Chapter Text
He’d never died before.
But he had been to Hades.
He had swam in the Styx. He’d heard the shades on its banks begging for change. Entered the ice cold waters, the river seeming to seep into every pore of his skin. Seeping in like it was attempting to extract his very soul for its keeping. He’d almost drowned in it. Nearly.
The journey was not one easily forgotten.
Yes, he’s experienced the damp, dark, oppressive atmosphere that cloaked the whole of the Underworld. It’s a chilling place void of life.
And well this, this didn’t feel like that. Not at all.
He doesn’t dare open his eyes, perhaps afraid of what he’ll be met with. Annabeth had called him a hero in his final moments, said he would go to Elysium. And he had joked with her saying he’d go for rebirth and try for the Isles of the Blest. But truthfully, Luke had no such hopes. While it was nice to be called a hero Luke knew he was no such thing.
His fingers twitch as he recalls holding the blade that he had swiftly impaled himself on. His left armpit itches in memory of him striking his weak spot. The blade had been Annabeth’s. The one he gave her when he and Thalia first found her on the run. Fitting for it to be his end. That’s what he gets for not keeping his promise.
Luke squeezes his eyes closed, his scar pulled taut by the action.
It doesn’t make any sense. Moments before he had been battling back the will of the King of Titan’s to gain control of his own body again. He had made a decision to end it all. To stop fighting for what he had fought for for so many years. For all the family he had sacrificed in its name. He knew he was being manipulated for quite some time. Yet when he had almost tasted victory, he realized it was no longer his own. Why overthrow one tyrant to replace them with another?
So, he took his own life. And in doing so brought down Kronos’ rising. Hopefully for good.
Sea green eyes float in Luke’s mind staining the backs of his eyelids.
He had promised Luke. Not again. It wouldn’t happen again.
And Luke trusts him with the promise. He trusts him more than he’d like to admit. But the kid was unwavering. He was fully devoted to his friends and family, to Camp. Willing to throw everything away for their happiness and safety. Loyal to a fault.
A familiar seed of jealousy pits itself in Luke’s chest.
The two of them seemed to be two sides of the same coin. So similar yet endlessly different. In every aspect Luke failed he seemed to succeed. First it instilled fear. But the fear was quick to morph into jealousy.
But then again, what use do the dead have for such frivolous feelings?
Dead, yes. Luke Castellan, son of Hermes and May Castellan, is dead.
So just why does his skin tingle with the sensation of Apollo’s rays shining upon it?
Why can he hear Poseidon’s waves lapping against the land in the never ending tug of the earth and sea?
Why can he feel granules of sand between his fingertips? Why can he hear the distant sounds of heavy footsteps, clanging armor, and sharpening of swords?
No, this can not be Hades. So just…where is he?
Luke’s lips press together to form a thin line as he battles with himself whether or not to risk opening his eyes. It could all be a dream. Not that he’d heard of dreams before Thanatos’ coming but Luke’s luck has never been favorable. Or perhaps this is a lesson of some sort that he must face before he can enter the Underworld’s gates.
With only one way to find out, Luke allows his sky blue eyes to open. He winces as the light stings them abrasively.
The sun appears almost angry in the sky with the way it blazes so severely upon the earth. A blaze that scorches crops and burns the skin. It casts its ray viciously upon the living world in its outburst of rage.
Luke pulls himself up into a sitting position. He narrows his eyes at the blazing fire ball wondering what has upset the god this time. The gods never seem to be in good moods for long. Emotions changing quicker than the direction of the wind.
He sighs, putting thoughts of the sun god to the side, and brushes the sand off his hands against his shirt. He blinks in amazement at what he finds, hands going still against the fabric. He’s wearing his old camp shirt. The ugly orange stirs such deep nostalgia within him Luke can’t help but let out a broken laugh. The action causes his throat to spasm. He can’t remember the last time he had cause to laugh.
Whoever has placed him upon this beach surely has a sense of humor to dress him in this.
Luke’s dressed like he never left Camp. Never set the pit scorpion after Percy. Never poisoned Thalia’s tree. Never gathered an army. Never commanded the Princess Andromeda. Never assisted in the rising of Kronos’.
It’s as if it’s all been erased.
He feels younger too. His body less weary than it had grown. Like he had gone from twenty-three to nineteen again all in the blink of an eye.
Luke looks out to the sea. It’s a gorgeous blue. Its waves are rather choppy and relentless. It spans as far as he can see against the horizon.
Something catches his eye and he pauses as he looks to his left. He’s greeted with hundreds of ships stationed along the beach. As if that wasn’t an odd sight itself, the boats themselves are rather…peculiar in appearance. They look like the ancient vessels the Greeks had commanded. Not like boats that would be found in the modern age. Strange.
An uneasy feeling shrouds itself over Luke causing him to shiver.
Unsure how to proceed, he hoists himself up. As he stands he gets a better view of the beach. And of what lies behind it. Luke’s eyes widen as he sees a massive camp site littering the terrain. He can’t make out the people inside of it, the distance too great, but he’s quickly under the impression they are not of familiarity.
It can’t be the half-bloods. There’s not enough of them in the world to make up the huge campsite. So just…who are these people? And where is he?
Irritance flares in Luke’s chest. He clenches his fist itching for a blade. Unfortunately it appears whoever brought him here did not see it fit to grant him a weapon.
Luke looks back towards the sea and the sun. An idea forms in his mind. One he is quick to dismiss.
Why would he bother praying to his father? Sure in the end Luke had saved Olympus. In the end he knew his father loved him. But that doesn’t mean Luke has forgiven him. Has forgiven any of the gods for how they treat their children.
No, he won’t seek answers from the gods.
He will complete this task on his own. He will fulfill whatever has halted him from the afterlife. He will—
Luke freezes as the hairs on the back of his neck rise along with a wave of goosebumps on his arms. Over the years of secrecy and battle Luke has become rather efficient at telling when someone has their eyes set on him.
And for once, something in this strange landscape feels familiar.
Luke slowly turns to his right. There’s several large boulders sitting in the surf as if they’d been hurled there, looking rather out of place. But their misplacement in not what has Luke on edge. Not, it’s the head of black inky hair and sea green eyes peeking above one of the boulders that has his heart racing as fast as a released arrow.
He knows those eyes. They once looked to him for guidance. Looked at him with hope, admiration, thankfulness, and trust. Until he had scorned them. Then he was forever met with hurt, distrust, anger, sadness, disappointment, and finality. Finality for what must be done.
Yes, the eyes of his past sworn enemy. Percy Jackson.
But, as Luke gazes at them intently, there’s something off about them now.
For one, they appear larger than he remembers. Like they take up half the kid’s face which is hidden behind the large array of rocks.
But also, the fact that they show no recognition. None of the usual emotions shine in them as they gaze upon Luke. Only confusion and apprehension can be found. And well, perhaps a shred of hope, but that could merely be Luke’s delusion. Why would Percy Jackson of all people look to him for hope?
Luke swallows thickly. His tongue has become heavy as lead in his mouth. His throat is dry as if stuffed with cotton and his pulse thrums with a vengeance in his veins.
His voice comes out weak, wavering slightly, as he addresses the son of Poseidon, “Funny seeing you here, Perce.”
The greeting falls flat as Percy doesn’t emerge from his safety behind the boulders.
How it’s comfortable crouching that low to the ground is beyond Luke but he supposes he’d hide from himself as well in the current scenario.
Luke sighs as he brushes his hand through his hair in an anxious habit, “I uh…”
He struggles to grasp for words. Unsure if this is truly Percy he’s speaking to. It seems unlikely that the gods would stick their hero with him. Unless they decided Percy was too much of a threat again and killed him.
The thought oddly sends a pang of sorrow through Luke.
He licks his lips as his hand falls to his side uselessly before he can pull out too much of his hair, “I’m not sure why you’re with me right now.”
Luke’s stance stiffens as his voice becomes hardened. His eyes are lazer focused on Percy now. Eyes that have grown stormy, “You’re supposed to be upholding your promise.”
This seems to irritate the kid. Like Luke is speaking cryptically in intentional efforts to taunt him.
And well, Luke is partially taunting him.
He knows Percy decently well. Knows how to push his buttons. Certainly knows the kid well enough to draw him out from behind a pile of rocks.
He hums dealing the final blow, “Don’t make me call your Mom, kid.”
It’s a jest. A poke at Percy’s youth, sure. But Luke is well aware of how much Percy cares for his mother. Hell, the kid’s first quest was going to the Underworld for her with practically no questions asked.
The words do a little more than he anticipates.
Just like that it’s as if Luke has said the secret password.
Percy’s eyes come alive, widening drastically, pupils blown. His gaze which had been analyzing Luke apprehensively pinpoints Luke on the earth like he’s the most important thing to ever grace it. Like he holds all the answers to Percy’s questions.
It’s…somewhat unsettling. Which is saying a lot for Luke who has spent the past several years in the company of the worst of Tartarus’ freed prisoners. The hungry eyes of the most vile monsters that haunt little demigod’s dreams do not seem to compare to the eager look Percy is giving him.
Before Luke can debate saying anything more Percy seems to come to a decision. He stops peeking over the boulder cluster and climbs over them until he’s in plain sight.
Which takes a moment for Luke to realize. Because one moment Percy vanished from sight and the next there’s a small child standing a couple feet away from him.
Luke squints over to the boulders searching for Percy but cannot find any trace of the half-blood.
The only thing stranger to Luke than a random kid appearing is Percy Jackson not immediately throwing himself in front of said random kid to protect them.
Luke opens his mouth to taunt Percy into coming out again yet it goes slack when his eyes naturally drift towards the child.
Oh.
Huh.
Luke squints in bewilderment as those familiar sea green eyes stare up at him expectantly.
Like Luke had suspected earlier, they do in fact take up half of the kid’s face. The kid’s face that has chubby cheeks full from baby fat yet lost. With the same inky black hair and bangs that wisp just above those ever-changing eyes.
This is undoubtedly Percy Jackson.
The only problem is instead of his usual five foot nine Percy can’t even reach the five foot mark. Luke would estimate Percy in his current state would be lucky to make it up to Luke’s upper thighs let alone his hips.
Percy’s tiny. With tiny hands tugging on a t-shirt that appears to be from an aquarium gift shop.
He looks so… helpless like this.
It’s strange.
Luke has had his ass handed to him more times than he can count by Percy Jackson. Whether in a sword fight duel to the death or being sucker punched with a stream of gallons of water straight to the face.
The kid’s a powerhouse. A child of the big three.
But now Percy looks like if the wind blew too hard he’d get swept up in the process.
Luke’s always been good with kids. He simply treats them how he would like to be treated, and that usually works.
He was great with Annabeth when she was seven. And he was great with his younger siblings as the cabin head counselor.
So by all means, he should be handling this situation with ease.
Except this isn’t just any kid.
It’s Percy Jackson.
Percy Jackson who Luke has only known since he was twelve years old. Who should be sixteen years old.
He blurts out the first sentence he can manage to string together from his jumbled mess of thoughts, “Why are you so tiny?”
The kid stops pulling at the bottom of his shirt at the remark. It’s clear to Luke Percy is attempting to glare at him in stark offense and disapproval but the kid fails by a mile. All that comes across is an adorable pout that makes Luke wanna squeeze him.
Luke shakes his head at his reaction, fearing he’s losing his sanity by the second. He looks Percy up and down wondering if this is some elaborate trick of the mist or purposeful prank being played on him, “What are you, like five?”
A voice that has always been high pitched with youth to Luke’s ears comes out like a squeaky toy. A very indignant very pissed squeaky toy.
Percy stomps his foot in the sand as agitation runs through his small form. It’s not lost on Luke how the sea next to them has grown more and more choppy suddenly. The waves growing large enough to crash over Luke’s head and sweep him out to sea effortlessly.
It takes everything in Luke to not laugh at Percy shouts at him, “I’m not tiny!”
The kid crosses his arms while he mumbles, “Mama says I’ll grow if I drink my milk.”
He tilts his chin up defiantly and loudly proclaims, “And ‘m seven!”
Luke begins to chuckle at that, “Right right, my apologies.” He spreads his hands out placatingly, “You see, it’s just you should be about ten years older.”
Percy sniffs at him like he’s not the strangest thing he’s ever seen but still strange enough to be of annoyance. Seeing as the kid is from New York, it’s probably accurate.
Percy seems to completely ignore Luke’s words and instead says with desperate searching eyes, “You know my name”, he takes a hesitant step closer to Luke, “and you said you’d call my Mama.”
His voice grows quiet, vulnerable, as Percy casts his eyes downward as he says in a near plea, “Can you…call her? I’m lost.”
Lost. Right. Percy’s the lost one.
Luke seriously debates whether or not he should reconsider that prayer to his father or one of the other gods.
Keeping his voice steady and calm as to not spook the kid, even though he feels near manic by the whole situation, Luke prompts Percy,
“What do you remember last?”
Percy frowns at having his question ignored but concedes as he seems to become aware Luke may be his only ticket out of this strange place, “I was taking a nap.”
Percy tilts his head up towards the skies as he recounts, “Usually get weird dreams, all the time, but this one was super weird.”
Typical for demigods to experience odd dreams as gods can send them to them. But Luke had picked up on the fact that Percy seemed to have an odd affinity when it came to dreams. Such as when the kid somehow managed to spy on him and Kronos during the war through his dreams. It always unsettled Luke. Reminding him of someone he’d rather forget.
Percy scrunches up his nose as he struggles to recall the fading memory, “There were three old ladies.”
Luke’s face pales at this. It…could be the Gray sisters. Three old ladies doesn’t have to mean those three old ladies.
“And they were holding some thread and like really really long scissors.”
Well fuck him he guesses.
Luke’s fingers beat a frantic rhythm into the side of his hip as he struggles not to shake now tiny Percy to spit the rest of it out. Anxious to hear what transpired between the child and the Fates.
Percy then locks eyes with Luke and speaks. It’s still Percy’s childish voice. Yet now it rings with an ancient power. A green mist shrouds the kid’s eyes obscuring the whites,
“To the Ancient past two will be sent
Unable to resist our will’s intent
To learn the true nature of the gods
Against terrible odds
Repeat mistakes or change Fate
One will serve as bait
The other will make the change
Only then will your fates be exchanged”
Luke blinks. Once. Twice. As Percy stands ramrod straight. Unseeing eyes locked onto Luke’s terrified blue ones.
A prophecy. Percy just spoke a prophecy to him.
Percy who is apparently a prophet now. A seven year old prophet who has been cursed alongside Luke to ancient times all to…to what? ‘Learn the true nature of the gods’? What is that even supposed to mean! Luke already knows the true nature of the gods.
Before Luke can curse out the old hags in his head for the next several minutes his attention is caught by Percy whose eyes have lost their all encompassing green mist and are drooping. As the kid starts to slump forward and looks like he’s about to eat sand Luke springs into action.
He doesn’t even process what he’s done until he has an arm full of drowsy child in his grasp.
He’s panting, he realizes. Whether from the sudden exertion to catch Percy or from the panic seizing his mind, heart, and soul.
He wants to weep. For himself or the child in his arms, he doesn’t know.
Is any of this even real? Or is this some cruel punishment from the Fates? Them taunting Luke that he could somehow do something to prevent how everything unfolded?
All the questions melt away as Percy turns slightly, snuggling into Luke’s chest. Staring down at the innocent child who has yet to experience hardship, Luke comes to a conclusion.
Screw if this is real or not. If it’s a chance to undo all the suffering he’s caused, he’s going to take it.
Even if that means it’ll be alongside the seven year old version of his old enemy and friend.
Luke looks up to the sky, to the heavens, and thinks to himself,
‘Well, I practically raised one seven year old, what’s another?’
Sure the first one wasn’t a prophet nor a child of the big three. And Luke wasn’t completely alone and in an entirely unknown world during the process.
But hey, how bad could it be?
Very, is the answer.