Chapter Text
The night air was cool and still as Artemis’ silvery moon shone down onto the lush, fruitful strawberry fields of Camp Half-Blood, small dewdrops twinkling like fallen stars. Crickets sang their nighttime choir while owls darted gracefully in between the trees. Gentle waves lapped at the coast, wetting the sand and depositing little seashells to be found by curious campers come morning.
All of the campers were, for the first time in a long time, sleeping soundly. Even Percy Jackson, resident nightmare record holder, Saviour of Olympus twice over, and current most monitored patient in the infirmary, was finally granted a peaceful night, free from the ghosts and visions that usually plagued his mind. Perhaps it was because he was currently being held by his closest companion and soulmate, Annabeth, or perhaps it was a divine blessing, a small ‘thank you’ from the Gods, for everything he'd done.
Even the present immortals were within Hypnos’ domain this night. Chiron snored softly, both chests rising and falling slowly, legs tucked up on his rounded, down feather bed. Dionysus had one arm tucked beneath his pillow, curls splayed out on the impossibly silky fabric.
All of this was to say that no one was awake to see It.
It was imperceptible at first, even to those with inhuman eyes. A tiny, hair-thin split appeared in the sky, right in between two stars. It rippled and warped the air around it, like a mirage formed from heat. Light of an indescribable colour poured through, sliding into the sky like oil being poured into water. Slowly, the tear widened, stretching and shifting and flickering. Small, thin tendrils began to come through, writhing like snakes. Eyes, human and not human and everything in between, popped in and out of existence, scanning the surroundings.
The intruder slid past the fabric of reality, dripping down until the tendrils brushed the moist grass. Like a mass of living, glittering nerves, It twitched and glided across the grass, spreading out before retracting back, making not even the slightest sound as it moved. It seemed curious, almost fascinated by the world around It, reaching to touch and feel every little thing.
It kept creeping along until It reached the first of the cabins, freezing in place suddenly. Tentatively, gently, It brushed against the outside wall, near revenant in its movements. Endless mouths gasped and grinned in silent joy, a thousand hearts racing as one. The mass shivered, rearing up and coiling around itself as It felt the small, twinkling souls within. It expanded its reach, rippling and shivering with delight when it found even more. Spurred on by this discovery, It kept reaching and reaching and reaching, seeking out every little light until It came across one that practically shone, like a newborn star gracing the universe with its light.
A godling.
But oh, oh, he was hurt.
There was a blackness encroaching on his soul, like a poison that refused to leave the body. The gold that had just begun to shimmer in his blood was flecked with inky darkness, and the one curled protectively around him was not faring much better. Fire bubbled in their guts, burning away the ambrosia and nectar that should have been healing them. Scars, old and new, marred their skin; some natural, and others disturbingly supernatural in nature.
The intruder crooned in despair, reaching for the two injured demigods. They felt almost foreign as It grazed their sleeping figures, new and wondrous and achingly unfamiliar. This. This is what It had been searching for, had been missing. The perfect combination of divinity and humanity, wrapped up in a powerful, yet still very mortal little bundle.
It coiled around the two slowly, like a python wrapping itself around unsuspecting prey. Flickering capillaries sunk into their flesh, searching for more information on just who It had managed to find.
Oh. Now wasn’t that interesting?
Around the boy’s injured soul was a number of claims. There were the deep, gouged warnings of the Sea God, a clear warning to all who could see them to stay away, lest the offender incur the wrath of the boy’s sire. There was the long faded mark of Styx, the great promise-keeper of the divine, as well as the faint etchings of her brother, Phlegethon.
That would explain the blazing hot fire-water that lingered in the demigod’s bellies.
There were smaller marks, too. Dionysus’ thorny vines were wrapped, faintly, around the souls of all who currently slumbered within the camp’s borders, like the barely open eye of a lazy guardian; content to allow the bearers to wander from his view, but still acting as a silent reminder to any who may have ill intent that the God of Madness was around.
Silvery moonbeams and radiant sunlight also shone upon this particular soul, iridescent and shifting. Not enough to be a true claim, but rather a blessing, indicating that this one had earned the attention of both the Sun and the Moon.
The last of the marks came in the form of flecks, little, twinkling stars that radiated love and friendship. These were from the other campers, unknowingly leaving their marks on the son of Poseidon. It was a starmap of relationships, some burning brighter than others, with constellations made from the bonds forged over his lifetime. Clearly, this boy was loved.
And yet…
The marks were, well, fainter than It had expected. The claims had been laid, but not truly maintained. When It searched deeper, It found signs of divine anger, of malice, turned onto these demigods. Wounds from monsters sent to maim and kill, traces of stolen memories, and curses from those who should be above such things.
How disappointing. It wondered how things had gotten to this point, how things had varied so differently from the world that It came from. These demigods, these children, were not being appreciated like they deserved, were not being taken care of like they deserved. It could taste lingering bitterness, desperation and anger in the air around It, the fear of not being enough nearly suffocating It.
This Pantheon didn't know how good they had it, how lucky they were to have children who only wanted to be seen by them. To be loved by them.
They wanted to squander this gift? Fine. It would take them instead.
It sunk into the curled up children’s memories, seeking out who It should take first. It wanted to ensure that the transition would be as smooth as possible, and for that It wanted familiar faces.
Places and people flashed before It, entire lifetimes viewed in mere moments. When It was finished, It hummed in consideration. There were a few souls that It wanted that were no longer among the living, but that did not matter to It. The only concern was that if It took them, then there was a chance It’s presence would be noticed soon after, and It really didn’t want to risk this Pantheon coming into contact with It’s own. It was trying to fix It’s strings, not further tangle them.
It would simply have to take them last.
Like a deep sigh, the otherworldly being expanded outwards once more, sinking into the ground and stretching out across the land. It wrapped itself around the dulled stars of the Underworld first; a missing twin and a regretful hero, one waiting in Elysium, the other seeking rebirth. It had only planned to take one child of the 12 Olympians at first, but It could not leave the poor little leopard without his other half. Besides, Dionysus would drive the mortals all mad if he ever learned that one of his only babies had been left within Thanatos’ realm, and that wouldn’t help things.
The child of Hermes was an… interesting case. There were far easier choices available, and this one had caused so much harm, but within his torn soul It could still find immense love for those he had allowed himself to be turned against. He’d made the ultimate sacrifice in the end, and perhaps that meant he deserved a chance to be better, free from the one who had poisoned his mind. A protector would be needed, for the world It came from was fraught with danger, and It could sense that he would kill to protect those he cared for.
Lastly, It turned It’s attention to the Hunt of the Moon Goddess. A daughter of Zeus slumbered peacefully under the protection of Artemis, her soul snapping and bristling with untamable energy. Her absence would be noticed almost as swiftly as those who resided below, for the Thunderbringer and the Hunt Queen both had etched many claims into her soul. It did not particularly care, however. It did not bend to the whims of the God King, and if It wanted this one, It would have her. It would have all of them eventually. With It’s hold secure, the intruder began to work It’s magic.
It started with the little Sea Prince. It wrapped itself around him like a cocoon, plucking his strings as though he were a lyre. The strings resisted for a time, but It’s will was too great, and eventually they caved, allowing It to do as It pleased.
It started by rewinding the years, easing scars from his skin and tucking memories deep, deep down. It could not chase out the sickness entirely, that would only go away with tender care and time, but It could make accepting his approaching divinity easier. Soon, It was cradling not a teenager, but a young child. Honed muscle had been replaced by the clinging remnants of baby fat, calloused skin smoothed over and left looking quite new.
Next, It came for the marks. It hurt, slightly, to wipe away the signs of a devoted father and the blessings of other Gods, but it was necessary. The bonds needed to be remade, and It was sure that the ones that would replace them would be ironclad and numerous. There would be no scorn or hatred for this child born of a broken oath, only elation at his mere existence. It was sure that these children would have magnificent tributes made by the finest artists as soon as their parents deemed them old enough to venture from their arms.
Once all was said and done, It beheld the little one that would be the first to come to It’s world. He was still asleep, something that It had willed, and one of his little fists was tightly gripping the shirt of his bedmate, who would soon be just as small as he was. His lightly tanned skin was soft and free of what abrasions could be cleared away. A few scars still remained; the one on his palm from the dreaded pit scorpion, the ones on his shoulders and across his back from when he’d held the sky, and the ones on his very soul from his time in Tartarus. Those scars would never fully heal, but they would eventually begin to fade.
It smiled with mouths unseen and drew the boy into itself, coating him with the indescribable light that had heralded It's arrival. In mere moments, it had grappled the strings of all It's chosen few away from the Fates, spinning them into Its own loom. It could feel the confusion and rage bubbling up from the Beyond, a being that mirrored Itself starting to blink into awareness.
No matter, for by the time anything could be done,
Fate would be gone.
When Luke woke up, dawn was just beginning to break over the horizon.
Now, immediately, something about that sentence was wrong. Beyond wrong, actually.
See, Luke was never meant to wake up. At least, not in this body, and certainly not with any of his memories. He was dead. He had been dead for some time now, trying to decide if he truly wanted to seek rebirth, or if he should just take the paradise he'd been offered, regardless of how out of place he felt.
Taking in a deep breath, Luke blinked, his eyes beginning to moisten when no burning ache followed, when no warm blood coated his throat. The air here was sweet and warm, carrying the scent of newly grown grass and the ocean. Slowly, he sat up, taking the time to run his hands through the dew-speckled grass. Little ground shrubs and flowers kissed his skin, tangling lightly in his fingers as he gently felt their leaves and petals, his mind almost refusing to allow him to believe that this was real.
“Where am I?” he whispered, glancing all around in sheer wonder.
Wherever he was, it was beautiful. He was sitting atop a small cliff, and the greenery around him almost glowed pink in the pale, rosy light of the sunrise. Down below was a beach, clear waves crashing against white rocks. The air was a bit chilly, but Luke could tell that it would warm up, especially with how clear the sky seemed. Little bugs buzzed and hopped around, oblivious to the newcomer in their midst.
This… was not Manhattan. This wasn’t Camp Half-Blood. Hell, this wasn't even Elysium. He didn't have the faintest clue where he'd ended up, or how.
“Mnh- Luke?”
The son of Hermes froze, every muscle in his body tensing up.
No. No. There was no way. He had to be dreaming.
But… the dead don't dream.
Slowly, as if he were afraid of what he'd find, Luke turned around, looking back over his shoulder.
A little girl was beginning to stir, her blonde hair falling in her face. She rubbed her eyes, not looking quite awake yet, wearing a worn yet still fairly bright orange Camp Half-Blood that looked too big for her small body. She yawned, and her eyes fell open, revealing two startlingly grey orbs.
“Annabeth.” he breathed, his heart constricting in his chest as the tears finally fell.
She looked exactly like how he remembered her; big, owl-like eyes, hair that tangled horribly unless you ran a brush through it twice a day, and a grumpy pout that always appeared when she had to get up in the morning.
Now, however, that pout had been replaced by a look of concern.
“Are you okay? You're crying!” she exclaimed, pushing herself off the ground. She wobbled for a moment, looking disoriented, before she found her footing and rushed over to where he was kneeling.
Without thinking, Luke swept Annabeth up into his arms, his shoulders shaking slightly as he felt her little arms wrap around him as best they could. He pressed his face into her hair, smiling slightly when she patted his back, mimicking the way he and Thalia used to comfort her. She was warm in his hold, warmer than he’d thought she’d be, considering the temperature of this area, but he couldn’t bring himself to focus on that. All he could think about was the fact that his little sister was here, that she was in his arms and letting him hug her. It was as if all his mistakes had never happened.
And yet, as she pulled back from the hug, he saw it; a streak of grey-ish white that disrupted the blonde. A physical reminder of the strain he'd forced her to endure.
Swallowing, Luke fought the urge to look away from her in shame. Now that his mind was truly his own again, the overwhelming sense of gut-churning horror and revulsion at what he'd done was beginning to sink in.
That godsforsaken prophecy might have named him a hero, but Luke knew that he wasn't. Heroes didn't sic a pit scorpion on a frightened 12 year old. Heroes didn't poison their first friend. Heroes didn't raise an army of children to slaughter their siblings. He was no hero.
He was a monster.
A sudden pressure on his cheek brought him out of his spiraling thoughts. Annabelle had started patting his face, her little hands lightly slapping him.
“Hey, don't do that.” she scolded, “You're going to your away place again.”
Luke shook his head, giving her the best smile he could muster. He didn't know what was going on, if this was some kind of dream, or a fucked up divine punishment that would tear this all away from him in a moment, but he was bound and determined to make the most of it.
“Sorry,” he apologized softly, pulling her hands back down, “I got in my own head again.”
Annabeth gave him one of her patented ‘no shit Sherlock' looks, and he huffed out a laugh.
Gods, he'd missed this.
“Come on,” she said, getting up and pulling at his arm with less strength than he was used to, “we need to find Percy!”
“Percy?” Luke frowned. If this was some sort of weird dream about his past with Annabeth, then why would Percy be here?
Annabeth looked at him like he was stupid, and it was in that moment that Luke realized something.
Annabeth's eyes, which were usually unnervingly bright and attentive, now held a sort of glassy sheen, as if she was having trouble focusing. Her face was unusually red, and not just from the sunrise, and she was sweating.
“Shit,” Luke swore, jolting forward to press the back of his hand to her forehead, “Annie, you’re burning up!”
Oh, gods, this was a punishment, wasn’t it? Was he going to have to watch Annabeth die from some unknown illness?
“Swear.” she mumbled, leaning into his cooler skin. “Percy’s sick, too. We need to find him!”
“Annabeth, why would Percy be here?” he asked, scooping the girl up into his arms once more. She was surprisingly light, even for her age… actually, how old was she?
Annabeth scrunched her face in disbelief, as if Luke had just started speaking Japanese.
“Because we’re here?” she replied, speaking in a way that implied that this should be an obvious fact, “Luke, did you hit your head? You’re acting weird.”
“I-” Luke trailed off, unsure of how to reply. After a moment, he decided to just go along with whatever insanity he’d found himself wrapped up in. “You know what? I think I must have. Would you mind filling me in on why Percy’s with us while we go look for him?”
“You saved him, remember?”
Luke froze mid-stand, his mouth dropping open in shock.
“I- I what?”
“You saved him from the mean man. The smelly one that kept yelling at him.”
The mean man?
Luke wracked his memories, trying to dig up any recollection of who the hell Annabeth could be talking about. It certainly wasn’t Poseidon; the Sea God was known for defending his children, after all, and while Mr. D was far from the most pleasant person to be around, Luke knew that he hadn’t actually harmed any of the campers, most likely because it wasn’t worth the headache that came from dealing with their godly parents.
“The one that… you know…” Annabeth trailed off, before softly adding, “hurt his mommy? And him?”
Luke sucked in a sharp breath. Shit. Holy Shit. What kind of grief induced hallucination/dream/punishment was this? Did Percy have an abusive stepparent at home? Was that something he’d ever mentioned to Luke? The scarred young man flicked through every interaction they’d had before he’d left camp that he could remember, searching for signs that he’d overlooked.
Now that he was actively looking for them, he did remember occasionally seeing Percy go uncharacteristically quiet and still whenever someone raised their voice, as well as flinching when the older campers moved too quickly near him. He hadn’t focused on these behaviors before, chalking it up to him being a traumatised, ostracized kid. But when he considered what Annabeth was describing, Luke began to reach a disturbing conclusion.
Anger, familiar and white hot, began to surge through his veins. Surely, surely, Poseidon had to know, right? So much for being godly dad of the year! That egotistical Master of Moisture couldn’t even be bothered to get off his ass and save his so-called ‘lover’, or his fucking son, from an abusive household?! No, no of course not. It didn’t benefit him, so why even bother, right? Who cared that a few mortals got hurt?
Taking a deep breath, Luke forced his anger down for now. He readjusted Annabeth, schooling his expression into something calmer and friendlier. Annabeth needed a brother right now, not a venom-spitting preacher.
“I think I remember now. Bits and pieces anyway.” he lied smoothly, tucking some of Annabeth’s hair out of her face, “How are you feeling?”
“M’ stomach hurts.” she admitted, her poor state overriding her pride, “It feels like I swallowed fire.”
“Well, if you start to feel sick sick, let me know. I’d rather not get puked on today.” Luke replied jokingly, masking his worry. He didn’t know what was causing Annabeth to be sick, nor what he could do to fix it.
…Was there anything he could do? Was this real?
Suddenly, a flash of colour caught his eye, and Luke picked up the pace, a feeling of dread beginning to pool in his gut.
The bright orange of the camp shirts were a real eyesore, but they also made it very easy to spot tiny bodies.
A young boy was curled up on the grass and scrub brush, unruly black hair obscuring his face. His breathing was slow and ragged; betraying the illness that had settled in his lungs. His eyes were closed, but even if they weren’t, Luke was certain the boy wouldn’t even have realized they were there.
“PERCY!” Annabeth cried, wiggling as she tried to get out of Luke’s hold. The blonde tightened his hold, just enough to ensure she didn’t drop onto the ground. Instead, he allowed himself to go down, his thigh and hip taking the brunt of the fall.
Setting Annabeth down, Luke hesitated for only a moment before reaching out towards Percy. Somehow, he was even lighter than Annabeth, feeling frail and delicate in his arms. His skin had paled to an unhealthy shade, and there were dark, heavy bags around his eyes. Despite him clearly being young, he looked as though he’d lived through a lifetime of hardship.
Luke swallowed down the bitter bile that threatened to scorch his throat at the sheer wrongness of what he was seeing. Percy Jackson was not light. He was not weak. He’d survived everything Luke and Kronos (Had they become the same being even before Luke had given the Titan his body? After everything, was he still himself? ) had thrown at him. For the Saviour of Olympus… for his saviour, for in the end, that is what Percy had been, to be laid so low by something as horrendously mortal as an illness felt like a spit in the face.
Annabeth’s lip wobbled as she clumsily brushed a few black locks away from his sweat-soaked forehead. She looked up at Luke, her big, grey eyes shiny with tears. She’d always been prone to getting emotional when she was sick.
“You can help him, right?” she asked, pleading with the older demigod to make things better. Adults were supposed to be able to fix things like this.
Luke looked at her, then back down at the demigod in his arms.
Could he?
His gaze wandered towards the ocean, watching as the waves rippled along the surface. Water would help, Luke was sure. Hell, maybe his dear old dad would even offer some aid for once. If anyone had the knowledge and resources to heal Percy, Poseidon would.
But what would he ask in return?
Luke grit his teeth and fought the urge to snarl. No. The gods had never invited anything other than trouble and pain into his life, and he wasn’t about to risk drawing their attention by praying to them now. Instead, he turned to Annabeth, who was looking distinctly misty-eyed by now.
“I’ll find someone who can.” he said, the whisper of a promise in his voice, “Can you climb on my back? I need to carry Percy, and it’d be kinda hard to carry both of you in my arms.”
Annabeth, always eager to please, nodded as enthusiastically as she could. In less than a minute, Luke got to his feet once more, one child clinging to his back, the other limp in his arms. He huffed softly at the extra weight, but they truly weren’t too much of an added burden. Honestly, he’d prefer it. At least then he’d know these two had been eating enough.
As the sun finally rose above the horizon, Luke closed his eyes, drew in the deepest breath he possibly could, and held it. This was it. Either he’d wake from this dream and find himself once again in his undeserved paradise, or the lack of oxygen would cause his lungs to start burning, and he’d know that something had seen fit to give him another chance.
He waited, and waited, and waited…
An ache began to bloom, his body demanding fresh air, and Luke granted its request with a breathy laugh.
He was alive again.
“Alright, little owl,” he grinned over his shoulder at Annabeth, the sunlight turning their blonde hair a radiant gold, “where do you suppose we are?”
Annabeth blinked, as if she hadn’t even noticed that they weren’t still on a grimy street somewhere, running for their lives. The little girl glanced around, intelligent eyes taking in every little detail, her mind no doubt working overtime to find an answer, despite the fever.
Suddenly, her eyes widened, her brow furrowing in confusion. She looked around again, as if she wasn’t sure she’d seen things right, before she looked back at Luke.
“Luke, why are we in Greece?”
Well, shit.
“Swear.”