Concrete Angel
Stormy gray
This story is dedicated to a friend of mine. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, rapi-tortuga ;D! I hope you like your gift :D
Now, dear reader:
I am full aware I should be working on 'Somewhere in Time' because you guys are tired of me stretching the plot like that. I know, I'm sorry. I just wanted to post this next unplanned one-shot. This is sort of the continuity to Concrete Angel, when Annabeth is running around with Luke and Thalia. I suggest you take your time reading this, because, like in Concrete Angel, I put a lot of thought to the phrasing more than anything. Thanks for all those beautiful reviews, sorry if it made you cry.
Disclaimer- I don't own Percy Jackson and the Olympians.
Concrete Angel
Drabble #2- Stormy Gray.
She's heard the phrase thrice.
—
The first time, the words come from Thalia.
"I don't know, Luke," she whispers late at night to her friend, when they both think Annabeth is asleep. "I'm worried about Annabeth."
She listens more intently the moment her name is mentioned, fidgeting on the warm clothes that act as bed sheets.
"Hey, it's okay. She's doing fine, Thalia, we'll get there." He tries to soothe his friend, but she merely snorts, refusing to let go of her assertion.
"Okay? You call what she is now 'okay'? Did you see the size of that cut? Because it seemed pretty big to me. What if it had been worse, huh?"
She remembers not to shudder as she is brought back momentarily to today's…event.
She knows monsters don't purposefully miss the scent of three half-bloods walking around. She wasn't even scared of this dracaena. She just forgot to keep her balance and cut her arm, and everyone acted like she needed stitches; Thalia especially. Luke didn't mind so much, and that's what she liked best about him—and she liked many things about him—to him, she was brave.
She returns her attention to the present, where she is listening to a conversation about herself.
"But it wasn't." He contradicts, struggling to keep the volume of his voice moderated.
"Oh, really?" Thalia says, her whispered shout somewhat poisoned with resentment. "And what if next time it is really bad? Then what?"
"There won't be a next time."
Almost immediately, Annabeth can sense Thalia's sardonic scoffing.
"That is one of the biggest, fattest lies I have ever heard, Luke. There will always be a next time. We're standing in a storm." She grumbles.
She doesn't pay attention to what Luke has to say to that, because really, it doesn't matter. True to her godly parentage, Annabeth sets her mind on finding out what Thalia had meant. It wasn't raining that night, and they weren't even standing.
— —
Days later, she has yet to find the answer to the problem that has kept her mind busy. She's grateful for that.
"What are you thinking about so hard?" Luke's voice makes its way through her precious thoughts, disrupting them. They have stopped at a playground in Brooklyn for lunch.
"The food." She lies, "it's better than the one I used to eat."
She knows Luke won't even bother to see if truth is coming out of her lips or not; he's learned not to question her when she is so absorbed in her thoughts. To him, Annabeth's mind is uncharted territory better left that way.
"I'll bet," he agrees with a smile. "You still hungry?"
Annabeth shakes her head. Her curls are longer now, and they move and bounce as she does. She hands half of her cookie to him. He takes it, deciding to keep it just in case she gets hungry again.
Thalia arrives with a new Green Day button on her jacket. "You wanna get on the swings, kiddo?"
Annabeth jumps down from the bench she's been sitting on while she ate, taking Thalia's hand and dragging her towards the rusty playground. As she sits on the bright yellow seat, curling her fingers around the chains, she wonders aloud, hoping Thalia might answer.
"Thalia, why didn't I have a childhood?"
The daughter of Zeus freezes in place, wondering how on earth to reply. Sometimes the kid's too smart for her own good. She decides she must understand the question first.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, according to experts, most of the physical and mental development of a person take place in childhood. Most of them agree that, although exercise during childhood is important, the emphasis should be on fun and play. Why didn't I get to play, Thalia? Does it mean I didn't have a childhood because I didn't have fun?"
Her tone nearly brings Thalia to tears. How is it possible to say something like that in such an innocent way? So…childlike?
"No." She finally answers with enough composure, proper of a teenager. "Of course not. Where did you read that, anyway?"
"Luke gave me a book." She answers.
Thalia stiffens. Luke. She'd definitely have to be supervising Annabeth's reading list from now on.
"Well, don't worry. There's still plenty of time for you to play. We're doing that right now." Thalia's tone is final, promptly ending the conversation. She feels uncomfortable talking about feelings, and even more when she knows she's lying to a seven-year-old about those feelings.
Annabeth shrugs as her friend pushes her higher up. She likes the feeling of flying; she finds comfort there, away from all else. As she swings back and forth, she finds the break that makes it okay. That makes swinging on a rusty playground somewhere in New York a beautiful distraction.
The daughter of Athena knows lying is a bad thing to do. Worse even when she tries to lie to herself, but she does it anyway. She makes up words, faces, scenes, life. She's calmer that way, and when her feet touch the ground again, she's sad. Because stepping on the dust means stepping on reality. A reality she'd rather not be living, having found new family or not.
"We're standing in a storm." Thalia's voice plays in her mind.
— —
The second time she hears it, the words come from Luke, and she is still trying to figure them out.
He storms into the alley where she and Thalia are waiting for him. The latter has been watching the younger one trying to read a dictionary.
Annabeth looks up, distracted by the sound Luke's ragged breathing makes. He is wearing a large smile, much like always, and in his hand he holds a big paper bag.
"Where have you been?" Thalia demands, standing up to greet him.
"Sorry. It's hard to be sneaky when the stores are crowded with customers." His tone does not suggest sarcasm, rather, it suggests exasperation. "I brought some more food; we were running low on water, too. I also have…somewhere in here…aha!" he cries triumphantly after moving things around in his bag. He lifts some cloth up for both girls to see.
"What is that?" Annabeth cries in a disdainful tone that makes Thalia cackle. Luke doesn't seem to mind.
"These, young lady, are new jackets for all three of us. And we should put them on. It's getting cold." He hands a black leather jacket to Thalia and a green, fluffy one to Annabeth. "I didn't know your sizes, and I had to hurry so…sorry if they're a bit big."
He keeps apologizing as Annabeth tries it on. Her nose wrinkles as she sees the green army jacket around her little torso. It makes her feel bulky, but she must admit she's warm if not anything else.
Thalia doesn't comment. She likes almost anything that's leather and black, even if she has to roll the sleeves up her arms for her hands to show.
"All right," Luke says. "Who's hungry?"
While Thalia jumps forward for the apple on Luke's hand, Annabeth retreats to her book. She is trying to decipher the definition of a word, but it's hard for her. Not just because she's young, but because the letters move. She can't really make them stay still for more than ten seconds.
Family- group of people related by blood or marriage.
When she finally makes out those words, she frowns. She frowns because she finds out that her new friends don't fit the description of family. This angers her, makes her feel confused.
Thalia and Luke are her family, and for the first time, she does NOT agree with the dictionary.
She walks over in a serious fashion to where Luke is sitting . "Luke?"
"Hmm?" his mouth is full.
"Are we family?"
The two older demigods glance at each other questioningly. Luke swallows uncomfortably, sensing a long conversation coming.
"Sure we are, Annabeth. We're family; you, Thalia, and me."
"But we're not married!" She protests. "Or blood-related. How can we be family, then?"
Thalia chokes on her apple, wondering how on earth this poor toddler is still sane. Her eyes are always some sad shade of gray, and her lips are constantly set in a frown. She waits for Luke to answer Annabeth's question, because truly, she has no answer herself.
"Because we're special, that's why. And special people have special families, like this one. Families that are not in that dictionary of yours."
Annabeth ponders that for a long time, until she finally says, "That's strange."
Thalia leans forward. "Why is it strange, Annabeth?"
"If we're special, we shouldn't be so sad."
Luke is taken aback, worry etched on his face for the little blond girl in front of him. "We're not sad."
"Yes we are." She states emotionlessly, factually. "We're a sad family, Luke. Maybe that's why they didn't put us in the dictionary."
With that, she shrugs and yawns dramatically, settling in Luke's open arms but not noticing his expression; a mix of awe and anxiety.
It's colder already, but they can't build a fire. The only solution is to sleep as close to each other as possible, And even though Annabeth denies it, Luke and Thalia realize the need to keep her warmer still, because of her age, so they take turns each night to hold her. The daughter of Athena realizes this, of course, and she develops the ability to slow down her breathing enough for them to think she's asleep.
"So," Thalia begins, letting out a breath. "What now?"
"I have no idea," he whispers, and after a long pause speaks again, his voice somehow weaker. Discouraged. "You were right."
"About what?"
He sighs. "I'm worried, too. I mean, did you just hear that?" He says disbelievingly.
She can't open her eyes to see Thalia nod or frown, but Annabeth knows she does.
"What do you suggest we do about it? We're all troubled kids, aren't we?" she laughs in a bleak manner.
It's that sound of hopeless laughter that frightens Annabeth most about Thalia. How can anyone laugh without being happy? It's been weeks since she herself has laughed.
"We are." Luke agrees and concludes in a monotone. "Annabeth was right, too. We are one sad family standing in the eye of the storm."
Annabeth is too tired to gasp, but she reminds herself to put the matter off until tomorrow, when her mind is more alert. In the meantime, she wishes for sleep.
It's hard, at the end of the day. Because when all she wants is to be weightless, she finds that nighttime is where most of the work needs to be done. She has to find her distraction, that one thing that might pull her from herself. But it gets easier. Because, unlike when she had to build her own wings, she now sleeps in the arms of an angel itself. And it doesn't take as much effort to fly away from the endlessness that she feels in conscious state.
Memory seeps from her veins, and she is no longer walking the horrible earth. She's empty, carrying no weight, not even her own.
She finds her desired peace just when the silver moon rolls over, and, as always, forgets to shine on the alley where they rest. But she's comforted for now, in the arms of the angel. She ought to find some solace here.
Only the nagging remind of both Thalia's and Luke's words refuses to leave her, and she's not in good company at that.
"We're standing in the eye of the storm."
Storm, storm, storm.
— —
And the third time…well, the third time is self-explanatory.
She finds out tonight she doesn't like the rain.
Gray eyes flare open in the middle of the night, refusing to stay asleep even though the girl who owns them orders them to. Thunder be damned.
As best as she can, under the various jackets and clothing Luke and Thalia have placed on her, she wriggles out silently, wincing at the hitching in Thalia's quiet breathing.
This time, they have managed to make a tent big enough for the three of them, somewhere on a deserted road. Annabeth steps outside barefoot, eager for the only clue she's had in the past three weeks.
Rain.
The sky opens and water pours down, drenching her clothes completely as she stands there, staring blankly, placing no mind into the images her gray eyes capture.
The drops fall incessantly onto everything they please, and she hates it. She hates how you can't know where the water will fall, she hates the way they mark with little dark circles everything they touch, including her clothes. Her only set of pajamas! Thunder and rain be damned once more.
And then, then lightning flashes. She looks around, becoming alarmed.
She's alone.
She can't fly in this weather. She can't soar and drown in the lies she makes up for what she lacks. She tries, but water seeps through her wings as memories seep back into her blood. She is grounded. Feet buried in the dark mud.
Before she knows it, there's more water, but it's not coming from the clouds. She rubs her eyes in an attempt to catch the raindrops. She sobs at the resemblance her eye-color has with the clouds. A color Luke likes to call stormy gray.
This is the third time. The time she finally understands that storms come from broken people. That her eyes, just like the clouds, can rain.
"The eye of a storm." Luke's voice rings in her mind. Her eyes are the storm.
The gray orbs respond with drops that should be falling from the sky, not from herself.
"I'm standing in a storm." She whispers in realization.
The third time, she hears it from herself.
Leave me your thoughts in a review!
Anna:)
