In the long fall into Tartarus, Percy didn't feel like he thought he would.

Letting go of the ledge, clutching dearly onto Annabeth's clammy hand, he thought he'd feel brave, proud, hopeful, because he was with her, and had had the guts to let go.

But no. He didn't feel very brave.

At all.

As they were tossed further and further down into the depths of the earth, it was as if his strength couldn't catch up with him and had been left at the top. Every foot they fell, a little more of his power seemed to seep out, and he couldn't tell whether it was just his hopes depleting or the physical strain of falling so long, so deep. They were way, way below sea level, and it started to have an effect on Percy. And he hated it.

His hope and optimism seemed to diminish with it as well. Before – was it hours, days? He couldn't tell – when he knew there was no other option than letting go – he was never leaving Annabeth ever again – he had felt as if they could make it to the Doors of Death, felt as if they could beat Gaea. Now, his mind seemed infested with the guilt that he had lied to his friends and the fear that they would never make it to the Doors and Death and how he and Annabeth were going to die, and that Gaea would win and –

He simply couldn't afford to think like that.

But he couldn't help it.

Then as he and Annabeth managed to pull themselves together on the fall, which was harder than it sounds, so they could at least be together in the endless darkness and cold, her warmth and presence made Percy's mind begin to wander back to when everything was okay. He used to be so powerful. He had defeated Kronos, the Titan lord, saved the world, gone on endless quests and voyages for the good of others. He practically had the fate of the planet at his fingertips. Hell, oceans would rise had he commanded them to.

Yet down here, he was as useless as a ragdoll. No control over anything, way out his element, weak and feeble and gaunt and pale, slowly freezing to death with no food in Hades knows how long.

At least he had Annabeth.

Percy felt so lost, out of control. Helpless to do anything, other than fall. His stomach did flip-flops and his head trembled with frustration at his inability to do anything. He could remember being the savior, the hero. The worst of monsters and giants would tremble at his name, the Great Percy Jackson, defeater of Titans and Savior of Gods. Everyone loved him, and although all the fame and praise made him uncomfortable and awkward, he had to admit there was no greater feeling than his friends and family, Camp Half Blood, cheering, chanting his name and practically holding feasts in his honor. Just the knowledge that he had made people proud.

Down here, there was no-one except Annabeth. Down here, there was nothing he could do about anything, and the negative energy and terror pulsating from the depths of the place even the lord of Death Himself daren't tread made him scared and under-confident and utterly weak. He was no match for anything down there, when, if, they hit the bottom. He may be a son of Poseidon, but he had his limits and they extended nowhere near Tartarus. There was nothing he could do about it – they had been too quick in decision making, not careful enough, and now their foundations were much too thin and shaky to even be close to prepared for what awaited them. They had been too brash and built their house on sand – now the storm would come and knock them over, and Gaea would have full control.

For the first time in his life, everything seemed utterly hopeless. Yeah, he had been in some pretty hopeless positions before, where it felt like everything was lost, but it always turned out okay; this was different. This time, there would be no happy ending.

They were hurtling towards Tartarus, for the gods' sake.

He pulled Annabeth closer to him. Just her body against his, in his arms, was enough to make him feel better, though he could feel her trembling like crazy. Neither of them could say anything. The wind would snatch their words up and pull them ruthlessly into the abyss before they could even make a sound. But she was his only real comfort, solid connection and reminder that the real world was still out there. Her heartbeat in perfect unison with his, a slow, steady rhythm, he knew that she was there with him and that was all that mattered anymore. There was nothing he could do about the rest of the world now – it was just Annabeth. She was his shield, his weapon, everything. In Tartarus, Annabeth was everything to him. When he was without her, he had never been more lost. She managed to keep him sane even down there.

It did seem an awfully cruel fate that this was the end they were doomed with. After all they had done for the good of the planet, the gods, selflessly devoting their what could have been normal lives to be some pawn of the gods, they both would meet a cruel and premature death, so young, ironically, on their mission to save the world. Again.

Only this time they wouldn't make it out.

Wicked and wild winds had decided their path, chosen their directions. Life was an endless maze of twists and turns to them, but now it seemed they would finally reach their dead end.

And he couldn't even be himself when they did die. He had Annabeth, his tie to family and the Greeks, but why couldn't – if he had to die – have died at Camp Half Blood, or New York? He wasn't even allowed to feel at home?

No, he had to die on a quest with Romans. They had turned him into someone he wasn't. Even Annabeth, let alone the rest of the Greeks, had noticed some changes in him, his morals. He couldn't help it. His fighting style was more Roman, his teamwork was more Roman, his tactics were more Roman. Annabeth had never pointed it out, but he knew she knew he had changed and it frustrated and saddened him to no end.

And now all the Romans wanted to kill him, along with every other mythical creature who had ever had the misfortune to come across him. Even Reyna, who had once been his friend and co-worker, wanted his head on a silver plate, after the incident with Leo. Really, all along he had been a puppet, a pawn, of other people pulling at his strings to make him bend to their will. His life would have been completely normal without them.

Oh, but he felt even more of a puppet down here, falling into what could well be a bottomless pit. Not only could he not obey his own wills, he was helpless to do anything. He just hung there, limp and lifeless, like a puppet on a lonely string. And he was tired of it. Who would ever want a life like the one he had lead? Reward and fortune? Pah. Greek heroes never had happy endings. It just didn't seem worth it.

The intense, floaty feeling in his stomach tightened, and he was sure something had happened to the way they were falling. Were they nearing the bottom? It seemed the only option.

Annabeth tightened her grip around his waist, lifting one arm up the clutch feebly at his hair. It was as if she was trying to cling to the hope that as long as he was there, they would make it out alive. Percy had no problem with that – he just pulled her closer and tried to be comforting, even though neither of them knew what was to happen or when. At least the possibility of it being endless had decreased enormously.

He would never be sure, but he thought he registered a faint dampness on his shoulder. Annabeth must have been crying, even though with the speed they were going at would have carried her tears away the moment they left her eyes. The very idea made him want to cry as well. Everything was too much now. The landing was inevitable drawing nearer and, like a helpless puppet, there was nothing he could do about it.

He couldn't explain why, but something inside him was sure he wouldn't make it to Elysium. There was no reason why he shouldn't, but with the cruel fate they had he wouldn't be surprised. There would be no happy ending for them.

But then Annabeth looked up, a loud whistling growing in his ears, intensifying by the second, alerting them that they were nearing the bottom, and the look in her grey eyes made everything okay. It didn't matter that Gaea would win, because there was nothing they could do about it. As long as they were together, everything would be fine.

Percy remembered with a pang of sadness the days when he pictured he and Annabeth growing up together, living life together, having kids and getting married together – growing old together.

It was stupid of him to ever think it was a possibility.

But that was when he ruled the world.