Summary: Eight months after TLO. Percy and Luke have a conversation by the camp fire. Better than it sounds, but I don't want to give anything else away.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, the PJ books and all characters within them belong to Rick.

AN: One shot. May be a bit sad. As the Summary says, 8 months after TLO. Ignoring TLH. It's slightly Au in that respect, I guess. Sorry for any mistakes or inaccuracies, point them out to me and I'll change them. Thanks x. Will become clear as fic goes on, I swear.

Warnings; implied homosexuality, distress, mentions of death, you know…

/

It was late at night, and it was cold. But Percy didn't care. He was trembling slightly, whether it were from cold, or due to emotions was hard to tell, as he stood near the camp fire, thinking back to the battle; To the dead, to those lost. He remembered the flames, the shroud, the pain, the grief thick in the air…

"Percy," A voice called. Percy's head rose and turned, as Luke strolled into view. The older boy walked over to him, looking saddened. He stopped by the Son of Poseidon's side, wrapped an arm around him; for both comfort and warmth. "It's been eight months, Perce…" He remarked softly.
Swallowing, trying, and failing to repress his sorrow and bitterness Percy leant into him. "I know," It was a soft reply, with sadness twisted all the way through it.
"It wasn't your fault. You need to let go, to move on," The blond informed him, scanning his expression with concerned eyes.
Tears sprung to Percy's eyes almost immediately, obscuring his visions, and making his sea green orbs sting. A sob rose in his throat. He held it back and refused to let the tears fall, desperately trying to get himself in control. "Sorry…So sorry…" He managed to choke out.

Luke pulled him closer, and shook his head. He gently kissed his forehead. "You had to do it…everyone knows that. No one blames you," He attempted to console.
"They should. I do," Percy responded hoarsely.
Luke was silent for a moment. "Percy. You need to get over this…because if you don't you'll go insane," He pointed out, looking slightly distressed by the mere thought of it.
Percy pulled back slightly and looked at him. He laughed; it was a sad, and bitter sound, full of no humour what so ever. It was a shadow of laugh…in fact; it could barely be called a laugh. "I think it's safe to say that I already I am insane," He retorted.

"Don't. Don't talk like that, Percy. You had to do it. It had to end, and it had to be you…It couldn't carry on. The war had to end..." Luke argued, trying to make Percy see that he wasn't responsible, that he did what he to. Anger, bitterness, and grief afresh smashed into Percy. He pulled himself out of the other boy's grasp.
"What do you know?" He spat. He then hesitated…he didn't want to say these next words, didn't want to end it all.

"You're dead. You've been dead for eight months. You're nothing but a figment of my imagination," He snarled, forcing himself to say it anyway.
There was a moment of silence. The night settled into a seemingly endless hush. Luke smiled sadly and nodded.
"You're right," He agreed, before vanishing into thin air.

Percy sunk to his knees, tears springing to his eyes again. Yes. The Luke he'd seen a few times over the last eight months…had been just that. His imagination.
Only he'd seen him. Because he hadn't been there. Luke Castellan was dead. And he was not coming back.