Concrete Angel
Pull me Down

A/N I am happy to announce 'Concrete Angel' as the Emotional Dumpster. You see, it has evolved into this...thing, and it's getting darker. Love to iBubble for convincing me to turn it into a set of drabbles. And now, I introduce part three, which basically says nothing in two thousand, six hundred and fifty one words! It deserves tomatoes and you know it, so please! Come forth. And now, read on, because it's pointless and hence, great for procrastination :D

Disclaimer- I do not own Percy Jackson and the Olympians, or the emo state this fic is in.


"There's nothing here for us anymore! We have to run!"

Luke pulls her forcefully, tearing her heart and eyes away from the burning shelter. When that doesn't work, he lifts her up, carrying her as he runs.

A scream makes him stop dead in his tracks. It makes Annabeth's legs feel funny, and her head go blank. She has no time to wonder what happened, for Luke's following yell gives her the answer.

"Thalia!"

Luke's face goes white. He drops her swiftly, and makes her stay there, somehow managing to adopt the same calm, sweet tone he always uses with her. "Don't move, Annabeth. Stay here and wait for me. It's okay."

But he turns and runs for the flames.

She is only able to stare and wait, hugging her army jacket closer. She hears the fire cackle, as if taunting her. Daring her to run and save the falling pieces of wood . She has not to wait long for Luke, but it's long enough for the sky to weep the loss of their only refuge. As she listens to the storm, still in a trance, the raindrops seem to whisper. Having barely recovered from Thalia's chilling cry, she hears a growl, not far from where Luke has an arm around his friend's shoulder, helping her walk away. They don't turn to see it, but it's sufficient for Thalia to wave her shield frantically.

As she gets to where Annabeth is, the child is frozen by the gruesome mess her leg has become. Her jeans are torn, and blood flows freely from the wound, staining the ground with a vibrant red. Both demigods have their lips white with shock, and Thalia's face looks ghostly.

"We need to run."

"Just a little farther!" Luke promises desperately. He's been saying so for the past mile, and has only succeeded in exasperating Annabeth beyond proportion.

But then she stumbles over a stray rock, and he grabs her hand, catching her. His grip snakes around her little fingers, hardening with the trust that is ever so common between them. Thalia brings up the rear, brandishing Aegis in despair while grunting curses. Annabeth senses, in some level, that the longer her friend has to limp around, the more frustrated she'll get for not being able to keep up.

Thalia hates to be left behind.

As they get to a ridge, they stare down at a big, white house. Luke abruptly lets go of Annabeth's hand, folding his arms stiffly. His tone though, is casually forced, and Annabeth knows he's angry. His ragged breathing only adds to her assumption.

"All right," he says. "I'll just sneak in and grab some food and medicine. Wait here."

Annabeth takes his hand again, and Thalia does everything but look down the ridge. Her eyes run Luke's words, and she hesitantly protests.

"Luke, are you sure? You swore you'd never come back here. If she catches you…" She leaves the warning hanging in the air, already tangible with tension.

Annabeth has heard stories about his mother. She has heard Luke moan in his sleep for glowing green eyes, and about hiding in a closet. He says his mom is not really one, but Annabeth has a hard time believing it. How could anyone not like Luke? Especially his own mother.

As if searching for reprieve, Luke's hand tightens around Annabeth's in a sudden rise of anger. It hurts him to see the dirt claiming Thalia's blood. It's like she's unwillingly quenching the ground's thirst for the red liquid. But it's hers, damn it!

"We don't have a choice! They burned the safe house, Thalia. You've got to treat that leg wound."

Annabeth notices a shadow lurking under his tone. She's seen enough of it to quickly identify pain. But it's somehow different than the pain in Thalia's leg. She winces, not understanding the dissimilarity. Pain is pain, right? She doesn't find out until much later that it comes in many different shapes and colors. Each uglier than the last.

The house below catches her attention again. It's very pretty; white, big, Colonial style, with paneled windows and a porch. It even has a swing! Luke had a house with a garden and a lawn, where he could run all he wanted to. Why would he ever leave this place? Maybe, she thinks hopefully, maybe we can stay here for a while.

"This is your house?" She finds herself asking.

He looks at her and mutters. "This was my house. Believe me, if it wasn't an emergency…" He shakes his head, disturbing his mental calm. Annabeth presses the subject, gently letting go of his hand. She looks up at him, demanding truth.

If his mother is there, maybe they can see her, and Luke can forgive her for whatever she's done. She can give them food, and a bed. Oh, a bed! Maybe, if she likes Annabeth well enough, she can let her swing on the porch, too. Having no mother of her own, she seeks for contrast. Not all moms can be absent all the time, right? Just if they are important, like Annabeth's, or if they're sick, like Thalia's mom is.

Maybe now Thalia can have a mom, too.

Reveling in the surrealistic ways, she asks, expecting so, so much. "Is your mom really horrible? Can we meet her?"

She did not expect Luke's reaction to her harmless words, though. Without thinking better of it, he snaps, "No!"

Instinctively, Annabeth shrinks away, bumping into Thalia. She's never seen Luke more than just a little moody, and never at her. She's never heard him so much as raising his voice when speaking to her. She's never felt him nowhere near cold with anger. Not to her, anyway, and she suddenly doesn't like the place where Luke isn't Luke.

Here.

She feels brittle, staring with newly-found hurt. The rain in her eyes washes away his vehement choler, and he softens immediately, powered by the reproachful stare Thalia is giving him.

"I….I'm sorry." He looks at both of them in a somberly impressive manner. "Just wait here. I promise everything will be okay. Nothing's going to hurt you. I'll be back—"

The sudden flash of golden light doesn't scare both girls as much as Luke's expression does. His eyes go hard, his lips set, and his jaw clenches. He frowns with hate as a much older voice booms through the trees.

"You should not have come home."

Luke stiffly motions for Thalia to take Annabeth, and the little girl finds herself being pulled backwards into warm arms.

The moment she steps into the white house, herded by a god, she knows why Luke left. The wind chimes make odd sounds, and the little figures lined across the sidewalk make terrible shadows on the stone trail. Monsters little enough to battle her mind. They're too painful a reminder of their burned shelter.

The first room is weird, too. Annabeth has never seen so many mirrors together. It smells of smoke, and it feels cold and lonely, despite the fire above the mantelpiece. The only cruel reassurance is the back of her head leaning against Luke as she walks. The lit candles make her flinch away from the image they reflect.

Her own.

She looks frail, smaller, and painfully thinner. Rather than growing taller, she feels as if she's growing back. Her tangled hair and bruised face do nothing to help her fear of being the way she is, and what she's becoming. But her eyes have gained this little spark, her lips are still able to smile, and behind the dirt her skin is still able to blush.

She's happy, if not healthy.

But it's not the only representation in the room. As her eyes wonder hungrily through her framed reflection, they set upon a framed photo, sitting brightly on the ripped mantel. He's wearing a blue shirt, and he's smiling. A big smile. His eyes are scrunched up in mirth, and they look bluer than ever. Two of his teeth are missing, and the blond hair is combed for the first time. She stops in wonder, wanting to get a closer look. His picture mystifies her, because it's unfamiliar. She wants to know more. She always does, especially about him.

But the scissors that cut her string of attention come in the form of Thalia's hand. Her friend loses her balance and her leg gives out from under her, making a soft thud upon hitting the carpet. By the time Annabeth has turned around, Luke is already gripping Thalia's shoulders.

"Luke?"

She appears on a pink dress. A dirty pink dress. She's very tall and thin, and she has white hair that goes up and stands everywhere around her head. Dark smears once or twice across her face, and she smells like burned food. Annabeth recoils imperceptibly, but it's still plenty for her own self to notice. Surely, this woman isn't related to Luke; she's not pretty, and nice, and normal.

By Annabeth's dreamlike standards, she's not a mother.

Luke glances upward, breaking Thalia's intent glance. He realizes the daughter of Zeus is studying him, looking for his reaction. It makes him uncomfortable to say the least, because he always does stupid things after staring back. It's Hermes who speaks, though.

"May, dear, be so kind as to take Annabeth and Thalia into the kitchen. They're tired and hurt, as you can see. Luke and I will talk in the meantime. Come, my son."

The moment the god of messengers places his palm on Luke's shoulder, the demigod springs back in aversion, as if he's burning him with acid. His tone is white-hot with loathing. "I'm notyour son."

And Luke burns him back, for Hermes retreats his hand quickly, and from then forward, refrains from approaching him. May however, chirps gleefully around both girls.

"I always knew my Luke had many friends! Oh, look how adorable you are." She reaches for Annabeth's cheek, but Thalia yanks the child back as best she can. May doesn't seem to notice, and she tries to help Thalia up. "Oh, dear. Whatever happened to you! Come, come, we'll get that ugly bruise better in no time."

She steers them into the kitchen, and Thalia grips Annabeth's shoulders from behind, refusing to let her out of reach. The crazy woman makes them both sit down, and starts babbling stories about Luke. She hands a little toy to Annabeth, and then proceeds to clean Thalia's leg. She rips the fabric, and washes it with water, soap, and some brown liquid. Thalia winces, but her lips remain a thin line, refusing to show any pain.

"Are you okay?" Annabeth whispers.

Thalia looks at the little girl with a forced smile. "Fine, kiddo. I'll be fine."

Annabeth nods, and grabs the representation of Medusa by the little arms. She begins playing around with it, noticing the lack of resemblance with Thalia's shield. She jiggles it around, attempting to distract herself with the monster. It scares her less than this house.

Half an hour later, Thalia's leg is bandaged and healing, and Luke's mother is pulling one badge of burned cookies after another. She pours juice into glass after glass, and she talks on and on, unintelligibly, and to herself. Annabeth is forced to admit she's scared.

"Honey, have some cookies! What did you say your name was?"

"Annabeth, ma'am."

"Ah, yes. Annabeth, such a beautiful name. And you, dear?"

Something makes Thalia stiffen, but Annabeth does not really understand it's a shadow of the past; of Thalia's own mama.

"Thalia." She answers curtly, but the woman is already too busy talking about Luke.

"I knew he'd come back. He's very handsome, and my, he has grown so much! He ran away to protect me, you know. Ha!" She barks, startling Annabeth. "They told me he wouldn't come back. I knew better. He looks so much like his father."

As her comments grow louder and more urgent, Thalia scoots her chair closer to Annabeth. A hand rests on her blond hair, and the other rubs the wounded thigh. Something is making her nervous and very jumpy, and Annabeth feels compelled to do something for her. She grips a burned cookie, and directs her broken gaze to that of the murmur happening in the living room.

Can we go now?

Luke's eyes rest on hers for the shortest of seconds, and then dart away to others. This is one of the only times he has ignored her, replaced her, and she is forced to focus once more on the incoherent chatter her ears are imposed forcibly to listen to. It is only now that she realizes why Thalia's hand combs through her hair. At the time she recoils from Luke's temper, her head bumps Thalia's leg, and now her friend is trying to comb away the sickly red that stains her curls with her own fingers.

"Then you don't care!"

Luke's sudden outburst of rage cuts through the kitchen like a knife, and the blood comes in the form of silence. May has stopped uttering those frighteningly imperfect words, and Thalia's neck stretches to the limit of its capacity, trying to catch a glimpse of the son of Hermes. Annabeth merely sits with a frown set upon her face. Retaliating his negligence.

"Luke?" May calls. "Is that you? Is my boy all right?"

And all of a sudden, the tears that fall from Luke's eyes make both girls part of the conversation. Forgetting her foul mood, Annabeth stares at Luke with concern, because the gazes of both of his parents aren't quite enough. She's never seen him cry, and she's sure he didn't intend for her to ever see him do it. But his father needs to go away, just like her own mother. And his mother is sick, too, just like Thalia's.

"I'm fine," Luke answers curtly. "I have a new family. I don't need either of you."

At this point, Luke's arrogance comes in the beautiful form of pride; a feeling Annabeth is bound to know. But this disguised form of agitation is to slowly take over her friend, morphing, until it finally becomes what he swore it wouldn't.

Failure.

It is too early in the hour to notice, so Annabeth barely bothers to follow the heartbreaking dialogue until her name is called.

"Thalia, Annabeth, come on! We're leaving." He yells and storms out the door, barely considering the speed with which he moves.

And just like that, another piece of Luke's soul falls off to rest upon hundreds of burned cookies, beanbag toys, and pictures of Hermes above a trashed kitchen sink.

A house, not a home.

And Annabeth doesn't bother to look back.


Now that I'm done offering you procrastination, feel free to make it last longer by reviewing!

Anna:)