Wow, I can't believe I did this. I completely forgot about giving you guys your chapters. And besides, when you're being hunted down and "eaten" by two 4 year-olds claiming to be dinosaurs on Christmas Day, things like FanFiction kind of slip your mind. Hope you'll forgive me; here are your chapters.

12/

Tony's POV

I popped a soda. Perce and me were sitting on the roof of my cabin—since the beach was off limits for now. The agora down below was empty. The raids were over now. Most people were in the infirmary, getting treated by the Apollo cabin.

I'd considered going in there to bug Miranda Bowman, head healer, for a while, but I got discouraged when I saw how run-down she was.

I grimaced as I moved my shoulder. One of those vampire chicks had smacked me with her broken spear and it was still sore. Percy, of course, was fine. I leaned back despite the pain. I glanced at him.

"So," I said, sipping the Coke. "What's up with you?"

"Huh?" He looked at me funny.

I raised my eyebrows, feeling pretty good that I could do that, 'cause normally that's for smart people (cough, Annabeth, cough). "Dude, something's up your ass. I'm your bestie, man. Just tell me."

All of a sudden, Percy shrank. And not like turn into a fairy shrank, or scared shrank, or therapist shrink. His shoulders slumped, his eyes got sad, his face lapsed into exhaustion. He looked…wrong. "We broke up."

I blinked. It took me a full two minutes to completely process those three words. Broke up? Percy and Annabeth? Annabeth and Percy? The Aphrodite cabin's Percabeth? The duo no one saw without each other? No. Way.

"I think the universe just tilted, Perce," blurted out of my mouth.

Percy's fists clenched. "This isn't a joke, Tony." The words were clipped and cold. It was a warning sign: Don't make another smart-ass joke or he'll kick your butt.

Percy never talked to me like that. We're besties, homies, BFF's. Whatever you wanna call it, we're it. He's my right hand man, and I'm his. He always laughs at every punch line I tell, even when it's about Annabeth—he laughs in front of her, too.

I hesitated before I opened my mouth. Land mines, tread carefully. "Sorry, Perce. You know me. I'm a clown."

He didn't smile, like he usually would. He turned away. "I told her exactly how I feel." His expression turned sad. He fingered something absently—a ring, I think. "She just sat there. Then she took off."

"Did she say anything?" I couldn't help asking the question.

He laughed bitterly. "'It's not you, it's me'," he recited. Sarcasm oozed from the sentence.

I made a face. "She get that from a movie? Was it like Date Night or something? 'Cause—"

"It's not a joke! Stop making jokes about everything that comes your way! That's what you always do! She's everything to me, Tony! Don't expect me to sit here and let you crack puns about her—a real best friend wouldn't say that. He wouldn't say anything." He was shouting at me. Then he was gone, dropping off the roof and running out of sight.

I sat there, frozen. He was right.

The truth is, I didn't have much of a life. My mom's a drunk (big surprise). Sorry. Was. She OD'd on crack or something after my dad left. (Another shocker.) That left me to the system.

It was hell there. I remember keeping to myself in dark corners, trying to get away from the smell of weed or the high teens going on crazy rampages.

It was rare I'd get stuck with a good family at all—mostly they were just old moms who needed something to love. But when they found out I wasn't something they could love—much less handle—they stopped trying to get me to eat cookies and milk with them or riding bikes or having picnics. That's usually the point where I ran away. Of course, they'd just hunt me down and stuff me into the next foster house. It was never a good one.

Through those years, I found out that humor is like a shield. You crack the funniest jokes, and even the baddest gangsters'll keep you around just for laughs. You can use a bad pun to cover up whatever bad feelings you're having—guilt, depression, dread, defeat, it all works.

That is, until it comes back to bite you in the ass. And that's exactly what happened in my life.

The time when I met Jasie, I was with the only family who actually gave a crap about me—a woman named Asia, her husband Chase, and their daughter Amina. Asia was always patient with me, for a change, even when I broke stuff on purpose or locked Amina outside at four a.m. Chase treated me like a real son, playing catch and downing sodas. Amina forgave me for every screw-up I made, and she even gave me advice on homework and girls.

Of course it all went away. The Fates kind of hate me, as Percy would say. If you ask me, though, I'd say the Fates hate the world. I mean, just look at what they've done to people.

My phone buzzed.

New Text Message

Unknown

Automatically I pressed View Now, thinking it was probably Penelope or Travis or Connor or something.

There were only three words.

Be strong. xoxo.

Jasie's POV

I watched his lips curve into a smile when he looked down at my message. His eyes flicked around him, like he was looking for me.

That was painful. I wanted to tear my hair out. Couldn't he feel his hair moving? The cool pressure on his cheek? See the girl sitting next to him? It was all me.

I could sit there forever, watching him. And not in a creepy stalker way, like you'd think. I just…couldn't stay away. Literally. It was like I was attached to him by an invisible string—one that wouldn't break, even if I tried. But I didn't try.

The way his nose crinkled when he laughed, when his violet eyes twinkled at his own jokes, his expression right before he did something stupid, it all made my non-beating heart melt. But of course—

"Tony, wanna help me?"

Both of our heads snapped up. It was her. What was her name? Penelope? Damn her. If I had any blood left I'm pretty sure I would've turned red trying not to jump on her. Too bad I would go right through her.

But Tony's face brightened slightly. "Sure, Penny. I'm coming." She shifted the baby in her arms, waiting patiently. Her expression was knowing.

He scrambled to his feet. "Miss you," I heard him whisper as he dropped to the ground.

He was gone before I could try to say anything.

I watched him walk off with the two of them. They looked happy. Like a family, kind of. His family.

I'm sure that if I was alive, I would've cried, but deep down I knew he was getting over me…so he could love her. Maybe he would be happier that way. He definitely looked like it. Too bad we were never meant to be. Too bad I died.

So, yeah, mortals, I'm dead as a doornail. Whoop-diddily-doo.

You're probably thinking: the dead don't think—they probably don't even have brains, right? Well, like my mamma used to say: "Just 'cause I talk slow dun't mean I'm stupid." 'Course I think.

Being a ghost—or dead, or whatever—sucks. Big time. In my book, it's one of the worst things that could happen to a person. I mean seriously, when you're dead, you might as well be invisible. Like, forever. You have to hang around a bunch of other boring dead kids in the lovely place called the Underworld.

It's a huge downer.

The worst part? Your death haunts you all the time.

Mine definitely does.

Now, dying is no walk in the park.

I remember hearing Ronnie getting ripped to pieces, Tony dragging me by the hand, telling me I couldn't save him. Someone pulling me down by my hair, then two points of intense, searing pain in my neck, like someone was injecting poison in me with two needles.

I felt myself going limp, a tugging sensation at my numb throat, Tony screaming my name, something hot and wet spilling down the front of my shirt.

Then it all went black.

I felt like I was floating. I realized I wasn't alone. A man, curly-haired, blue-eyed, and dressed in a toga, stood beside me. The white wings on his sandals fluttered weakly.

"Hi, Dad."

My own voice sounded strange to me, like I was speaking a different language.

The man—Hermes—smiled sadly. "Time to go." He held out a hand, palm up.

I didn't want to go. I would rather have stayed. Stayed alive. But I took my father's hand.

"I know."

When I could see again, the warmth and security of Dad's hand was gone. All that was left in my palm was a coin—thick, uneven, and pure gold, the size of a girl's scout cookie. I clenched it in my fist.

I was standing at the bank of a river. The water was black, swirling around evilly, carrying tattered dolls, broken picture frames, and ripped diplomas, like some messed-up whirlpool of tossed dreams.

"Next victims!"

The voice was cold and cruel, laughing at its own sick joke. I turned to see the owner, maybe to kick him, or just to yell.

Honestly, the guy looked like the Grim Reaper. Tall, black cloak, oozing death. Instead of a scythe, though, he held an oar.

Four people, pale and blank, filed past him, into a tiny rickety boat that didn't look like it could hold a freakin bird, much less four "victims" and Grim over there.

"One more," he commanded.

No people came forward.

Without thinking I took a step closer. The movement was small, but Grim's head immediately flashed to me, a long hand extending from his cloak, palm up, waiting impatiently.

I realized he was staring greedily at my giant cookie-coin.

I dropped it in the skeletal, needle-like fingers, bleached white with time, ducking past him and into the boat.

Grim cast it so hard I fell into the only seat, between a shuddering little girl and a feeble old man that looked like skin and bones.

"It's so cold."

The six of us had been sitting in dead silence (no pun intended) for the past few seconds, but the little voice made me jump a foot in the air. I turned slightly to see the girl shivering next to me, her face white and her lips blue.

"What?" I managed.

She blinked, and I noticed her eyelashes were frosted with snowflakes. Her hair was incrusted with ice. "It's so cold," she repeated. "Can't—Get—Warm." She shook her head violently; her hair whipped my arm, leaving cold trails of water on my skin.

I edged away from her as she mumbled "Cold" over and over. My heart jumped into my throat as the boat shuddered and scraped onto the bank.

I was off Grim's ferry in seconds, his chilling, "Can't escape death, girlie" raising goose bumps on my skin.

I focused on the scene in front of me: There were three separate entrances under one huge black archway that said YOU ARE NOW ENTERING EREBUS. Each entrance had a pass-through metal detector with security cameras mounted on top. Beyond this were tollbooths manned by black-robed ghouls like Grim.

The dead queued up in the three lines, two marked ATTENDANT ON DUTY, and one marked EZ DEATH. The EZ DEATH line was moving right along. The other two were crawling.

My ADHD made me impatient. There was no way I could make it through the slow ones without setting a ghoul on fire or something. So I took the EZ DEATH line.

As soon as I stepped through, a whoosh of dry air went past me, and I was standing in a field. That's it. Just a giant meadow that didn't have an end, filled with dry, brown grass and black poplar trees.

People stood scattered all over the field, staring off into space blankly. They weren't moving.

"Depressing, isn't it?"

The cool, emotionless voice made me realize someone was standing next to me. A boy, around my age, with sandy hair and hawkish features.

"I'm Zach," he added.

"Jasie," I said when I remembered he was waiting for an answer. "I'm…" I hesitated. "I'm dead, aren't I?" I don't know why I asked. I knew the answer. I guess I just needed someone to say it. Out loud. To confirm it.

"We all are." Zach waved stiffly at the blackened field. "Welcome to the Asphodel Fields." There was a pause of silence, then he said, "This is Andrew." He gestured to a boy in front of me who definitely wasn't there before.

Andrew was literally a kid. He looked about eleven years old, with big, blank gray eyes and disheveled blonde hair. "Hello," he stated dully.

"And Sara," Zach pointed at a girl next to Andrew who'd also appeared out of thin air. Sara was thin and tall, with straight brown hair and a permanent frown.

"Are you a demigod too?" she questioned in a dead voice.

"I…think so," I said.

"Hermes," Andrew supplied, studying me with his dead gray eyes.

"Andrew's a son of Athena," Zach said. "I'm a son of Apollo, and Sara's a daughter of Hephaestus."

"How did you…you know, die?" The question blurted from my mouth without my permission.

The three of them immediately got more serious, as if that was possible. Zach had his arms folded across his chest. "The Battle of Manhattan," he admitted sourly, turning and shifting his shirt to display the ugly set of bullet holes in his side.

Andrew's face was completely expressionless, but his mouth was a set, thin line. "Got pushed off a cliff."

Sara's frown somehow got deeper. "Construction site."

"You?" Zach tacked on sharply.

I wrinkled my forehead. "I'm not exactly sure." Weird. I couldn't remember.

"Did you forget it?" Sara asked. "It's okay if you did."

"All the dead do," Zach agreed.

I told them what I could remember. They looked even more somber than ever when I was finished.

"You were killed by Caterina," Andrew told me.

"The empousa," Sara said.

"Servant of Hecate, goddess of magic," Zach concluded. The three of them shivered at the sound of the name. A cold wind blew past us, whipping our hair, chilling me even more than I thought possible.

"Zach, stop saying her name," Sara snapped, harshness shooting into her flat voice. "You know I hate that."

"I'm not scared of her."

"Names have power," Andrew explained over their arguing, sounding slightly bored. "You shouldn't go blurting them." He glanced pointedly at Zach, who glared back.

"I'm not afraid of her," he repeated.

"You were dead before she became a threat," Sara muttered. Her dark eyes studied me almost as intensely as Andrew's. "Don't worry, new girl. It isn't as depressing as it looks."

"But it sucks more," Andrew agreed.

Sara drew her blood-stained windbreaker around her tightly, turning her back on me. "Welcome to hell." She disappeared into the shadows.

Andrew shook his head, but he followed after her. Zach was the last to go.

"Hell welcomes you," he mumbled darkly before vanishing just like the others.

And I was alone.

Annabeth's POV

When I woke up, I was immediately unhappy.

"Oh, good you're awake," someone said.

I blinked up at them. "Mark, what the hell did you do to me?"

Mark, son of Apollo, grinned down at me. "Nothing," he said. "Miranda got nervous you'd crack another rib, so she made me put you under."

"Great," I sighed. I looked up, realizing that Mark was staring at me anxiously. "What?"

"Nothing," he said quickly.

"You know, don't you?" I frowned. How many more people had to find out?

He nodded awkwardly. "Yeah. I won't tell. None of us will. You're family."

I blinked hard. "Godsdamn, that hurts."

He looked up sharply from his shoes. "What hurts?"

"Everything," I complained. "Where's Ashley?"

He hesitated. A jolt ran through me. I'd been taking care of Ashley since she got to camp. She reminded me of myself. I wasn't too attached—every child of Athena knows better—but I cared about her. She was my sister, after all.

"What's going on, Mark?" I said sternly.

He shifted from foot to foot nervously. "Um, well, Miranda put her in hypothermia about an hour back when she first came in, and now she's in surgery."

"Hypothermia?" I repeated.

"Yeah, to reduce the swelling of her spinal cord." Mark chewed his lip. "I'm pretty sure she'll be okay. I'm not that good in healing."

"And she's in surgery with Miranda now?" I asked. My head was kind of foggy, but I was still worried.

Mark looked nervous-er. "Um, no, she's with Hannah. Miranda's doing surgery on that Hunter Brandi right now—" He pointed at the closed curtains of the bed across from me. "She's got hot belly."

I shook my head. "Miranda's doing surgery right now?"

Mark nodded. "Yup. I'm kinda worried about her. She's trying to take care of everyone at once. This morning she already treated your ribs, Thalia's cuts, Shawn's shoulder, Brandi's leg wound, Will's toe, Jake's head, and I think Noah's ass."

My eyebrow rose. "What's wrong with Noah's ass?"

"Arrow in it, I think."

I made a face. Mark shrugged. "I gotta go check on everyone else. We'll kick you out soon enough—we need the beds—but until then, if you want to relieve the pain, press the painkiller button or call Tracey." And Mark was gone.

"Finally, Sleeping Beauty's awake," a voice teased.

"Well, well, well," I smiled. "Look who managed to cheat Death."

Nico grinned as he grabbed a chair, turned it backwards, and sat, resting his chin on the back. "Eh, I do it all the time. How are you feeling?"

"Fine," I said sourly. "But they won't let me out of here yet."

Glenn, another of the Apollo kids, stopped as he walked past my bed, one foot still off the ground. "Nah, you can go," he told me. "We need your bed."

"Yay," I said sarcastically. "Nico, help me." He put my arm around his neck and helped me get up. I couldn't help but think I wished it was Percy helping me instead of Nico, but I didn't say anything. I shouldn't care anymore...right?

"How's it going outside?" I asked.

He caught the implication in my voice. "Haven't seen him. Sorry." We sat against the nearest tree.

"I hate wars," I sighed.

"You ain't the only one, sister."

Tony and Percy fighting? A dead girl's point of view? Annabeth accepting help from Nico? What's going on here? You'll find out...next chapter...

P.S. Jasie's point of view was particularly pointless, FYI. I thought it would be fun to write. And it was :)