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Against all odds, they made it to the Doors. Hell, they made it inside. That was thanks to Iapetus- Bob, rather- and the sacrifice he was paying even now to make sure they returned to the surface. Luke had known what Bob was planning- he wasn’t exactly an easy person to fool, and he’d spent enough time among Bob’s brothers to be able to decipher their eerily similar facial expressions- and he’d tried to stay behind. He’d tried to help him.
But Bob had given him a knowing look, those silver eyes piercing, and had gently pushed Luke into the elevator where Annabeth and Percy were waiting.
“You died for them once,” Bob had said. “Now you must live for them, and for everyone else who has fallen, but most importantly yourself. This will be the hardest quest of yours, Castellan, and it is a necessary one.”
Now, here they were, the minutes ticking by horribly slowly, the three of them gripping the insides of the Doors tightly to keep them closed. They were silent, the only sounds the faint echoes of breathing and the questionable soundtrack of Helter Skelter by the Beatles playing.
Annabeth’s eyes were red-rimmed and Percy’s jaw was clenched so tightly Luke was mildly surprised he hadn’t cracked a tooth yet. He knew they were both hurting; so was he. Between the Death Mist, the exhaustion, the fact they hadn’t had a proper meal in days, Annie and Percy mourning for Bob in ways Luke wouldn’t or couldn’t (Bob had been amazing, a blessing really if Luke even still believed in those, an absolute sweetheart and a good friend to Percy and Annie, but- he couldn’t truly trust immortals, not again), and their mediocre health, it was surprising they were all standing.
Adrenaline, Luke thought. We’re going to crash hard as fuck when we get out.
When. Not if. When. After months in Tartarus- a whole year or so according to Annie- the whole notion of finally being out of that hellpit was quite frankly more absurd to Luke than anything else he’d seen in his life, and he’d seen quite a fucking lot.
Twelve minutes. Twelve minutes, and then we’re out. Twelve minutes of this journey, and I’m a free man.
Luke couldn’t quite comprehend it. He had accepted the fact that he’d be spending his eternal afterlife in Tartarus, fleeing the Titans and butchering smaller monsters for dinner and hiding by a shrine to his father; it was his punishment, after all, for defying the gods and betraying everyone he’d loved, and everyone knew he deserved it.
But he was almost out. He was almost out, and he had Annie and Percy by his side, and it seemed almost like a dream.
Tell the stars I say hello, Bob had said, right after he’d pushed Luke inside the elevator.
Luke could hardly remember what the stars were like. During the war, he had been barely aware of what day it was and where he was, let alone aware of the beauty in the small things. But before that he’d always loved camping out in the strawberry fields of Camp Half-Blood at night, Annabeth or a sibling or an unclaimed camper tucked by his side, the stars shining a comforting glow; and he missed those times. He missed that version of himself.
He wasn’t naive; he knew those times were as dead as he himself had been only months before. He knew that version of himself was equally lost, and so were his relationships (even though he, Percy, and Annabeth had made up- as much as possible in this situation- he knew they’d leave him behind the moment they got out, because who’d want to deal with him a moment more when they had an army of friends waiting for them). But, gods, the thought of being free made Luke feel light-headed.
Though that also could be exhaustion. Or dehydration. Or the last remnants of the Death Mist clinging to him. Heck, it could also be the lingering aftereffects of the arai’s curses; though Luke rather doubted this last one, since Damasen had patched them all up so well.
Luke grimaced at the thought of the giant, who like Bob had sacrificed so much for them. If he had the will, he would’ve prayed for Damasen. But he knew too well that prayers meant and accomplished nothing. The gods would never care nor remember what happened today.
But I will, Luke vowed. I will remember. The two immortals who truly cared. The runts, the throw-aways, who saved the day. We were never friends- we could never be, not after Kronos- but you were heroes, and I will not forget that.
Slowly, the elevator began to grind to a halt, eventually completely stopping. Luke, Percy, and Annabeth all exchanged wary looks as the doors opened. They stepped forward cautiously, finally letting go of the doors they had been gripping for what had seemed like hours, and Luke had a few moments to take in the maze-like surroundings before blazing pain hit him like a freight train.
He gasped, but that only made things worse. His lungs and throat felt like they were on fire and every part of him ached, protesting his body’s return to the Upperworld. His vision doubled and he swayed on his feet, dimly aware of the muffled thumps of Annabeth and Percy’s unconscious bodies hitting the cold ground.
In front of him, despite his vision issues, he could vaguely make out two demigods- a short Hispanic teenage boy with short, curly hair and a younger African-American teenage girl with golden eyes- and what appeared to be a looming, giant masculine figure carved from shadows so utterly all-consuming it wouldn’t be surprising to learn that he’d created black holes.
“You’re still standing,” a female voice stated, not coming from the demigod, in surprise. “Who are you?”
Luke took a steadying breath, letting his vision steady itself, and a small smile formed on his lips. In his hands he gripped Annabeth’s dagger firmly, like he had once held Backbiter. Every inch of him just itched for a fight.
“Pasiphae,” the looming dark figure warned, “he is the one who killed Kronos.”
Both of the younger demigods looked nonplussed, and the girl gave Luke an odd look, as if she were trying to see straight into Luke’s soul.
“Damn straight I did,” Luke said nonchalantly. “So how about you fuck off while you still can, before you find out what it’s like to die?”
Pasiphae- the wife of Minos and mother of the Minotaur, Luke remembered- cursed in Ancient Greek.
“Deal with him,” she barked.
The male figure obliged, crossing the room and freezing in front of Luke and the prone forms of his friends. A sudden cold fell over Luke and he shivered, darkness falling at the edges of his vision. He fought it- he fought it like hell- but eventually it was too much, especially mixed with his health issues. Everything went dark, and Luke wasn’t aware of anything else- not even hitting the ground.
It felt like falling into deep, dark water, except there was no struggle to stay afloat. It was peaceful. Sometime later, someone poked him.
“Luke? Luke!”
“Five more minutes, Ethan,” Luke slurred, shifting away from the offending touch. “Please.”
“Luke,” the first voice repeated firmly, and Luke’s exhausted brain finally caught up.
That wasn’t Ethan Nakumara’s voice. That was Annabeth’s. And he wasn’t laying in his bunk on the Princess Andromeda; he was on a cold, stone floor, his body aching and his mouth tasting vaguely like metal. He felt so very, very cold as he blinked open his eyes, the memories flooding back.
Annabeth was leaning over him. She looked pale and ashen, but they all did after their time in Tartarus, and there were no visible serious wounds.
“Oh, thank the gods,” she sighed in relief, a grateful smile spilling on her lips (and oh, how happy he was to see that smile yet again).
Luke forced himself to sit up, his body viciously protesting the movement, and glanced at his friend in confusion. Behind Annabeth, he could see a small crowd of demigods, including Percy and Nico di Angelo as well as the two demigods Luke vaguely remembered seeing earlier; Luke figured those were the demigod crew members of the Argo II (Annabeth had explained the entire situation with Gaea to him whilst they had been in Tartarus). He ignored the boy with Thalia’s eyes and the blond hair; he couldn’t bring himself to deal with that right now.
“You should get going soon, if you want to make it to Athens before everything goes to hell,” Luke whispered, a coughing fit tearing through him as he finished.
Annabeth’s widened slightly and Luke didn’t understand why until he lifted one of his hands to his mouth to cover his coughs. When his coughing stopped he pulled his hand away, and it was sticky with blood.
“Oh,” Luke noted dumbly.
Guess a year and Tartarus and returning to the Upperworld does not mix well. At least in dead demigods. Hm. Who would’ve thought?
Annabeth glanced over her shoulder. “Does someone have ambrosia?”
Percy appeared out of thin air, which sent Luke’s pulse racing. “Why do you need- oh, shit. That’s not good.”
“You don’t say,” Luke deadpanned. “And Annie, I’m fine.”
The other two demigods looked at him like he had suddenly turned into a centaur.
“What? I am! It’s just a reaction to being back up here after a year. Probably. Also, I’ve had worse, and you guys really need to get moving, so it’s all good.”
“Luke,” Percy began slowly, “are you not- are you not coming with us?”
That made Luke pause. The way Percy phrased that made it seem like they wanted Luke to come with them, which was quite frankly utterly surprising.
“I don’t want-” Luke broke into coughs again-”to cause any problems.”
You’ve put up with me for long enough. You’ve shown me so much kindness- much more than I deserve. But me going with you will only cause you problems and I’ve caused enough in my life.
Percy and Annabeth exchanged an exasperated glance and then, in unison, they reached down and pulled Luke to his feet.
“What the hell are you doing?!” Luke demanded, his voice thick around the blood in his mouth.
“Kidnapping you,” Annabeth responded, dragging Luke towards the relatively large group of demigods, “because you’re a fucking idiot. Luke, you died. I’m not losing you again.”
Luke spluttered, but he knew better than to argue with Annabeth; and besides, her words soothed an ache in his heart Luke didn’t even know he had.
“Is he alright?” An indigenous girl asked in concern, her eyes glittering like kaleidoscopes in the dim light of the (probably underground) cave.
Luke opened his mouth but was quenched by a ferocious glare from Annabeth. He closed his mouth without saying anything.
Gods, I’d forgotten how terrifying she can be…she’s so much like Thalia.
“We’ll see,” Annabeth told the other demigod. “Now let’s just get the fuck out of here.”
Then the shadows wrapped around them, and darkness swallowed them whole. For the first time in over a year, Luke felt cold, down to his bones. Luke shuddered. He had never liked the dark, but ever since Kronos his dislike had deepened into what some might call an irrational fear. However, Luke knew it was not irrational; he had seen what lurked in the dark and it was terrifying. And he had died, as well, making the dark seem even worse; his heart hammered in his chest and he had to focus on it to try and convince himself he was alright.
Ethan? He wanted to cry out. Ethan, where are you?
Ethan Nakumura, son of Nemesis, several years Luke's junior, had been the only friend Luke had had during the years under Kronos. He'd been a confidant, an advisor, but also a protector. He was the one who had held Luke after every time he had attempted suicide- and yes, he had done it multiple times before that fatal day on Olympus, how could he not when everyone he loved hated him and an abusive god was using him as a tool- and after every time Kronos had forced Luke onto the bed, wall, or the nearest flat surface and then had his wicked way with him, leaving Luke aching and hating himself more than ever.
But Ethan was dead. Luke was well aware of it, even in the twisted darkness of his pain and in the empty expanse of the shadow realm. Ethan was dead and gone, like Luke had been before being pulled out of Tartarus. But unlike Luke, Ethan was in Elysium. Luke had made sure of that when he'd stood before the judges of the Underworld, on trial for his crimes. He had taken the punishment meant for Ethan and every one of his followers and threw away the chance to go to Elysium or even be reincarnated. Because they'd just been kids, broken kids whose parents had abandoned him; they didn't deserve to go to the Fields of Punishment or gods forbid Tartarus just because they had followed the wrong person; they had not committed the crimes Luke had. Luke would bear the cross, carry the weight of the world, in silence if it meant that Ethan and the other demigods of the Titan Army would be alright after death. It was his burden to bear, as their general, as their friend, and he would never let go of it.
Luke felt himself slam into the ground, dispersing his thoughts, and he groaned faintly, the metallic taste in his mouth getting worse. He blinked open his eyes and instantly regretted it- he'd forgotten how bright the sun was. He shaded his face with one of his hands and looked around. The other demigods were climbing to their feet, and Luke noticed that they were all standing on the main deck of a brazen Greek warship armed to the teeth. This, he thought, was the Argo II, the ship that would bear the Seven (as well as Luke and di Angelo, it seemed) to Athens.
He sat up and shuddered. There was no wind blowing, but his body had finally seemed to notice that it wasn't in Tartarus or under the ground any longer. After a year in Tartarus' hellish heat, it felt like an Arctic wind, piercing all the way down to Luke's bones. He wrapped his arms around his tattered tunic, carved from leather taken from a drakon and given to Luke by Damaesen, and hugged his chest as he watched the others.
Percy walked over and helped Luke to his feet. Luke managed not to sway or collapse, but it was a very near thing. Annabeth, who'd been talking to the girl with gold eyes, turned around and met his eyes; he gave her a weak smile, but she looked unconvinced that he was alright (really, he was, it was just exhaustion and hunger mixed with a mysterious bleeding mouth; he'd had much worse even in just the last few days).
"I'm going to take him down to the infirmary," Percy told his girlfriend.
Annabeth nodded, her gray eyes stormy yet brighter than Luke had seen them as of late. "Alright. Get some rest, Luke; you deserve it."
But then there was the winnying of a pegasus, and a beautiful flying horse soared down from the vibrantly blue skies. It landed on the deck only a few feet away from Luke and practically collapsed; Luke had seen and cared for enough pegasi to tell that it was mortally wounded. A regal demigod in armor slid off of the stallion, her dark eyes shining in a way that made Luke think she was barely holding back tears, a grim set to her mouth that Luke recognized as indicating she was pushing through her pain much like a leader would. He would know- he’d done it every day during the years as Hermes Cabin’s head counselor at Camp Half-Blood, and every day during the Titanomachy. She looked surprisingly familiar, but Luke had no idea where he could have seen her before.
"Reyna?" Percy gasped, drawing her eyes towards them.
As her eyes met Luke’s, so much like her sister’s, a memory surfaced, swallowing the Argo II and everyone around him.
*
Several years ago
You have failed me yet again, Kronos’ words echoed in Luke’s head as he stumbled across the road, his body nothing more than the all-encompassing pain. And there will be consequences.
And oh, how those consequences ached, even days later. Luke was certain he resembled a walking corpse, what between his numerous unbandaged wounds (raging from small nicks to a gnarly scar stretched diagonally across his back) and his wan, emaciated form.
A person looking at him would call him an abuse victim. They weren’t exactly wrong, though in Luke’s mind he was less of a victim. He had signed up for this, after all, at the very beginning of this, even though he had been young and grieving and easy to manipulate as well as being unaware that the person he had trusted would turn out to be no better than the gods themselves. Victims didn’t sign their own death warrants. Victims didn’t consent to being knocked around, didn’t consent to betraying their friends and everyone they loved, didn’t become twisted puppets on a string, and didn’t become a monster themselves. That was what Luke had down; ergo, he was not a victim.
I deserve this, he knew. I deserve everything Kronos does to me for what I did to Thalia, Annabeth, my siblings, Camp.
Suddenly, he heard the hiss of a sword being unsheathed, and he skidded to a halt, his senses flying into overdrive. He was extremely aware of his breathing and the sound of his heartbeat pounding in his ears, his head aching from where he’d slammed it into the walls of a gas station earlier to get Kronos out of his fucking head.
“What are you doing?” A voice demanded, stern and regal in ways that reminded Luke painfully of Thalia.
He turned around and saw a young woman, around his age but perhaps a few years his senior, standing a few feet away. She must have been very stealthy when approaching, or Luke had given himself a worse concussion than he had thought, because she was dressed in full battle armor, and that usually is not the quietest, especially since the armor was bronze. Her dark hair was chopped short, but thankfully not as short as Thalia’s; it went down to her shoulders. Her complexion was a warm tan not dissimilar from the shade of her armor and she had a bag of supplies draped across one shoulder.
She was holding a xiphos in one hand and a javelin in another. Altogether the impression she gave off was regal and intimidating. Luke knew he could take her if things devolved, despite the fact that she was mostly likely a fucking Amazon, he was confident in his skills but he wasn’t in the best shape physically or mentally at the moment, so it would be hellish.
Besides, he was here because he was sick of this war. He didn’t exactly want to fight her. He didn’t want to fight anyone. He had seen enough of war and it made him sick
“Escaping,” he told her honestly. “I hope, anyway.”
Luke shifted as she ran her eyes over him, well aware of how he appeared. His t-shirt was tattered and blood-stained from the wounds on his chest and back, his hair was greasy and flat, his blue eyes were hollow and dead, his face was marred by small scratches and the nasty scar across his eye he’d earned so many years before in the Garden of the Hesperides, and his skin was spread too thinly across his six foot three form. He was like a poster child for someone trying to escape an abusive situation.
The woman’s eyes softened.
“Who hurt you?” She asked softly, her eyes promising hell.
Luke laughed bitterly. “You can’t save me. It was a god.”
I brought this on myself, anyway, and if you get involved Kronos will come for you…and I’ve ruined more than enough lives.
The woman muttered curses in rapid fire Spanish. But then she placed her sword on the ground, slipped the bag off her shoulders, and held it out to him. He stared at in shock. He couldn’t remember the last time a stranger- let alone someone he knew- had helped him.
Oh, yes I can. It was Ethan. Poor, poor Ethan, who’s dead now because of me.
Luke’s throat felt tight. “I can’t.”
“You can,” the woman told him firmly. “Take it. Go. Survive. There’s food in here, bandages, and ambrosia for your wounds. I can’t help you escape the gods, no matter how I wish I could…but I can help you with this. And if you ever get out and need someone to turn to, IrisMessage me. I’ll help you. My name’s Hylla.”
Luke’s hands were shaking as he accepted the bag from Hylla. “W-why are you doing this?”
“I’m an Amazon. We are the spiritual daughters of Ares, who protects women in bad situations. We extend that same courtesy to those of all genders.” Hylla’s mouth twisted in a sad smile. “I have a sister, too, and I would hope someone would do the same thing for her if she ended up in a similar situation, so I do for others what I hope others would do for her.”
Luke imagined his siblings. He knew that even now he’d defy Kronos for them, risk death to keep them safe.
“And,” Hylla added gently, “no one deserves this. No matter how much they may tell themselves that they do.”
She gave him such a knowing look that Luke felt like she was seeing through his clothes and skin down to his soul. He was certain, now, that she knew exactly who he was.
Yet she still helped me. Yet she says I don’t deserve this.
Luke had seen far too much to ever truly believe that people could be good without any intentions, but this…this made him doubt his worldview, if only a little bit. And it warmed the broken pieces of his heart. Maybe he didn’t deserve this after all.
“Thank you,” Luke whispered.
Hylla shook her head. “You don’t need to thank me. I’m just being a good person.”
They parted ways soon after, but what Hylla had said would stick with Luke forever.
*
Present day
Greece
“You’re Hylla’s sister,” Luke said in realization. “You look just like her.”
Reyna’s eyes widened. “You…you met my sister?"
Percy looked at Luke in shock. “What the fuck? When did you meet-”
Luke sighed, the air seeming to be even colder to his skin now than it had been only moments before. “When I ran away from Kronos for the last time. She gave me supplies.”
She was the first person since Ethan to be nice to me.
“You ran away from Kronos?” Annabeth whispered.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Luke said in exasperation, angry tears starting to burn in his eyes. “Of course I did! I did it several times! The guy was a dick, and it didn’t take me long to figure that out. But by the time I realized, I had dug my grave, and there was no one there to help me out.”
Luke tried to steady his breathing. It didn’t do much. He turned his back to Percy and the others, choosing instead to face the entrance that lead below deck. He felt all of their eyes burning into his skin and he fucking hated it. His emotions were boiling over the edges of the mental box he had them shoved in, and he couldn’t quite stop the flow of it.
“What?” He scoffed, angry hurt bleeding into his voice. “Did you think I was happy? Oh, you have no idea. You weren’t there the first times I tried to kill myself- the time I tried to hang myself, the time I shot myself in the chest and Kronos made me miss my heart by a milimeter, the time I took so many pills I seized and I swear to God I saw my father’s disappointed face peering down at me.”
A cough tore its way out of his throat, leaving a metallic liquid dripping out of his mouth. It burned like the waters of the Phlegethon, which had helped keep him alive for so long in Tartarus’ inhumane conditions.
“You were there the first time Kronos decided he didn’t just need promises and threats to keep me in line. But you didn’t see it. I made sure you didn’t. You didn’t see the bruises, or the blood between my thighs, and you weren’t there for every time afterward. Which I don’t quite understand, considering how sad you acted when I died, as if you actually still cared.”
“You don’t think we were genuinely sad that you died?” Percy repeated. “That we didn’t care?”
Luke wiped at the blood leaking from his mouth, but it was a hopeless cause; nothing would staunch the flow. “Honestly? The fuck do I know. You guys never responded to my pleas for help, but you were so happy to see me down in Tartarus.”
Annabeth sounded horrified when she next spoke. “What pleas?”
“In the early days of the war, when I saw just how far Kronos was willing to go, I sent IrisMessages to you, Percy, Grover, fuck, even Mister D, asking for a way out. No one ever answered. By the time you guys actually offered a way out, it was too late; my grave was too deep. That’s when I realised that death was the only place I’d ever be free of him- he was in my head, all day, every day, whispering to me, stalking my dreams, and later, controlling my body as if I were a toy puppet on his strings.”
“That’s fucked up,” someone else said, reminding Luke that him, Percy, and Annabeth weren’t alone.
“I didn't realise it was so hellish,” Annabeth whispered, sounding on the verge of tears.
Luke hated himself for hurting her. But then again, a part of him felt relief about finally getting this off of his chest. He was finally sharing his burden, and the weight was lifting off of his shoulders.
“You wouldn’t,” Luke told her curtly, coughing up more blood. “Our pantheon is not reliant upon possession regularly and as such there is no rigid consent system.”
“There’s one that is regularly dependent on possession?" Percy sounded confused. “How do you know this?”
“I had a Titan in my head for years, Percy, I know way too fucking much that I shouldn’t.”
Luke’s vision tunneled just as the pain in his lungs worsened sharply and before he knew it he was alling, falling, falling yet again, as if he were in a dream.
I knew this was too good to be true, he thought, and then he knew no more.