Disclaimer: I do not own Percy Jackson and the Olympians or Heroes of Olympus

Extremely OOC and dark.

Percy sat on the edge of his bunk, leaning over his knees with his arms on his knees. The bunk felt harder than it usually did, and the he could feel the cold seeping in down to the bones.

Then again, everything had seemed darker lately. Colder. Sadder.

Everything had gained a dark tinge now, and lacked the color and seemed less vibrant than it used to.

Whenever he looked in the mirror, he never saw himself anymore. He saw the empty shell of a broken soldier. Someone who had watched friends die, made the choice to leave someone behind for the good of the group, felt the life leave the body of a close friend.

His face had a wet streak on one side of his face, running down below his eye and down his face, but he didn't make a move to wipe it away. It would be gone soon enough, and he wouldn't have to worry about it anymore.

He remembered everything that had happened to him, but now it seemed as though all the memories had a grey hue to them, and didn't seem as happy as they used to be. He remembered meeting Grover and Annabeth, and returning Zeus's Master Bolt with them after a journey across the country to retrieve it. Rescuing Grover in the Sea of Monsters and retrieving the Golden Fleece to save Thalia's tree. Traveling across the country with Grover, Thalia, Zoe, and Bianca to rescue Artemis and Annabeth from Atlas. Making his way through the Labyrinth with Annabeth, Grover, and Tyson to find Daedalus. The final battle against Kronos in Manhattan to save Olympus.

Then the war was over, and he was immediately thrown into another one. He lost my memories and met Hazel and Frank, fighting to retrieve their Eagle. He traveled to the Ancient Lands, survived Tartarus, and fought a war against Gaia.

A bitter smile/grimace crossed his face for a moment as he remembered all of this.

After the war, he'd sunk into a depression, staying alone in his cabin often and avoiding contact with anyone, even his closest friends. Annabeth had tried to help him recover, but nothing helped him. Some would probably say that he'd watched helplessly as too many of his friends died. Others, that it was Tartarus that had broken him. A few thought that it was just the stress constantly on his shoulders from being the leader of so many, and having no room for error. The truth? All of it.

He'd been through so much, done so much, and now he was useless. When he slept he saw the faces of dead friends, asking why he'd let them die. He saw memories of the Pit that he'd been through. He often woke up with blood running from his mouth from biting his cheeks or his tongue.

All of this came to mind as he sat on the edge of his bunk, cold seeping into him as he sat. Soon he would finally be able to let go of all the pain, and finally be at peace, without guilt or pain.

The damp feeling on his forehead from his sweat from yet another nightmare was finally fading, and he felt a similar feeling on his left arm.

He looked down to the bronze shine of a dagger in his right hand, tinged with red on an edge, then he looked to the source on his left arm.

Judging from the pool on the floor, it was almost done. He looked up at the wall again and heard the clang of metal on the ground, but he couldn't feel his hands anymore.

Black closed in on his vision, and for the first time in months, he smiled.

He thought as the black closed in on the final color in his color.

Finally. Rest. Peace.