Disclaimer: I am not, and will never be, Rick Riordan. Sadly, this means I don't own Percy Jackson.
Warnings: Self-edited, swearing, PTSD.
"It's hard to enjoy practical jokes when your whole life feels like one."
-Percy Jackson
This was a different kind of nightmare, Percy quickly realized.
It wasn't the usual Kronos-is-using-my-body-to-do-something-Terrible variation, or its normal substitute, the reliving-Thalia's-tree-death-plus-additional-death, or even the rare I'm-being-killed-by-a-giant-dragon-and-Hermes-is-watching-and-is-ignoring-my-prayers one.
If Luke's yelling was anything to go by, this was new.
Carelessly setting the relit half-melted candle down by their bedside, Percy shifted to the edge of the bed as Luke began to thrash.
"Please. . .not do this. .Kronos. . . fight. .P'rcy. . ."
At the sound of his name, Percy leaned forward, and almost received a fist to the face for his efforts. Undeterred, Percy began to slowly move the edge of the bed and collect himself, talking quietly all the while.
"Luke? Luke, it's Percy Jackson, you're not fighting anyone, you're with me. You're in Seward, Alaska, and Kronos is gone. We're both safe. Annabeth and Thalia are safe. There's only me, Percy Jackson, Luke. No one else. No one else," he repeated quietly. Percy's tone was smooth and practiced as he ran through the familiar speech. He began to shuffle closer to Luke. But the moment he brushed Luke's shoulder, Percy found himself below Luke, his hold on Percy's upper arms immovable.
Dude, boundaries, Percy thought hysterically as he looked up at Luke, fighting down the instinctive adrenaline rush. We talked about this. House rules, right up there with doing your own laundry. No playing pin-the-demigod.
Percy didn't try to escape the hold, and just waited for Luke to finish waking up. That, or find whatever he was looking for.
"Percy?" Luke said a moment later, his voice raw and desperate as his grip on Percy's arms bordered on painfully tight. "Your eyes—your eyes. . ."
While in the past he might have been quick to verbally reassure Luke, Percy knew better by now. He simply kept the low flame close to his face, and his eyes as wide as he could manage as the son of Hermes studied his face, his irregular huffs of air warm against Percy's cheek.
Actions usually pulled Luke out of it more quickly than words ever did; too many false promises had been made before for words to ever settle him on nights like this.
". . .They're green," Luke whispered at last, closing his own bright blue ones in relief. His head fell forward until his forehead stopped against Percy's flannel-clad shoulder. Percy's free hand automatically came up to hold it in place, clutching at the short yellow strands at the base of his neck. Beneath his fingers, Percy could feel Luke's blood racing.
Not gold.
The unspoken phrase hung heavy in the air in their small cabin, and the memory of Kronos's cold presence seemed almost tangible in the Alaskan night. Percy mentally began to count the seconds passing, and as he approached four minutes, Luke's pulse began to slow, and his iron grip on Percy began to slowly relax. The only adjustment Percy did, though, was to make sure they weren't about to fall off the bed.
They stayed like that for a while, and Percy took the opportunity to look out their little window above the bed at the starry sky, picking out constellations Annabeth had told him about, and making up a few of his own.
Eventually, Luke slowly rose his head from the familiar nook on Percy's collarbone. Luke didn't look at Percy as he spoke tersely, his gaze fixed on something over Percy's shoulder. "How long?"
Percy, not for the first time, wished he could consider lying to Luke. "About twelve minutes, I think. "
The older demigod nodded to himself. In the rapidly diminishing light, Percy couldn't see his facial expression. "Did I hurt you?"
"Never."
The explosive sigh was tinged with more than a little relief, and Percy felt his heart clench in both pity and empathy. He could only count himself lucky his demons had decided to take a nap tonight. Last time, he had woken up screaming for his mother, and had given Luke a bloody nose when the son of Hermes had tried to help. Neither of them had been able to look each other in the eye at all the next day, and Luke had insisted on sleeping on the floor until Percy had threatened to shove him into the Pacific Ocean.
As he lay back down, and yanked some of the blankets back from Luke, the thief, Percy mentally added another warped nightmare to his list for nights like this. Behind him, he could feel Luke shift and begin to try and relax back into sleep, his body radiating much-appreciated heat.
—Kronos-is-using-my-body-to-do-something-Terrible
—Reliving-Thalia's-tree-death-plus-additional-death
—I'm-being-killed-by-a-giant-dragon-and-Hermes-is-watching-and-is-ignoring-my-prayers
—Percy-hosting-Kronos-and-fighting-Luke
A/N: I refuse to say whether this is the story I plan to write after Hold Tight and Pretend It's a Plan, because then that commits me to actually writing this bad boy. But I want to, very badly.
So! Quick background for this particular lovely Pieces: At the end of TLO, when they beat Kronos, things go sideways. I do time travel (AGAIN!), and instead of Luke dying, stuff explodes and our favorite son of Poseidon and son of Hermes are yanked back in the time. Specifically, to the eve of World World II (1939) in New York City. The Fates appear, and tell them that through jiggery-pokery-because-I-say-so-damn-it, they're frozen as their current selves until they can re-join their timeline (The moment they disappeared from Olympus). Of course, they can still die and whatnot, but they have to lay low anyway for sixty years. Should be easy for Percy Jackson and Luke Castellan, right?
Why are you all laughing?
ANYWAY, they're informed by the Fates that in order to preserve events in their timeline, they've gotta go to and stay in the land beyond the gods—A.K.A, Alaska.