroma of sweet lotus, assaults their noses and the screams of joy and ripples of laughter waft to their ears. They are entranced.

(It reminds Percy of when Gabe would give him the white powder: he would be docile, complying and unassuming. A hazy veil would obstruct his senses and block all contact with his mind. He would be vulnerable. Exactly how Gabe would want him.)

The Lotus Hotel and Casino is good for them, Annabeth and Percy decide, and relax in the bed after a long day of questing and playing packman.

Percy recounts how he met a strange Italian boy with vague English, all doe-like chocolate eyes and soft olive skin, who introduces himself as Nico. A strange aura encases the boy, Percy tells Annabeth later, but the comfort is there.

Nico is ten and Percy is eleven, but Percy can't help but want to see him again.

(Later, when Percy escapes the hotel's clutches, he goes back for him.

He's nowhere to be found.)

They spent four days in a dusty haze, and only five days are left. The questers still don't know where to look- though Annabeth has her suspicions: Hades. As far as she knows, the main entrance into the underworld resides in Los Angeles. He has never had a healthy relationship with the Olympians (not that Percy and Annabeth have one either), and Annabeth dubbs that a probable cause for betrayal. They continue west.

(That night Annabeth talks about Athena. "Goddess of Battle strategy and Wisdom," she sneers, "but is unable to save her seven-year-old daughter from spiders? Fuck her. Fuck the Olympians."

Percy can't help but agree.)

So they make their way to Hollywood, where Hades takes refuge, to recover the bolt. It's suicidal, demanding something from a god, but Percy knows he'll get worse from Zeus if he comes back empty-handed. He dreams again that night- in the taxi they hailed earlier- of a dark cavern. A cold, demonic presence glosses over Percy, breathing in laboured breaths down his neck, and his hairs raise like they're static. He shivers. He can feel the evil seeping into his skin, infecting his cuts and unhealed scars, and the good in him trickles out like tears.

"I heard you hated the gods…"

(Percy remembers his talks with Luke about running away and suddenly the sword in his hand feels heavier. This is Evil, he realises.)

It isn't hard to convince Charon that they died. With Percy's sunken eyes and too-sharp cheekbones and Annabeth's scratches and battle-hardened eyes, they look dead on their feet. The last of their Drachmas grant them quick access across the river Styx. They huddle together, flinching away from the ghosts' haunting moans, at the very end of the boat. Percy cautiously glances below: bones stretch upward, reaching for a life they'll never get, and shake wantonly. Forgotten dreams drift pass the boat with children's voices echoing eerily- "mommy, I wish he would go away…"- and others are belligerent taunts- "that's right, you bitch, you're mine…"

(It takes Percy a long time to admit that he'd heard those lines before.)

Annabeth grabs Percy's hands when the moaning gets increasingly louder. Her hand is small, boney and cold, but the chipped nails dig into his palm. He squeezes it briefly giving her a reassuring smile. Charon sits at the front of the boat, in his Italian suit clinking with loose change, and occasionally gives them a cursory glance.

(Maybe he sensed the Evil in Percy, who would go on to commission the end of the world.)

They reach the Palace decked in rubies and gold mined from the earth and glazed with looming shadows and the suffocation of the Dead. It attacks him, the stench of death, violently and balefully. If it isn't for Annabeth's steel grip on his arm, Percy would have collapsed. There's something in his mind telling him to RUN. YOU DON'T BELONG HERE.

He does.

(Percy would become so familiar with the fields of Punishment that he could navigate it blindly.)

Hades. A name befitted for the god that stands before them. Gaunt features stare blankly into Percy's, strangely familiar eyes burn with a smouldering fire and the shadows creep towards him and shroud him in a cape. Hades is tall, lithe and gangly- like a teenager who hasn't quite grown into his body. He wears a crown of skulls and rubies encircled on a dark head of hair that lays limply on his head. He's almost like a t-rex in his posture, slightly bent with short arms jutting outwards, but his imposing aura exuding around the throneroom is enough for Percy's bones to rattle. But it's his voice that reaps the living of their soul.

Cold and empty.

But full of regret.

Full of haunting mass genocide and a god who has seen too much.

(Too much like the Voice in the Cavern.)

So Percy makes a deal with the Devil.