Title: Goodbye, beginning.

Summary: For every beginning, there is an end. But the end always continues, and so it becomes a new beginning. Once the cycle ends, there is nothing left to continue it. So what comes next? This.

A/N: For the record, I will update my other stuff. Eventually. But I think I'm going to delete Reality because I hate it. Oh, and paranormal activity isn't as scary as you think. Sorry for it being all depressing but I was listening to slowish sad music and that's kind of where it went. Read on, persons. Read on.

When you have everything you could ever want, why does it always feel like something is missing?

Oh, yeah. Because something is.

It's been 100 days, 23 hours, 4 minutes, and 6 seconds since Annabeth Chase died, but who's counting?

It's certainly not Percy Jackson, son of Poseidon, who silently waits for the day she comes back with a pain in his chest that never goes away.

He doesn't come home every day from his awful job, sit down on the floor, and cry.

He never thinks about running away or killing himself as the tears run down his face.

He definitely does not constantly miss her or think about the empty void that will never be filled again, as the weight of the dagger in his hand makes his blood run cold.

And of course he never wishes he could be a normal kid with a mother and a father and girlfriend and a best friend that are all still alive.

Why would he? He's the Son of Poseidon. Savior of the Ancient World. Seaweed Brain. Hero.

But he's alone.

When everything you've ever had is right there, why is it so hard to reach for it?

That's right. Because you can't.

The beeping hasn't stopped for thirteen years.

Neither has the pain in Luke's body as the doctors around him constantly check to see if he's alive.

He doesn't understand why they don't just let him die. It'd be so much easier, so my better, for both him and the world.

He was supposed to die. He drowned. He felt Hades drawing him in. Kronos was gone, leaving the boy in what he thought was a lifeless carcass just as it hit the water.

But someone found him. By some 'miracle' they brought him back. Nobody knows. Even if they did, Luke isn't sure anybody would care. Nobody visits.

It's lonely. He's not sure if this would be considered life. The only thing keeping him alive is a billion dollar machine hooked up to every organ and manually making them work. He doesn't deserve to live.

What he did, he didn't mean to. All he wanted was a family and a life and friends who accepted him. Not just Annabeth who followed him around like a lovesick puppy, and Thalia who would slit his throat in an instant if he ever said something wrong. Before he knew what he was doing, he had somehow signed up for this hell-on-Earth that made him dead inside long before his heart stopped beating.

His heart is beating right now only because of the little wires they put in there when they brought him in. They send pulses of electricity every second or so. It's not life. He's more machine now than human.

He wants to die. But they won't let him. He can't move. He can't eat. He can't sleep.

All he can do is stare at the bleak wall in front of him, and wait for an end that will never come.

Really, life is nothing more than what you don't realize.

Only, what you don't realize tends to be a lot.

Here lies Clarisse LaRue.

Drakon Slayer.

Head dunker.

Daughter of Ares.

Enemy.

Friend.

Girlfriend.

Dead.

But she's only dead inside.

She's not sure which is worse.

They all say the only thing you need is a little hope.

But nobody tells you what to do when there isn't any left.

She was born dead.

Every moment up until this was nothing. When Nico was born, she thought everything would be perfect, but in reality it only made it worse.

She sunk slowly, in the sand that held her down. The shoes that kept her cemented to the Earth like superglue. Her world slowly expanded and shrunk and constantly moved in a way that confused her and angered her and made her think she didn't deserve it.

When she was with them, Percy and Thalia and Grover and Zoë she saw that little figurine and picked it up, thinking it might make Nico a little happy once she returned.

When Talos rose from the dead with blood on his mind, (soon on his hands), she knew what she had to do.

She threw the figurine at Percy, who caught it, not understanding. She slung her Hunter's bow around her shoulder and ran at the statue. The arrows pricked at her back. She was sure she was bleeding. But she didn't care. All she knew was that whatever has kept her to the Earth wasn't doing it's job anymore, and for once in her life she felt positive that things were going to end up okay.

As she was climbing, she ignored the burning metal that seared her palms as she scaled the rungs of the ladder. She nearly slipped what must've been near a dozen times, but every time she was hanging by a finger or two, she just thought of death, clenched her teeth, and scurried on.

In the control room, a parade of sparks flashed at her face, leaving burn marks that looked remarkably like bloody freckles. It hurt so bad, but to Bianca, each burn was a relief to her aching soul.

She cut the monster's power, and you know what came next.

But it was only then, did Bianca truly live.

"Every man is born as many men and dies as a single one."

-Heidegger, Martin

When Percy held his son for the first time, he never realized what horrors he would commit.

He wasn't thinking about the hundreds of thousands of innocent people he would kill.

He wasn't thinking about the torture that his son would cause to adults, the elderly, children who haven't even had a chance to live.

He wasn't thinking about his son murdering his own mother.

He wasn't thinking about the bleak future the son of the Son of Poseidon would cause for everybody.

He was only thinking about the trillions of possibilities that awaited the doomed Hunter Jackson.

He never could've imagined the one that he chose that sentenced him to a hell worse than hell for eternity.

Killing someone doesn't seem so hard.

Until you actually have to do it.

The knife against Percy's throat made drops of blood stain Nico's pale skin.

Think of the boy who will never know his father.

His heart was pounding, his mind was racing, and his blood was curling at the idea of what he had to do.

"Kill Percy Jackson, let me have his soul," He had said. "And then, I will be proud."

And okay, maybe Hades had been a little tipsy that night, and sure, maybe it might've been the grudge Hades had against Poseidon, but anything that made Hades proud made Nico drunk with power.

Think of the guilt that will never fade.

And eager to please.

Think of the time he saved your life.

"Come on, Nico. Please, you don't need to do- ah!" Percy gasped as Nico dug the dagger deeper into his skin. "Please, don't... I have a kid!"

Think of Annabeth.

"Shut up, Jackson!" Nico yelled. He didn't know why he did. Maybe it was the panic that was rising in his chest. "I need to. You know that."

Think of the way things might turn out.

"I didn't- Please don't- Nico please get the hell off of me!"

Think of the blood that will stain your hands, long after the color fades.

Nobody ever told him what he did chose the course of his life for the rest of his existence.

But it did.

You could never say he didn't try.

And so, in the end, does anything really matter except for you?

Maybe so, but then again, maybe not.

Sally? She's just a lonely soul. She's one of the characters. She might be real. She might not be.

She lived a life, sure. Was it bad? No. Was it good? No.

She's one of the souls that did nothing wrong, and nothing right. Therefore, when her mortal heart stopped beating, she didn't die. She didn't move on. She stayed.

And so here she is, spreading the word that maybe you might be able to understand.

She had a life.

And now she does not.

And so my friend, this is where we say goodbye.

Maybe forever.

Then again, maybe not.

Maybe we should say goodbye with a hello.

And so we did.

December 8th, 2011.

They met at Imagine.

The famous part of Central Park completely and totally and utterly dedicated to John Lennon.

The only thing was, they both hated him.

He saw her first, leaning against a tree on the outer edge of the circle, a pout on her face that clearly said, Don't bother me or I'll kill you.

So of course he went over to bother her.

They ended up talking. She though he was a Beatle-lover just like all the other freaks there, fawning over the gorgeousness and integrity and genius of the guy who was shot forty years ago. But didn't he like, cheat on his wife every other night? And anyone can write a song with three words. She loves you? Puh-lease. Her dog could do better.

But he wasn't. He ended up hating John Lennon just as much as she did, and so they got to talking. They discovered they were both demi-gods, she a daughter of Demeter, he a son of Hermes. They talked.

And talked.

Which lead to hanging out.

Which led to dating.

Which led to engagement.

Which led to marriage.

I now pronounce you Katie and Travis Stole. You may kiss the bride.

Sometimes, you need a happy ending.

And so it was.

The

End