Chapter Text
It plays out before his eyes every time he dares to close them.
The scene painted over and over again without respite. Leaving the same sensation in his gut as the first time it occurred.
Helpless. He’s helpless but to watch it all unfold. The sound of the howls of hades echoing through the expansive valley as they clamber on in pursuit of their prey. The flapping of three sets of leathery wings. Wings belonging to hissing beings who snarl with contempt as they snap their deadly whips yearning to ensnare vulnerable flesh.
And Thalia. His Thalia at the center of it all.
Aegis extended from her wrist as she stumbles against the weight of a barreling hellhound. Leg buckling as the wound from their last disastrous monster encounter makes itself known. Agony clearly pulsing up the limb as she grits her teeth and shoves the beast off of her. Skewering it with her spear causing it to explode into dust.
But just soon as that threat is neutralized there’s two more snarling and snapping their jaws inches from her face.
He can feel it all just as the day it happened. The pulsing panic that coursed through his body as it became evident that this was the end. There was no means to fix this. No more running. No more fighting. No more surviving.
This was the end. The end of his family.
A plethora of emotions crashing over him as Thalia screams at him to get Annabeth into the Camp, her voice near shrill from desperation as she rolls to dodge the snap of a whip.
Of how impossibly torn he felt. Forced to choose between his family.
But really, there never was a choice.
He was always going to lose.
Watching Thalia take her last stand on the hilltop as Annabeth’s small hand curls further into his own as they run like the wind. Further and further from everything that ever mattered.
The monsters swarming Thalia as both her knees hit the ground, defeat not accepted but thrust upon her.
Only for a lightning bolt to split the sky as it strikes the ground causing a loud boom to reverberate across the valley. Vaporizing all the servants of Hades in a flash.
He remembers how hope bloomed in his chest as electricity danced along his skin. How for just a moment he thought a god cared. That a god stepped in to save the fate of their child.
Only to be immediately crushed of all hope as the mist cleared revealing a large pine tree erected from the ground in the exact spot Thalia had been kneeling while she was surrounded by doom.
He remembers viscerally the shock, disgust, and overwhelming guilt that consumed him as he first laid eyes on the sight of what now remains of his closest companion.
Luke sighs as the memory stains the backs of his eyelids. Slowly he forces his eyes open, revealing the very same sight from that horrible night.
He had thought he’d never go near the tree. As the tree serves as a harsh reminder of how little they matter. Of how insignificant they are to the gods. To their own parents. Mere pawns to be used for gain.
And also…the harsh reminder that maybe he’s meant to be forever alone. Maybe his mother in her mad ramblings was right afterall.
He couldn’t keep his promise. Couldn’t keep his family safe. He failed. In a world that seems designed to ensure there’s no other outcome.
Yet here he is. Situated within the borders of Camp Half Blood, leaning against the base of the pine tree. Allowing the rough bark of it to dig into the bare back of his neck. As if it’s her. As if the bark could ever mimic the way she’d jab him in reprimand.
She’d probably be yelling at him if she were here. Telling him to stop moping. To focus on taking care of Annabeth.
And he wants to. But every time he looks at Annabeth’s face all he can see is his own failure.
He promised Annabeth he’d keep her safe. Told her she was part of their family.
But now that dream and promise are dead. They died along with Thalia.
A voice nearby jolts Luke out of his thoughts.
“She’s not dead.”
Luke glares vehemently at the Camp’s director, Mr. D, who has joined Luke on top of the hill, squinting down at him through the rays of sunlight as though Luke is some difficult puzzle he can’t make out and not a fourteen year old that has lost everything.
Luke grinds his teeth so harshly they threaten to split to the root. The seed of bitterness in his chest expands to a full blossom as he glowers into the brilliant fiery unnatural purple eyes of the god before him.
The words are spit out like poison, “She’s a tree.”
The god shrugs nonchalantly as he glances up towards the great pine, “Still not dead.”
Luke exhales with thread thin patience as he turns his head away from the god. Intent on pretending he does not exist for Luke’s own sanity. Or what’s left of it.
Mr. D sighs as though this interaction is a great chore for him, “Look Liam-“
Luke whips his head around to snap out, “It’s Luke!”
He mumbles under his breath, “Luke Castellan.”
Of course. Of course the god wouldn’t care so much as to get his name right. To them he is a fleeting thing that will either prove to be useful at best or a nuisance at worse.
Mr. D waves his hand in the air ignoring the ferocity behind his outburst, “Yeah yeah whatever. The point is, you acting like this doesn’t serve her.”
Luke’s lips twist uncomfortably as he battles back a frown. His voice is terse, but there’s a firm layer of hurt to it, “Like you would know what she wants.”
The god is quiet for a moment before he tacks on, “She’s enforced the border. What happened to her cannot happen again.”
An anger that has been stoked for years flares, reaching its breaking point, “She shouldn’t have had to die for it!”
His chest heaves as his eyes gain a wild glint as he fearlessly stares the god down, looking ready to tear out the god’s throat, “It should have always been this way. Her ‘sacrifice’ is nothing but further proof!”
Mr. D shifts somewhat uncomfortably but his eyes narrow with a raised suspicion, “Proof of what?”
Luke’s mouth goes dry as he stares into eyes that seem to whisper of promised inescapable insanity.
He has to remember what he’s up against.
For now he swallows his pride, looking away, “Nothing.”
He hopes with that the god will see he’s getting nowhere and thus lose the little interest he appears to have invested in Luke.
As the god’s looming presence does not seem to be receding any time soon while the seconds pass by Luke lifts his head to unkindly tell the immortal off.
Yet movement catches his eye making him pause.
Movement from outside the border.
From the outside world.
From where the danger lurks and death looms.
Luke’s eyes widen as he makes out a kid who can’t be older than twelve hobbling up toward the hill, to the entrance of the Camp.
His eyes are glazed over in pain as he clutches an arm stained with blood. The blood oozes in multiple parts, with the main source being his shoulder. His shirt is entirely soaked through in crimson in the spot.
His footsteps are haggard as he stumbles up the hill. Yet relief shines in his eyes as they find Luke’s.
Luke struggles to pull his gaze away from the child who looks a couple more breaths away from Hades’ doorstep.
Yet he manages, intense gaze focusing on the god as an unwanted panic laces Luke’s shoulders.
But the god appears uninterested in the approaching injured child. Completely ignoring the kid as though he can’t even see him.
A deep hatred stirs inside Luke at the harsh casual dismissal of one of his own.
His hands curl into fists as his eyes burn holes into the god. His words are scathing, “Are you not going to help him?”
There doesn’t seem to be any monsters pursuing the boy which is admittedly odd. However the kid is still seriously injured. If he doesn’t get ambrosia in him soon Thanatos will visit him.
The god’s lips twist in a frown as he follows Luke’s gaze.
The god stares dead at the boy. Yet his eyes seem to not track him. Almost aimless as they look more through than at the poor half-blood.
Mr. D’s voice snaps, thick with impatience, “Help who?”
Oh. Well that’s just beyond cruel.
Luke says not a word as he pushes himself off the ground and strides forward to intercept the boy.
He catches the kid just as he seems to lose his last ounce of strength. A head of curly brown matted hair leans against his shoulder. The kid breathes heavily, face littered with scratches and a layer of dirt.
He whispers in awe through trembling gasping lips, cloaked in disbelief, “I made it.”
Luke grimaces at the reverence behind the words. As though Camp Half-Blood is some mystical place that can solve all a half blood’s problems.
A notion that couldn’t be further from the truth. It’s not a haven. It’s closer to a pet cage. Sure it keeps them safe from monsters. But it’s not a place to truly live. Not a place to grow in. It only promises dangerous quests to further their lives. Promising more danger in their servitude to the whims of the gods.
Even so, Luke’s not one to immediately burst the kid’s bubble. He knows how difficult it is to survive on one’s own. Knows what it’s like to be forced into survival from an incredibly young age.
Luke arrived with a family to Camp Half-blood.
This kid arrived alone.
Luke hooks the kid’s uninjured arm around his own shoulder so he can effectively support the kid as they walk forward, crossing the border into Camp.
Luke walks right past the god of madness, who stares at Luke like he’s lost his mind, and strides further into the heart of camp.
He expects the other campers to react to their fellow injured half-blood. For whispers to arise. For someone to fetch Chiron as another alerts Argus in the medical area.
Yet none of that happens. They all continue to go about their activities. Only a few sparing a glance at Luke and the kid whose head lulls against Luke’s shoulder as his energy withers.
The last person he wants to see is the one to rush up to him.
Annabeth’s little feet scamper across the ground, weaving through campers till she comes to a halt before Luke, all anxious energy, “Luke!”
Luke doesn’t meet Annabeth’s eyes, “Not now Annabeth.”
A flash of pain shines in Annabeth’s eyes at the words that have become all too familiar to her since Thalia left them.
Yet no pity arises in Luke. Not when he has a kid more than half dead draped across him and no one seems to give a damn.
Luke grunts as he shifts the kid’s weight and barks out a command, “Go get Chiron. We need ambrosia, now.”
Worry encases Annabeth as her eyes scour Luke’s form, “Are you hurt?”
Luke finally looks at her, blinking down at the kid he sees as his own in utter betrayal and shock. Has the little girl he and Thalia took in truly lost all sense of compassion? All sense of right from wrong?
Luke splutters as he can’t believe what he’s hearing. It comes out harsher than he intends it to, “What? No! No I’m not hurt!”
Luke gestures wildly at the boy who leans heavily against him, “He is!”
Annabeth stares at where Luke is gesturing. Her frown only deepens. Unease lines her small frame as she nibbles at her lip uncertainly, “Luke…no one’s there.”
Luke pauses. Eyes flitting down to the kid who’s eyes have a haze in them.
Not…not there?
The memory of Mr. D’s genuine confusion taps at Luke’s mind.
No.
The truthful eyes that only a child can possess stare back at him through Annabeth.
No. No this can’t be.
A crowd of campers gather around him. Mumbling and whispering amongst themselves.
“What is he talking about?”
“Do you see anything?”
“Maybe her death drove him crazy.”
The last line has a furious flush encasing Luke’s face.
What is this, some cruel prank?
The clip clopping of hooves causes the wave of campers that had begun to circle around Luke to part.
Chiron in all his glory strides forward.
He stops before Luke staring down at him with eyes holding a great tiredness to them. Tired eyes, with flickers of surprise in them, and…and a muddling of overbearing sorrow. A sorrow that is a mere beat away from an endless threshold of pity.
Luke looks up at him with a resilience. Daring him to go along with the cruel prank the entire Camp is playing on him at the expense of a child’s life.
Chiron shakes his head somberly, muttering a single word as though it is a death sentence, “Psychopompus.”
The word, or…title? Settles heavily on Luke. As though a heavy weight has clicked into place, locking him within its hold.
Mr. D suddenly appears next to Chiron, expression grim as he looks at Luke as though he’s better off dead, “Luke Castellan, first son of Hermes to take on his chthonic side. Guide of the Dead.”
The words echo in Luke’s mind, rattling him to his core, Guide of the Dead.
Luke looks in horror to the child whose eyes now bore into him with a stark guilt and desperate panic.
Of course. Why wouldn’t his father force him to bear such a horrible curse?
To not only be the only one to see the dead children of the gods, but to be the one who has to guide them.
Mr. D places a hand that thrums with energy against Luke’s shoulder as he nudges him forward, “Come, we need to talk.”
Luke’s hold on the kid doesn’t waver as he allows himself to be guided to the Big House by a hand he despises.
Well, he’s always had a bad habit of holding on to things that are long out of his grasp.