Breathe.

He had barely registered the pain until he heard the blood-curdling scream that escaped Annabeth's lips, her eyes widening with shock. He saw her move towards him from the corner of his eyes, the horror in her icy grey eyes replaced with a burning determination he'd only seen a few times before, during the war. He hadn't dared look down, hadn't dared confirm what he already knew, he'd been hit, hard. This wasn't what was supposed to happen, it wasn't supposed to be like this. He wanted to yell out and scream into the skies in a fit of rage. But he couldn't. He could barely gasp for air, already tasting the iron creep onto his lips. His knees buckled, and he felt himself fall backward in a swift, almost graceful motion. The rubble from the lake's coast buried itself onto his skin. As he moved his trembling hand toward the source of his scalding pain, his palm stuck instantly to his torn shirt. Everything was out of pace, out of place. He turned his head and saw Annabeth slashing ferociously at the creature, a stupid sea serpent that had attacked the canoeing campers. They'd been among the first to be called to handle the creature.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. He'd fought creatures far greater and more vicious than this. He'd fought Titans and Giants as a teenager. He'd survived Tartarus. This was child's play compared to those, this should've been easy. He could hear the roar of battle in the distance, followed by the sharp wail of the creature as it recounted its final moments. His eyes were out of focus, as he tried to cough out the blood accumulating in his mouth. A pair of hands held him back, ripping his shirt and applying blunt pressure to his wounds. A sharp scream escaped his lips, his blood feeling like liquid fire coursing through his veins. Between his fluttering eyelashes, he tried to focus on the sight before him. A boy with golden hair worked furiously, dumping crimson gauze furiously as he continued to apply pressure. Will. The boy's bewildered eyes wouldn't meet his, and from the hitched, panicked breaths escaping his lips, he knew this was not a good sign.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. His eyes fluttered to his other side, only to meet Annabeth's tear-stained eyes. She was cupping his face, her touch desperate, yet gentle all the same. He hated that he was the reason for the tears that threatened to fall viciously like rain. He couldn't make out what she was saying, although, he suspected it must've been something midway a pleading and a prayer. Her trembling hands pushed his dark locks back, before wiping the sweat off his brow. Her eyes shifted towards the son of Apollo.

"We need to get him to the water! He needs to heal-"

"Annabeth, the poison-"

He didn't need to hear the rest, he knew. The poison had spread too quickly, he had lost too much blood, he was too weak. Annabeth shook her head violently, her voice breaking with each word.

"I don't care! We need to move him now. He still has a chance. He has to." She spoke, pushing his limp, shivering body closer to the shore.

The pain was excruciating, blinding him and leaving him breathless. If he focused, he could feel the cold waves crashing by him, his father washing away his boiling blood with each tide. He knew Will was right. He knew she knew Will was right, but it didn't matter. He didn't blame her. If their roles were reversed, Hades knew we wouldn't rest until he tried every last remedy, and wasted every last prayer in saving her. Why should he expect anything different from her. He could feel his eyelids getting heavy and his breaths becoming shorter. He stared at her, the way her golden curls fell over her shoulders, the way her pink lips trembled, and the way the sun tinged her cheeks with the softest of pinks. He couldn't help but think she looked beautiful, so beautiful. The kind of beautiful that makes you feel lucky from having ever witnessed it. For a moment, he wondered if this was what the artists had envisioned when they thought of Greek tragedies.

"Shush…" He croaked, as she bit into her lower lip.

"Percy, it's okay, it's going to be okay-" She spoke, but he interrupted her. He didn't have much time, he could feel it.

"Shush, wise girl… I- I love you. I'm sorry." He muttered, his voice barely audible.

His vision was darkening, the image of Annabeth crouched over him slipping slowly from his mind. He silently cursed at himself, wanting desperately to grasp those final moments, as the cold wrapped itself over his pale body like an invisible blanket. He didn't want to cry, but he couldn't help the tear that formed itself from the corner of his eye, threatening to fall long after he was gone. He didn't pray or call out for his father in hopes of a miracle, instead, with a resigned disposition, he settled for the inevitable. A final breath escaped his lips. Peace.

Annabeth sobbed uncontrollably, praying, no, begging Poseidon to do something, anything. He wasn't gone. He couldn't be gone. Not now. Not like this. Her thoughts were scattered, breaking off into a million pieces as she cradled her lover's body. The tears stung her eyes so furiously, that she could barely see. No, she could barely breathe. She heard Will scream something at her, but she didn't listen. She clung desperately to Percy's body, her nails digging into his tender skin. Whatever he said didn't matter anyway. If she had listened, she would've known he was pleading for her to get out of the water, to leave the shore before the tidal wave took her and the Sea's son with it. But she didn't listen, instead, she felt the violent tug of his hand, dragging her out of the shore with all his might. Despite his thin frame, and perhaps if Annabeth had not been in such a frail state, the son of Apollo had a surprisingly firm grip, managing to pull her back seconds before the wave crashed ferociously onto the shore, engulfing her boyfriend's body with it. She screamed, the colored pebbles digging into her knees. Despite the salt that stung her eyes, she turned around with a vicious anger that consumed her.

"What did you do?" She yelled at the golden-haired boy, her hands curling into fists.

He was about to speak, but without hesitation, Nico stepped in front of him.

"He saved you Annabeth, that current would've killed you." The dark-haired boy answered.

A part of her knew he was right, but she didn't care. The pain, cursing through her body, was too much for her to care. Instead, she weeped, in quiet desperation, feeling like a scared child, who'd just lost everything. She wanted to run into the water and demand that his body be returned to her so she could give him a proper burial. So she could grieve him, but even before the tide receded she knew that was impossible. He was gone, lost somewhere in his father's domain who had selfishly, unjustly claimed his right to his favorite son's body. As the tide was on the ebb, all that remained was the trail of seafoam, washing away all that remained.