Disclaimer: I do not own Percy Jackson and the Olympians, Rick Riordan, or pretty much anything else.

[{[A/N: I really am sorry that it has taken so long. I'm extremely lazy so yeah. No excuses, just that fact.]}]

Rated: T (for the moment)

Pairing: Luke/Percy; Lucercy; Pluke

Xxx

Luke's Dream Conscience.

It was white. Nothing like a room that was just painted white, but white. Luke could only think of it as nothingness. He stared into the empty void, wondering how in Hades name he had even arrived there. Had he always been here? In this white abyss of nothing? No, he knew that that wasn't true. He could picture Annabeth and Percy's faces as he had drifted and…died? He had died right?

Was this death? No, he knew that wasn't true as well. Death was the Underworld and Tartarus and Elysium. This was nothing like death. There was no heaven and no hell. It was only those three options. Everything felt so slow in this place. Like time was of little importance and everything seemed so far away. He was asking himself questions that he already knew the answers to.

'But how…?'

As he continued to stare into the void, a huge question mark appeared out of nowhere and hung in the white expanse. The blonde felt no alarm, although he felt as if he should be feeling alarm at seeing a gigantic question mark float in the middle of nothingness.

'How is this—?'

Three more question marks appeared and began to circle around the larger one in the middle. This made absolutely no sense to the demigod, his confusion only growing. The gods must have had some crazy part of this. This must be some sort of punishment. Was this a joke?

A sudden joke book replaced the question marks and the boy took a deep breath. What was going on? It floated down towards—

'How the hell did a table get there?'

It looked oddly familiar. Brown and sturdy, but the paint was chipping along the sides. It was obviously well worn out. Something about it seemed to tip him off, though, and it wasn't for a few long seconds that he realized it was the one he used to sit at as a child. He would sit there and study the brown top of the table while his mother fed him whatever she felt like feeding him that day. How had it ended up here? It stood out against the white expanse, sitting there like a fly in milk. He hesitantly moved towards it, his feet taking a slow step at a time.

'Is any of this real?'

When he was in touching distance, Luke reached out to touch it, his finger tips grazing the edge gently, almost as if he was afraid it would do something. As he felt the brown table, it was just as he remembered it; sturdy and firm and in his mother's kitchen.

No sooner as the thought left him, the white was gone and in its place was an exact replica of his mother's kitchen. The pots and pans that hung from the ceiling hooks hung were he knew they would be. The wilted flowers that probably hadn't tasted water in months sat in their pots. Random crayons scattered about the room. Pictures of places and people of a past life time strewn on beige walls. Television turned to a rerun of Rachel Ray.

Everything was how he remembered his house. This was where he was born and raised and lived, but it was never a place that he loved.

Luke looked around in confusion. How had he gotten here? What was all of this? His eyebrows knit together as the familiar smells of his old house reached his nose, filling him with memories.

A sudden voice jolted him from his thoughts.

"Luke! Come into the kitchen! I made your favorite! Spaghetti!" it shouted.

That was his mother's voice and Luke frowned as he moved towards the kitchen. He barely recalled this day. It was one of those days that happened, but he didn't remember it the following. But he could tell that it was around this time that his mother's thoughts were beginning to go. Around the same time Luke had decided he was going to run away.

A sudden clicking noise made Luke turn around, looking at the entrance of a small hallway to the side of the living room. A boy stood at the entrance. His face was pure and without a trace of a scar. He had bright, blue eyes and nearly golden hair.

There really shouldn't have been any surprise when Luke saw his younger self. This was his kitchen after all and his memory, but still. A sharp intake of breath was all he did as he stared at his younger self. This was definitely going on his list of weird things that had ever happened to him.

"Mom, you know that I hate spaghetti," the nine year old replied, before moving towards the kitchen anyway. The blonde haired male watched his younger self as he moved towards the kitchen and sit at the sturdy brown table. He knew that he would eat it in the end. He always did.

"Oh, dear, sometimes I forget that you hate it," his mother said, her thoughts turning glassy for a few seconds. Luke sighed softly as he stared at her, before she blinked and smiled at the boy sitting.

"Spaghetti for you, Luke," she exclaimed, before busying herself to make a bowl for the boy. Luke knew that he would eat it anyway. The blonde turned away from the scene, his eyes catching sight of the television once more. This was a memory. It was him seeing what had happened to him, without being in his own body. How in the world it was happening was unknown to him and still confusing, but Luke couldn't be bothered by it. Would he be seeing all of his memories?

Then he was seeing it. All of his memories. Everything that he had ever done was rushing before his eyes. He could only catch small snippets of things and his eyes ached at the fast paced images. It was like a VCR tape that was on fast forward, but ten times the speed. He saw all of the school years he had done and the monsters he had fought and camp half blood and the safe houses and the running and Hermes and everything was so fast.

He saw Thalia and Grover and Annabeth and the shoes and laughter and his quest and that ugly, horrid dragon. And Percy. He saw Percy. He saw every moment of Percy and his brown hair and ocean eyes and thin, yet strong frame. He saw his smile and heard his laugh and smelled his sea water scent. He heard the clang of their swords and the taunt of their voices and every action and reaction between them. Luke couldn't help but to think that maybe he was in love with the boy.

'Enough!' he shouted and the movie stopped, pausing on a Percy's face. The image of him fading into the white once more, leaving Luke flabbergasted in the nothingness.

'What was that?' the blonde whispered to himself, sitting down on what he could have only deemed as the floor. He had absolutely no idea if it truly was in the white. Everything was slow again and Luke deemed that it had something to do with all this white. Was he truly in love with Percy? Was this what this whole experience was supposed to be about? Was he supposed to discover some deep, hidden desire for the boy? What about Annabeth?

'Well, what about her?'

He supposed that answered his question. But what did this all have to do with anything? He was dead, right? Well, if he wasn't, he was sure that he was close to it. But if he could be alive…? If he were still living…? Could he be with Percy? Did he even love Percy? And if he loved Percy, would the boy love him back? What would he do if he didn't? And why him in the first place? Why not Annabeth? What would she say if he did get with Percy?

Why should he even care about her opinion anyway? She probably hated him. There were so many unanswered questions that the demigod had and most of them revolved around the brunette. He sighed softly and looked down at his hands. He studied them for a second before he realized something was wrong with them. There was something missing. The battle scar that Percy had given him a year ago was missing. His pale hands were clear as if nothing in the world had ever harmed him, not even a paper cut.

'I need a mirror,' he said into the white expanse, a frown coming to his lips as he had a sudden idea. A mirror appeared over his head and reached up to take it. With a soft sigh, he peered into the looking glass, before he nearly dropped it at the sight. There, in the mirror was a healthier looking Luke. His face was full again and the dark circles under his eyes were no longer there. His scar with the dragon was gone, as well. He let go of the mirror and it disappeared as it fell to the ground.

'What is going on? I don't understand anything.'

Perhaps, if he sifted through his memories again, there would be something there that could at least answer one of his questions.

'Memories, slow this time,' he muttered, and the white expanse was once more filled to the brim with the past.

Xxx