Annabeth and Nico sat in silence, their emotions too overwhelming to speak through, the lumps in their throats too big an obstacle to overcome. It felt as if a storm cloud were wrapping itself around the two of them, as if the comfort them, but only bringing with it more misery and sorrow.

The image of his pale, lifeless green eyes stood out in Nico's mind like a gigantic billboard placed in the middle of an empty town square. He couldn't bring himself to comprehend any of this. A fanciful, naïve part of him still held on to the belief that he wasn't gone, that he was still out there, his eyes still bright. He tried desperately to clutch that part of him that wanted to believe that it was all just a horrible nightmare. He knew that if he came to grips with the truth, he may just shut down completely. He couldn'tbe dead, he couldn't be.

But the evidence sneered in his direction, flaunting the truth as if a bright red flag amidst a gray sky.

Perseus Jackson was dead.

Nico shook the thought from his mind, and dared to look up at the teary-eyed, somber face of Annabeth Chase. Her cheeks were stained from an endless trail of tears that had yet to cease spilling. On any other day, she would have built a dam to keep the tears from escaping. But today was not any other day, and she'd earned the right to cry. She'd loved him with more love than Nico's petty crush could ever dream to manifest.

Nico placed a hand on her shoulder, an awkward attempt at comfort. After a solid minute of Annabeth tensing underneath Nico's touch, her posture relaxed, and she wiped her eyes with the wet tissue in her hands. Nico grabbed a fresh one from the box beside him, and traded it with the used one. He chucked it in the trash can, and didn't care that he missed.

Others looked at them, the pity in their eyes too much for Nico to meet. The rest of the Seven was spread out amongst the crowd, answering questions and accepting condolences for Annabeth, as she was too much of a mess to accept them herself. Hazel shot the two of them a worried look from where she sat with Sally and Paul, comforting the pair as they mourned their son.

Nico blinked, glancing around the room. The place was filled with campers, old classmates, and a few gods. They all had the same glassy, woeful look in their eyes. They'd all known Percy, in one way or another—whether he was their friend, their family, their savior. To see all the people who'd been affected by Percy Jackson was astounding. He'd touched so many lives in the short time he'd been alive; he was a hero. He was their friend, in some way or another. He was their savior.

He was dead.

Everything thought of Nico's always came back to those three words. The words that would be etched across his mind forever and a day.

That one moment replayed endlessly, stuck on an endless repeat. One moment, one instant that Nico wished he could forget.

"Wow, Gaea's got a good aim," Percy grunted. "You can't deny that. But I guess I should be grateful—at least my death wasn't as meaningless as tripping off a cliff or something. That'd be embarrassing."

"S-shut up Percy," Annabeth had said, struggling to speak through the tears that threatened to fall from her eyes. "You're not dying; you're gonna be okay. You're gonna be okay." She repeated the sentence a few more times, as if trying to not only convince him, but convince herself.

"I'm not that stupid, Annabeth," he'd told her, in a futile attempt to lighten the darkness that had suddenly surrounded their hearts. "I know when a wound's fatal, when it's too bad to heal. All those years in the infirmary after every Capture the Flag paid off, aye?"

Annabeth didn't laugh. Instead, a garbled sob escaped her lips, as if she'd tried to smother it at the last minute. She applied more pressure to the hole in his abdomen, where a spear had pierced straight through his armor and his body. But Percy was right; there was nothing left to do.

Percy let out a grunt of pain, and Annabeth's hands, covered in blood, fell from trying to staunch the bleeding. A cough racked Percy's body, and blood spilled out onto his face. Nico just sat beside him, helpless as the others fought to vanquish the monsters that surrounded them from all sides.

"I didn't think it was supposed to hurt this bad," Percy exhaled. "Dying, I mean. I thought it was supposed to be painless." Another yelp of pain came over him, and he shifted as if to dull the pain. "I was very wrong."

This time, Annabeth didn't bother to tell him that he was going to live. She knew the inevitable truth that Nico still tried to push away. He was going to die; no amount of ambrosia could stop that.

Percy's eyes shifted to Nico's, and for a moment, as Nico stared into his sea-green eyes still full of unwavering light, for a moment, Nico actually believed Percy could live.

He was as naïve as he had been when he fell in love with him.

"Nico, can you do something for me?" Percy asked. Nico's limbs loosened enough to allow him to nod. "I need you to—" He coughed, and more blood came with it. Nico knew that Percy had only moments left with them. "Take care of her. Please." He gripped tightly Nico's wrist, his grasp too strong for a dying man's. "Take care of Annabeth for me."

He dropped Nico's arm.

"Run," Percy croaked, "before Gaea can gather up her strength again. I should have bought you enough time, but you've gotta run now." He blinked, and his eyes blazed as if putting on the grand finale before closing the curtains for good. "I did the best I could. I just—I just hope it's enough."

His body went still, and the light drained from his irises. Annabeth, her hand shaking terribly, reached up and closed his eyes.

Take care of her. Please. Take care of Annabeth. Percy's request still replayed in Nico's mind. He glanced to his left, watching as another sob shook her. He would do what Percy asked. He had to; it was his last request. Who was Nico to deny him that?

"Annabeth?" Nico whispered, taking her hand and squeezing it gently. "Do you want to go outside? Get some fresh air?"

It took a moment for Annabeth to answer, and when she did, she merely nodded. Nico got, helping her to stand on her wobbling legs. He guided her past the casket, closed because of his mangled body. For that, Nico was glad—he didn't think he could look at Percy laying so still, never to move again. He didn't think he could bear it.

They stepped out into the parking lot. The sky was a sullen gray—Zeus, too, was mourning Percy. The gruff, arrogant god might not have been willing to admit it, but he'd grown to at least tolerate the hero. After all, he had saved the gods and Olympus numerous times before. Now who would step up and take the torch?

Nico sat on the marble steps, guiding Annabeth down to the spot next to him. She glanced up, her cheeks wet and her eyes bloodshot. She squinted at the sky, even though the sun hadn't come out all day. It seemed Apollo didn't see today as a day of sunshine.

They sat quietly for a full ten minute, looking out at the gravesite. They would not be burying Percy there—he would be cremated, something Sally had requested and Annabeth had obliged immediately. They hadn't yet decided where his ashes would go, though. But they would worry about that when it came time to choose.

Annabeth sniffled, most of her tears gone. "I've started a design for Percy's statue on Olympus." She paused, her eyes once again glassy with tears. She collected herself and continued, "I want it to be big, to stand out. Percy deserves at least that much."

Nico nodded, afraid that speaking would allow the waterworks to fall from his own eyes. Weeks ago, Annabeth wouldn't have been so calm in his presence. He'd always unnerved her, given his parentage. But things had changed, and they shared one thing that no one else could share—they both loved Percy, not as a son of a brother, but as someone who seemed to brighten your day just by being alive. They loved him; granted, they loved him to varying degrees, but still. He was the world to the both of them. And now, the sky would never shine quite as bright as when he was alive.

Annabeth took Nico's hand, and gripped it tightly. Nico was a bit surprised, but he welcomed her warm, sisterly touch. "I remember reading this quote by a guy named Banksy, a graffiti artist I think." She gulped, struggling to conquer the lump in her throat. "He said… he said, 'They say you die twice. One time when you stop breathing and the second time, a bit later on, when somebody says your name for the last time.' If that's true, then…" She drew a shaky breath. "Then Percy will only die once. Because I know, somewhere, no matter what, someone will be saying his name, spreading his legacy across the globe. He made a difference, and nobody could ever completely forget him. He'll live forever—both in our hearts, and in the stories people tell. He will not be forgotten."

He paused, before asking—in an awkward attempt at a light joke—her, "What about when you're old and you can't even remember your own name?"

Her voice did not falter as she answered, "He remembered me, so I'll remember him."

Hey, Tay actually started and finished something! Sure, not in one day (or week), but still, I accomplished something! I read Fran's (neverbeliketherest) really angsty one-shot (go read it, like, now. It's called "Run") and got me into a sadistic mood, which spurred me to finish something I started about a month ago.

A FEW NOTES:

-This is not meant to be a romantic Annabeth/Nico one-shot, in case you were wondering. You can interpret this however you want, but know that it was not intended to see like a crackship romance.

-Before you ask, yes, I am a spawn of Satan and that's why I enjoy putting my favorite characters through emotional (and physical) torture. To my fellow spawns *cough*FRAN*cough*, I hope you enjoyed this sadistic piece created by moi.