Hello lovely people, slytherinshadowhunter67 in the house! Because I miss this story, and because I'm rereading Magnus Chase for my other fic, The Idiot's Twin (you should totally check that out ;), I realized I haven't done a Magnus chapter yet. Are you tired of reading about Percabeth dying yet? Well, too bad! ;) PS: This chapter contains minor spoilers for the amazing Magnus Chase series, and is set before the Sword of Summer.

MAGNUS

He really should have known this was coming.

Maybe there was something to be said about the battles in Valhalla—everyone always came back to life afterwards. Magnus was used to the odd dying-and-coming-back ritual now, used to making death jokes and giving serious thoughts of Ragnarok a backseat. His mom's death was like a scabbed-over wound now, one that he knew better than to pick at. He might be constantly saving the world, but he was better emotionally than he'd been in a long while...which was probably why he couldn't believe at first the news Uncle Randolph brought him.

It was a warm summer night that found Magnus wandering the streets of Boston, trying to get his mind off, well, everything. He'd always found it easier to think by taking a walk, and tonight was no exception. The sounds of Boston were a little too familiar to Magnus, and what better way to unwind from recently saving the world than by being reminded of one's years as a homeless person?

Yeah, okay, Magnus was kind of weird. It didn't change the fact that the stroll he was on was a nice one, though. And so he walked and thought and talked to himself until he ran into someone familiar. Literally.

"Watch it!" Magnus protested instinctively, because he was a born-and-raised Bostonian, until he recognized the person who had bumped into him. "Wait, Uncle Randolph?"

"Magnus!" Randolph said, sounding as surprised as Magnus was. "What a surprise to see you here."

"I could say the same about you," Magnus said, a little awkwardly; it wasn't as if the whole small-talk thing came easily to him. "What are you doing out here?"

"Looking for you, actually," his uncle said, and that was when Magnus caught a slight undertone of...something...in his voice. Then he looked a little closer, seeing bags below his uncle's eyes and how his back seemed a little hunched. Randolph's grip on his cane was white-knuckled. Magnus knew the older man had been through a lot lately, but he seemed older than he'd been before.

"Is something wrong?" Magnus ventured after a moment.

Randolph sighed deeply, then gave him a searching glance that made him shift uncomfortably. (Sure, he could deal with apocalyptic and nightmarish monsters just fine, but Magnus had always been on vaguely awkward footing with his uncle.) Finally, Randolph spoke. "It's about Annabeth."

"What about her?" The last time Magnus had seen his cousin was in the presence of his own body—wasn't that just lovely. It had been nice to talk to her again, he remembered. In many ways, she was still the fierce-but-loyal first-grader he had grown up knowing.

Randolph hesitated, then clearly made some kind of mental decision. "She's dead, Magnus."

Silence. For a moment, Magnus thought that perhaps all the cars had stopped moving and all the lights had turned off. He was aware of nothing but the words his uncle had just said, almost unable to process them. "What?"

"She and her boyfriend were killed yesterday," Randolph said sadly. "Her father and I had our differences, but she was a lovely girl."

Magnus couldn't care less about what his uncle thought of his cousin. He felt like he was six years old again and playing with dominoes, Annabeth's architectural prowess impressive even then. She had always stuck up for him, always been the awe-inspiring, kick-butt female cousin he adored; if he had to admit it to himself, one of Magnus' biggest regrets was that he'd never given her or his extended family much of an explanation for disappearing onto the streets. He hadn't had a choice, but...

He should have gotten to spend more time with Annabeth. What was that safe place she had mentioned, the camp she said he should come to? A summer camp or something, wasn't it? And now he'd never get to go, never get to know Annabeth again the way he wished he could. Magnus had other friends now, friends that had saved his life, but there was something special about family. Something special about Annabeth.

"She's not dead," Magnus found himself saying in disbelief. "Won't she come back?" Everyone came back. Magnus had come back. "How can she be dead?" He had just saved the whole freaking world, and now Annabeth was dead? What kind of reward was that? Thanks for preventing Ragnarok. Here, let's kill your cousin.

That was just how Magnus' life worked, he thought bitterly. His mom had died, then he'd been forced onto the streets, then he'd died painfully, and just now—just when things had finally started looking up—one of his favorite people from his old life was gone. Dead and buried.

Just like that, huh? Gone.

Magnus wasn't sure if he thanked Randolph for telling him about Annabeth, nor was he sure if he even said goodbye. What he remembered later was wandering back to Valhalla with a stubborn tear rolling down his cheek, not caring who saw him cry; life might be cruel, but death was much, much crueler.

The worst thing was that Annabeth had given him her number, and he had never even bothered to call.

...For some reason, I can't write Magnus sad. But I really, really hope you guys liked this! If you have any suggestions for a possible future chapter, or if you just have a moment to spare, review and tell me what you think, pretty please!