Chapter Text
When they get to New York City, the first thing Luke wants to do is shop.
For clothes.
In Soho.
Percy regrets his life so hard right now.
It’s worse than shopping with his mom. Luke doesn’t even let Percy sit on an armchair and exchange commiserating glances with the other innocent bystanders. Instead, he drags Percy around with him, shoving hangers into his hands and telling him it’s for strength training when he complains. Percy’s about to just drop everything on the floor—not even Luke can get away with murder in a public place—when Luke glances down at his arms, then back up at his face, and raises his eyebrows. And then, well. It’s only when Percy finds himself press-ganged into a fitting room does he realize that Luke has tricked Percy into shopping, too.
Evil. Pure evil. This trip is doomed.
Percy doesn’t need new clothes. His Camp Half-Blood shirt looks fine. It doesn’t have holes in it or anything. Honestly, they both have enough to wear. Luke even has two pairs of shoes now, since Percy gave him the flying ones back as soon as Argus dropped them off.
“Is this blood?”
“Yeah. But it’s my blood.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better about blood on my shoes?”
“Considering that you tried to kill me with them, yeah.”
At that, Luke had rolled his eyes, like Percy was the one being a big baby about a few drops of blood. Whatever. The stupid cursed flying shoes are Luke’s problem now. Percy’s going to use the free backpack space to pack actually important things, like snacks.
Luke buys a designer suit jacket, a shirt that isn’t bright orange, fitted pants and a pair of fashionable sneakers, pulling off the evil male model look as well as he did when he was raising an army of monsters and putting Kronos together like a one million piece puzzle. Percy buys one plain blue T-shirt, and then he drags Luke to a mini mart, where he makes Luke buy him ten packs of jelly beans and a couple king-size M&Ms.
When Luke starts adding things like vegetables to his grocery basket, Percy tells him that he’s gonna wait outside. Thankfully, this time Luke lets him go.
Percy beelines for the skateboard shop across the street and presses his nose to the front window. There’s a bright orange longboard with “I SURVIVED SCHOOL TODAY” painted on it in big white letters, which seems pretty useful. Still, the boards aren’t as cool as the ones in the shop at Rockefeller Center. Percy will take what he can get, though.
That’s pretty much his plan for this entire trip anyway.
Percy leans his forehead against the cool glass, only resisting the urge to knock his head against it a few times because the shopkeeper is already giving him a dirty look.
What is he doing? They aren’t ready to go get the Golden Fleece. Percy’s operation in Camp Half-Blood can carry on without him for a couple days, but he needs to be there in order to really make progress. Without a camper to coordinate, there’s only so much the naiads and nymphs can do.
But, Percy also needs to figure out what to do with Luke. Keeping him at camp like this won’t end in anything but tragedy. And if Percy can’t defuse the landmine, he’s going to have to step on it, and he doesn’t want Annabeth or Grover or anyone else to be around for the explosion.
Yup. Percy’s doing just fine. He doesn’t need to know what he’s doing. This is how he rolls.
Suddenly, a shadow. Percy’s entire body twitches, and he hears a soft scoff.
“Why are you looking at skateboards?” asks Luke.
“Maybe Kronos wants us to get a skateboard.”
Luke presses a hand on the top of Percy’s head and physically turns him away from the window display.
“Does Kronos want us to get a skateboard,” he says.
“…No.”
Luke gives Percy a dirty look. Then he lets Percy’s head go in favor of grabbing his wrist, dragging him away from the store like he’s an actual child.
Jerk.
Well, Annabeth wouldn’t have let Percy waste time by looking at the skateboards either, but that’s different. Annabeth is Percy’s friend. Luke is the guy who tried to drag him into Tartarus by his own flying shoes.
“Hey!” Percy protests. “You don’t have to pull me.”
“Then walk on your own,” Luke says. He tightens his grip painfully before letting go.
Percy rubs his wrist, sulking, but he doesn’t stray from Luke’s side again.
After a moment of silence for Percy’s dignity, Luke side-eyes him and asks, “What’s your plan for getting us to the Sea of Monsters? And don’t tell me that we’re skateboarding there.”
Percy shuts his mouth.
Last time, Percy had prayed to the ocean, and then his dad had sent a school of hippocampi to help him out. For some reason, Percy doesn’t think that’ll happen this time around.
So he just says, “Uh, hello?” while gesturing to his general son-of-Poseidon-ness
Luke makes a face that says, Oh, right, Percy’s a weirdly powerful demigod, but I momentarily forgot again because he’s such a Seaweed Brain. It’s a face that Annabeth wears a lot, and it’s making Percy miss her even more.
You promised, Seaweed Brain. We would not get separated! Ever again!
No. Things will be different this time around.
“Percy?” Luke says, in a tone that implies he’s already repeated himself several times.
“Right.” Percy blinks. “The Sea of Monsters. No big deal. Not to brag,” he continues, bragging, “but I could sail us there on a pool floatie.”
“But you won’t,” Luke says. He looks like he has a headache.
“...But I won’t,” Percy agrees reluctantly. “Well, how do you want to do it then? I don’t think anyone’s gonna sell two kids a boat for,” Percy checks his pockets, “four blue jelly beans and the destruction of Western civilization.”
“First of all, you’re a kid. I’m an adult. And second,” Luke pauses dramatically, looking pleased to know something that Percy doesn’t. “There is someone who would sell us a boat for that.”
——
Okay, Percy understands why Luke wanted that evil male model look now.
Luke’s boat seller lives in one of the fanciest skyscrapers in Manhattan, the kind with a doorman and a receptionist and personal elevators to the top floors. Framed in the weird geometric couch that Percy couldn’t figure out how to sit on, Luke looks right at home. Percy is getting dirty looks from the receptionist.
Honestly, Percy hasn’t felt this much like a bug crawling on someone’s shoe since he was fourteen and talking to Athena for the first time. And he wasn’t even pretending to be allied with a titan lord trying to destroy an entire pantheon of gods then.
Percy shifts uncomfortably.
Yeah. This is much worse. But, it’s fine. Even if he isn’t dressed for the part, Percy can totally pull off evil.
He glances up at Luke, trying to figure out how to project the desire to exact vengeance on his parents and destroy Western civilization regardless of how many of his friends will die. Is it the scar? Percy doesn’t think he can give himself a facial disfigurement in the next two minutes and still have it look cool.
Luke frowns. “What are you doing with your eyebrows?”
“Nothing,” Percy grumbles.
They sit in silence until—
“Mr. Germanicus will see you now,” says the receptionist, gesturing to one of the elevators. He sniffs imperiously as Percy passes his desk. Percy resists the urge to stick out his tongue. Then he does it anyway, since there has to be at least one upside to being twelve again.
Besides, you know, being able to change the course of your entire life.
The elevator ride is direct and short, which is good because Percy isn’t sure if he can actually share a small space with Luke for more than twenty seconds without either one of them suffering a serious injury. So, it’s a pretty awkward ride to the top floor of the building. Luke stares stonily at the doors, and Percy tries not to fidget noticeably. At least the boat seller has better elevator music than the Underworld.
As the doors open, Luke straightens up further. Percy didn’t even know that was possible. He was already standing like Kronos had ironed out his spine.
And the guy he’s so nervous about doesn’t look like much either.
“Ah, hello, Mr. Castellan,” says the guy. “I thought we’d be seeing you again.”
Luke’s boat seller looks like a weird mix of Mr. D and Smelly Gabe, but with a neckbeard. His purple suit seems expensive, and he’s wearing gold chains around his neck. Lounging on the sectional behind him are two other guys, a beefier version of Hercules and a skinny guy who reminds Percy of a pike. Maybe they’re the boat seller’s more good-looking entourage. Rich people like that kind of thing, right?
“Sirs.” Luke nods at the boat seller and his entourage.
“And your friend…?” The boat seller smiles at Percy. It feels slimy.
Friend is a strong word, but Percy will let it slide, since, judging by the look Luke’s giving him, he might get tossed out the floor-to-ceiling windows if he doesn’t.
Luke clamps a hand on Percy’s shoulder and answers, “Percy Jackson, son of Poseidon.”
“Poseidon?” Pike Man asks. His gaze is flat and cold.
“Yeah,” Percy says. “What’s it to you?”
Luke’s hand tightens like a vise. “Please excuse him. He gets cranky when he’s hungry.”
Percy opens his mouth to protest, but then Luke’s grip goes so tight that Percy becomes genuinely worried about whether he’ll be able to regain full use of his shoulder. As Percy tries his best to keep his face from twisting, Luke steps forward, walking half in front of him as the boat seller leads them to the couch.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Castellan. I know how children are. I have a young daughter myself, you know. But, enough pleasantries.” The boat seller settles down between Beefier Hercules and Pike Man. “Why have you come to speak with us today?”
Luke leans forward, lacing his fingers together. “I have a proposal I think you might be interested in.”
“Really?” The boat seller smirks. “Well, I do hope you’ve improved your pitch from last time. We are rather choosy, but that’s because we take each investment quite personally. We don’t involve any outside investors—just our own capital, and though it is substantial, we don’t like letting it go to waste.”
“Yes,” Luke says. It sounds like he’s forcing the words out through his gritted teeth. “I spent a long time thinking over your advice.”
The boat seller folds his hands under his weak chin. “Let’s hear it then.”
And Percy knows that Luke is charismatic. He’s a good public speaker, and he’s very convincing. That’s part of the reason why he was able to recruit so many demigods from Camp Half-Blood even before he had a shipful of monsters. But, Luke’s only ever put a token effort into coaxing Percy over to Kronos; he’s always been much more interested in killing him. That’s why Percy’s still surprised when he hears Luke explain his plan to the boat seller.
It doesn’t sound like the half-formed idea Percy described to Luke in the woods, constantly pausing and restarting, his voice so quiet that the creek almost drowned it out. With the bare bones Percy tossed him, Luke paints the end of Western civilization in brilliant technicolor. The retrieval of the Golden Fleece, the strategic recruitment of an army, the completion of the 1000 piece titan puzzle. Death. Destruction. The normal Kronos stuff. It’s a glorious vision of everything Percy spent four years fighting against.
Luke carefully skirts around the prophecy—probably because he isn’t sure if Percy knows about it yet—but the way he glances at Percy when he talks about the fall of Olympus indicates that the boat seller is probably aware.
The way that the boat seller’s eyes glint when he looks at Percy, too, confirms that.
Once Luke finishes, there’s a brief silence. Beefier Hercules and Pike Man exchange glances. The boat seller claps his hands together.
“Well,” he says, “this has been very interesting, Mr. Castellan. I must confess that previously we were somewhat skeptical of your...ability to execute your proposals.” Luke’s jaw twitches. “But you’ve made a good pitch.” The boat seller looks at Percy one more time, smiling in a way that makes him feel dirty, before turning back to Luke. “There’s a ship docked at the Manhattan Cruise Terminal. The Princess Andromeda . You’ll find it rather hard to miss, I’m sure, and—”
“Hold on a sec,” Percy blurts out. Is this guy for real? “You’re living it up in Manhattan. Why do you want Western civilization destroyed?”
Luke glares at Percy, his hands curling, but Percy’s more annoyed by how the boat seller is looking at him like he’s a particularly dumb puppy.
“Why, Mr. Jackson,” the boat seller cries, “it’s because we’re investors, of course! The current Western civilization is all well and good, but why be satisfied with good when there is always better? Mr. Castellan and you have so much potential. We want to provide our full support and guidance to young people like you two who can lead our world into a better future.”
Beefier Hercules coughs into his fist. Pike Man rolls his eyes.
The boat seller grins.
“And to fertilize the ground for a better future,” he continues, leaning towards Percy like he’s sharing a secret, “there needs to be a true conflagration. Flames stoked by blood.”
In his eyes, Percy can see a city on fire, people burning alive on crosses. He tries to move away, but he finds that he’s already flattened himself against the back of the couch.
Luke clears his throat. The boat seller sits back. He’s still smiling.
Wait a minute.
Incredible wealth. Investment in the future. Flames and blood.
Luke is speaking. “Thank you for your generosity—”
Flames and blood.
“You’re Nero,” Percy says.
Luke’s words cut off.
“My,” Nero says. “I’m flattered that someone as young as you would know little old me.”
“Commodus,” Percy looks at Beefier Hercules. “Caligula.” He shifts his gaze to Pike Man.
“Three for three!” Nero turns to Commodus. “The Internet truly is a wonderful invention, isn’t it? Seven hundred years ago, your average child couldn’t even—”
Percy would like to say that he had a plan before moving. That it was a calculated decision to uproot a threat before it speared them in the back.
But, the truth is that he wasn’t thinking about his plans.
He wasn’t thinking about anything but the quest he refused, the funeral he wasn’t invited to, the body he never saw.
It’s Jason.
Emperors.
Murderers.
They should all just die.
Blades. Arrows. Blood in the water.
Die, like how Jason died.
Wait.
No.
First, they have to suffer.
It probably only lasted a few seconds. Maybe minutes. Definitely not hours.
Percy isn’t sure. At this point, all he knows is that he’s lying on the carpet for some reason. He’s cold. His stomach hurts. His cheek is sticky and wet.
“Percy.”
Someone is saying his name. He should answer.
Percy shifts his gaze in the direction of the voice. He sees a pair of stained sneakers, the pant cuffs above them ripped and splattered dark.
“Can you hear me?”
Slowly, Percy nods.
“Okay,” says the voice. “Okay. I’m going to move closer to you now.”
Don’t. No.
Percy isn’t really sure what he does, but by the end of it, he’s gasping on the floor, and the sneakers are gone.
“Or not.”
The sound of someone walking, moving around him. Water running.
It comes to Percy’s attention that being in an unknown situation, possibly surrounded by people, is not a good thing. He should fix that. Probably by getting up and actually trying to figure out what’s going on.
But, Percy also feels like if he moves wrong, his body will collapse into a puddle of water, and he only hears one person’s footsteps anyway, and everywhere he looks, everything is covered with—with—
Percy doesn’t throw up. But that’s only because his entire abdomen might shatter if he does.
So he just lies there, shaking and shaking and shaking.
An indeterminable amount of time later, the voice returns.
“I’ve got the papers for the boat, Percy. Once you’re ready, we can go.”
Percy doesn’t move.
“Can you stand?”
He concentrates on making himself breathe. It seems like such a chore all of a sudden. The air is too heavy. And it’s cold.
Why is it always so cold?
A long silence.
And then—
“Do you want me to help you up?”
No. All Percy wants to do is lie here and close his eyes and sleep forever.
Instead, he reaches out a hand.
Luke takes it.
——
The Princess Andromeda is officially the worst boat Percy has ever sailed. And that’s not even because he got Charlie Beckendorf killed here once upon another time.
Percy just hates cruise ships, okay? They’re big and clunky and mostly electronic. Percy’s good with boats, not floating Lotus Hotels. Even the Pax moved like an extension of his body. Controlling the Princess Andromeda is like trying to do origami with his feet, except he has plastic sporks instead of toes. Also, it feels like bad things are always happening on cruise ships. This trip included.
At least Percy has managed to avoid Luke so far. The only reason why he knows Luke hasn’t toppled over the side of the yacht, thereby neatly solving the problem of what Percy should do about him, is because celery sticks and baby carrots keep on appearing in the bridge, where Percy spends most of his time coaxing the Princess Andromeda into giving them running water and keeping the lights on and actually going where they need to go. In return, Percy takes the candy bags he’s picked all the blue pieces out of and leaves them outside the admiralty suite’s stateroom. Even budding villains need a balanced diet, after all.
Percy’s not really avoiding Luke on purpose. That would be counterproductive. He’s just...busy. It takes a lot of work to run a cruise ship single handedly, especially when that ship would rather light up the indoor mall or fill the pool instead of sail at a respectable speed.
And if Percy spends way too much time inventorying the storerooms in such detail that Annabeth would be proud, that’s just because he doesn’t want to have to stop and resupply at Monster Donut. Not because he’s trying to take his mind off the thing he can’t think about because if he does, he’ll have to lie down, and then he’ll never be able to get up ever again.
Come to think of it, Luke seems to be taking that thing pretty well. He hasn’t even run away screaming. Possibly because he’s been avoiding Percy as much as Percy’s been avoiding him.
Luke hasn’t been ignoring Percy, though. Instead, it feels more like he’s observing. Carefully. He’s been moving around the ship like he has experience living around people who might go crazy at any second. Which he does.
Percy also tries not to think about that. Thinking about it makes him feel sorry for Luke, which he’s uncomfortable about and which would probably make Luke want to kill him even more than he already does.
Still, this means the scare-Luke-straight plan was never going to work, and Percy can cross that one off the list. Which is a relief, because he doesn’t actually know what would happen if he tried being scary.
Percy doesn’t want to know what would happen if he actually tried being scary.
Maybe annoying Luke into submission will work. Of course, this has never gone well for Percy before, and it involves actually talking to Luke, which has always been at the bottom of Percy’s bucket list. Why is he even considering this again?
Whether you feel like you succeeded or not, you reminded Luke who he was. You spoke to him.
Alright, alright, Percy knows that he’s procrastinated enough already. It’s fine. Percy’s an adult. He can speak to Luke. And if this doesn’t work out, there’s always the duel to the death.
And it looks like Luke’s already getting ready for it.
Percy follows the sound of something getting the shit beaten out of it to the mall, where Luke has dragged all the mannequins out into the plaza. He’s outfitted them in yoga mat armor secured with woven belts and is now dismembering them one by one.
It’s not that creepy. Percy has to tell himself this several times before he can convince himself to step away from the door and into the mall.
“Luke,” he calls from a safe distance. “I need to ask you something.”
“Busy,” Luke grunts, hacking away at one mannequin’s torso. Is it just Percy, or is he slashing at it even more enthusiastically than before?
“No, you’re not.”
“I’m training.”
“Can’t train without a sword.”
“What?”
Percy wags his fingers, and Luke’s water bottle topples over. A jet of water spurts forward, knocking Backbiter out of his hand.
“Percy!” Luke turns, finally letting the mannequin rest in pieces.
“Don’t you use your camp counselor voice on me,” Percy says. He keeps his voice light, trying not to sound intimidated or murderous or anything that might make Luke attack him. He still has the water from Luke’s water bottle if things go wrong, though, so it’s all good.
“Fine.” Luke folds his arms and narrows his eyes. “What do you want?”
Percy hesitates.
“Can you tell me about Thalia?”
Luke blinks, his face gone slack. Percy spent a long time thinking about this approach, and this is the only opening he could come up with. If Luke decides to stab him here, then he won’t know what else to do.
Thankfully, Luke doesn’t stab him. Instead, he’s quiet for a long, long time.
Then he says, in a low voice, “Why do you want to know about her?”
He seems suspicious.
Percy shrugs. Be cool, be cool. “One time, Annabeth told me that we were pretty similar. That either we would be best friends or that we would strangle each other.”
Luke snorts. “Annabeth was wrong. Thalia would’ve strangled you after five minutes of hearing you speak.”
Okay, no, actually Luke’s the one who’s wrong. It only took two minutes.
But Percy can’t point that out, and Luke is still talking. “She was strong. Tough.” He looks Percy up and down, then shakes his head. “She’d be better at this than you.”
Percy isn’t sure if he should be offended or not. “Better at what? Talking? Serving Kronos?”
“Bringing down Olympus,” Luke snarls. He walks closer to Percy and picks Backbiter back up.
Percy stands his ground. “You really think Thalia would be into that?” he asks.
Luke smiles coldly, his scar rippling. “You don’t know anything, Percy. Because of the gods, Thalia and I lived on the streets for years, always running from monsters, always struggling to stay alive. And then, when Grover was sent to retrieve her—only her—she demanded that Annabeth and I be brought to safety, too. She stayed behind to fight off the Kindly Ones and save our lives. She was brave,” he says, voice growing lower and lower. “She was worthy. And then, instead of saving her, her father turned her into a tree.”
Luke’s eyes flash, and then he’s suddenly yelling in Percy’s face.
“A tree!” he screams. “A fucking tree! After everything she did! She’d be happy to see Olympus destroyed! Every throne crushed to rubble!”
Percy can’t breathe. He’s frozen in Luke’s shadow.
Luke stares at Percy for one second, two. Then he backs away, Backbiter trembling in his white-knuckled grip.
“If Thalia were alive,” Luke says, “she’d be on my side. And we’d tear the gods out of the sky. Together.”
Well? Are we going to stop him or not?
For some reason, Percy doubts that. He doubts that hard.
You don’t know Thalia at all, he wants to say. You’re disrespecting her and her sacrifice, and when you get your second chance to know her again, you’ll be too blind to even see her for who she is.
But, if Percy says that, then they’ll really have to have their duel to the death now, and there won’t be any third chances. For either of them.
So he tries another way.
“Fine,” Percy says, happy that his voice doesn’t shake. “Then if Kronos ordered you to destroy Thalia’s tree, would you do it?”
A long silence. Percy knows they’re floating in the middle of the ocean right now, but he can’t even hear the waves.
Finally—“He wouldn’t,” Luke says calmly. But his jaw is tight.
“It’s strategic,” Percy insists. “Without Thalia’s tree, Camp Half-Blood is vulnerable. You could invade the camp, take demigods as prisoners of war, force them to join you or die. The gods wouldn’t be able to move against you if you controlled all their children. Kronos could be resurrected using the power of their pledged loyalties. He’d defeat the gods by sending an army of their children to die at their feet, and then he’d tear Olympus down stone by stone, just like you always wanted.” Percy smiles and nods, hoping he doesn’t look as sick as he feels. “All you need to do is kill Thalia.”
By the time the word “kill” leaves Percy’s lips, Luke already has Backbiter pointed at his throat.
“I won’t!” Luke says frantically. “I—” His eyes quiver, and he visibly forces his sword arm down. “It doesn’t matter! Thalia’s already dead!” He takes a couple breaths, before continuing, “The gods made sure of that.”
His voice has gone flat again. It’s the tone of a man who’ll do anything—hurt anyone—for revenge.
“No,” Percy tells him. “No. She’s still there. She’s the one protecting the demigods who’ll defeat you.”
And that’s when Percy goes too far. He knows it, because Luke smiles, and it’s not cold or calculating or even cruel. It’s just blank. A void.
“Tell me, Percy,” Luke says, creeping towards him at the pace of a predator. “Has Kronos really ordered Thalia’s tree destroyed, or are you just running your mouth again, just a stupid little kid abusing the name of the lord he serves?” He looms over Percy, Backbiter in his hand. Percy is once again aware of how small he is at twelve, how Luke towers above him. He always did.
Luke leans into Percy’s face and whispers, “How do you think Kronos will punish you for this?”
Percy shudders. But it’s not Kronos he’s afraid of. Really, it rarely ever was.
“Somehow,” Percy says quietly, backing towards the door. “I don’t think he’ll find out. Besides, a stupid kid’s still a better tool than someone who’s blinded by their own rage.” He adds, in a stronger voice, “You don’t belong with Kronos, Luke.”
“Get out,” Luke says.
“You know I’m right.”
“ Go.”
“Luke,” Percy says, staring up into his eyes. “If you bring down the gods, then you will destroy the people you love. You’re going to have to make the choice to kill them over and over and over again. And once Kronos rises, it won’t matter if you change your mind. You won’t be able to protect anyone or preserve anything. You’ll only get what you want when everything that was once Luke Castellan vanishes from this earth.”
For the first time, Percy is telling Luke the complete truth, and perhaps Luke can sense that. He’s not moving, barely even breathing. He can’t seem to tear his eyes away from Percy’s.
Percy reaches the door. For a moment, neither of them say anything.
Then Percy adds, “I bet Thalia wouldn’t want that.”
The spell breaks.
“GET OUT!” Luke roars.
Backbiter clangs against the wall. He’s thrown his sword at Percy.
“L—”
“GET OUT!”
Percy gets out.