[A/N] well, it's been a while, hasn't it?

disclaimer - if you recognize it, it's not mine. i'm not famous. yet.

hope you like it!

Lights Will Guide You Home

a.n. She's never had an easy life, but things finally seem to be coming full circle. / Inspired by the lyrics of Fix You. Credit to Coldplay for the song and to Rick Riordan for everything else.

oOo

". . . lights will guide you home . . ."

oOo

PRE-SERIES

The ground is sodden with rain, and Annabeth's feet are slipping as she scrambles up the hill. She can hear the monsters growling behind her, can hear their sharpened teeth gnashing and their claws ripping into the long blades of grass. The rain is coming down hard, dripping into their eyes and soaking their clothes, nearly blinding them in the darkness of the night.

She risks a glance over her shoulder, gasping in fright at the beasts that are quickly gaining ground. Red eyes stare back at her from the shadows, and she's captivated in horror when her worn-out shoes catch on a protruding root. A whimper escapes her throat as she pitches forward. Her heart's pounding in fear—threatening to bust out of her ribs—and she cries out as her hands hit the ground.

She's scrambling now—hands and knees sinking in the mud as she digs her feet into the water-logged dirt. A clawed hand catches her ankle and she might have screamed as she kicks the monster away. She struggles desperately to get to her feet, but it's pouring and the ground is far too saturated as it is; there's hardly any traction between the rubber soles of her tennis shoes and the muddy earth.

Then a hand flashes out and grips onto her wrist, and a sob of relief builds in her chest as the familiar hand tugs her to her feet. Thalia's blue eyes almost glow in the dark as she asks the nonverbal question: You okay?

Annabeth nods fervently, gasping for the breath that had escaped her in her fright. She has a millisecond to recollect herself before they're running again; Thalia's tugging her up the hill, her grip unrelenting on Annabeth's wrist. The monsters are closer now, and the familiar feeling of dread and terror are once again bubbling up in her chest, building up into a desperate sob that Annabeth refuses to let out.

Thalia suddenly falls behind a bit, pushing Annabeth ahead of her. At the questioning glance Annabeth shoots over her shoulder, the daughter of Zeus nods assuredly at the young girl and shouts, "Go with Luke!" Another hand grips Annabeth's, tugging her up the hill, but the daughter of Athena keeps her gaze locked on Thalia.

The older demigod has her knives out, her feet planted as firmly as she can in the sodden earth. She drops to a defensive stance and Annabeth suddenly realizes what she's doing.

"No!" She screams, but Luke's tug is unrelenting on her hand. "Thalia!"

The daughter of Zeus spares a final glance over her shoulder at her family. She nods once at Luke—a meaningful gesture that's lost on Annabeth in the chaos—and then smiles confidently at Annabeth. Then she turns back to the charging horde of mythological creatures, and she disappears in the crowd, the shadows swallowing them up.

The rain continues to pour.

"Annabeth, come on!" Luke shouts, tugging harder on her arm. His voice is firm, but Annabeth knows him—she can pick out the shakiness in his words. He's just as scared as she is, but he keeps it together for her, so she has to keep it together for him.

Raindrops are streaming down her face, and she ignores how salty some of them taste. She ignores the sounds of fighting at the top of the hill, the sounds of monsters growling, the sounds of a hero fighting her last battle. She ignores every time her feet slip out from beneath her, every bone-deep ache in her body, every sob that wants to escape. The only thing that matters is the hand tightly gripping hers and the safety that Grover had promised awaits at the bottom of the hill.

The satyr had fallen behind them. Annabeth can hear his hooves slipping in the dirt, can hear him encouraging them on, can hear the wavering in his voice that he doesn't have the energy to conceal. She's grateful for him, for his bravery even though he's clearly scared out of his wits. His words are lost in the storm, but the desperation barely hidden beneath his determined tone urges her forward.

So she runs.

In the distance, a structure emerges from the gloom. It's a large house, built old and painted blue, and the lights inside are glowing softly. Grover shouts something behind them, a shaky hand gesturing frantically towards the house, and Luke pours on speed.

Annabeth stumbles after him, the horrors of the night finally becoming too much to bear. Her legs feel weak beneath her. Luke must have felt her slowing down, because he suddenly turns and lifts her up in his arms. She takes it in stride, hugging his waist with her legs and wrapping her arms around his neck. He clutches her tightly against his chest, and she buries her head against his shoulder.

She can feel herself shaking, can feel the tremors in his body as his feet pound against the earth, can feel their soaked clothes weighing them down, but Luke keeps running.

There's an exclamation from Grover—one happier than she's heard in a long time—and she knows they must be getting close. She raises her hand to watch the hill behind them shrink into the distance.

Atop the hill, shadowy figures dance around each other against a backdrop of stars. At the center, a stubborn girl puts up a fight in a battle she'll never win. Her knives glint in what little moonlight breaks through the storm clouds, and her electric eyes glow unnaturally. There's a fierce look in those eyes, and suddenly the menacing glares of the beasts seem like nothing.

The girl is outnumbered. She can't win, but she's determined to go down fighting.

There's a sudden shout of relief from Grover, and Annabeth's eyes have drifted away from the fight to the towering blue house they've made it to when a collective howl of victory erupts from the hilltop.

Her gaze snaps back to the hill. The dance is over—the shadowy figures are slinking away into the night.

An overwhelming feeling of despair builds up in Annabeth's chest, and she cries out. "Thalia," she sobs, burying her face against the crick of Luke's neck. She can feel his pulse pounding, can feel his chest heaving, can feel the shocked and miserable silence that settles on the trio.

Luke hugs her tighter, sinking to his knees on the wooden porch of the large blue house. The lights from inside basks them all in a warm glow, and it might have been comforting had Annabeth not felt frozen to the bone in fear and guilt and despair.

"It's okay," Luke whispers hoarsely, ducking his head against hers. She can't seem to stop trembling but Luke just rocks her back and forth. "We'll be okay."

Annabeth cries against him. Around them, the rain continues to pour as if nothing had happened, as if the terror and despair Annabeth is feeling is insignificant. They're supposed to be safe, their life of running is supposed to be over, but Annabeth just wants to wake up from this nightmare.

"I'm sorry," Luke says, voice cracking as if he's on the verge of tears himself. He hugs her so tight she can hardly breathe, but she collapses into his hold, feeling his shoulders shake. "I'm so sorry."

They stay huddled on the porch for what feels like years, feeling safe in the warm glow of the big house, while the storm around them and inside them rages on.

[A/N] to be continued . . .

go check out my other stories while i work my way around this writer's block :)

- eira -