Chapter Text
She was a baby, when they first found her.
She was their baby.
Seven years old, tiny, with the most adorable, chubby cheeks. Defending herself with makeshift weapons that stood no chance of doing any real damage to most monsters, but could probably stun the small ones long enough for her to run away.
And she was deceptively clever at hiding; they practically stepped on her before she showed her face. To thwart the monsters' sense of smell, she was surrounded by garbage. Like an orphan from an old storybook.
She even looked like she could be their baby. Thalia pretended she didn't see it, and Luke joked, "Come on: Your looks, my accent."
Annabeth smiled covertly, and the part of him that waited almost eagerly for moments when he had the right to get angry immediately fixated on what must have happened to make her think she had to hide her amusement, at seven years old.
The rest of him just enjoyed each chance he got to make her laugh, and to let her see him see her laugh, so she would see that she wasn't in trouble. That she was safe.
It was part of why he sort of cloistered her away from Thalia, in the beginning.
Annabeth never seemed bothered by Thalia's less-than-enthusiastic ascension to motherhood- The way Thalia would never reach for her hand or look her in the eyes; the way she said things like, "You can sleep here," and "You can eat this," with a cautious detachment -but Luke needed her to know that this was her home, her family, and Thalia's slowness to affection was just a little hitch for them to overcome together. So he would hold her hand, speak to her at eye level, tell her that Thalia would come around; she just wasn't sure about their new family yet, but they'd show her! Annabeth always smiled at the conspiratorial way he said it.
"Luke," Thalia protested. "You can't stop to coddle her every five minutes. There are snake monsters about, and it's almost dark."
Poor Annabeth was practically running, to keep up with their long legs. Sometimes Luke offered to carry her, but she only ever accepted when she was truly and desperately out of steam. Otherwise, it was always, 'It's okay. I can do it myself.' He could see her take it personally when Thalia became annoyed with him. Like it was up to her to make up for the time he spent on her. "We don't need to outrun them forever," her little voice chirped. "We just need to get to where they can't smell us."
"That's right," Luke praised. "And we know where we're going, and we know we're almost there."
Thalia didn't answer. She was unusually quiet, in the first days of Annabeth.
The dynamic shifted for the better after about a week. On a rare quiet morning, Thalia noticed the state of Annabeth's hair and silently got to work combing out the tangles, washing it and braiding it back. Annabeth sat very still, careful not to offend her by squirming. But when all was said and done, Thalia smiled softly, sliding a hand over one neat braid and saying, "There. All better."
Annabeth looked to Luke, not with open excitement, but with a kind of stifled awe.
She reminded him of himself. When he was younger, when he was careful not to do anything loud or extreme that would set off scary reactions. But she would come to see that her mother, her new mother, was not volatile. Their situation wasn't stable, but they were. Already, he was the father he'd never had.
"Let me," Thalia said, when Annabeth's shoe came untied for the third time within the hour. (Usually, Luke would ask, "You want me to do it?" and Annabeth would say that she'd do it herself. But Thalia asked no question and left no room for argument.) She knelt down and deftly double-knotted it, while Annabeth watched like she was committing the tactic to memory.
"My dad taught me two-loops-crisscross," she observed, "But you did one-loop-wraparound."
Thalia shrugged, offering a smile over her shoulder as she continued walking.
Luke dealt with a quiet swell of irrational anger, that Annabeth still thought of that man as her father. He wasn't mad at her. Just at the whole institution of bad parents who still got to be called parents. And it burned him even more that she was holding onto some innocuous memory of him teaching her how to tie her shoes, that she wasn't taking in the big picture of how he cared for her so little that she had to run away and face the dangerous world all by herself.
She reminded him of himself.
Of the years pining for a father who left him alone in that house in the first place.
"You don't have to call him your dad if you don't want to," he told her very gently, one day, while Thalia was out making their grocery list. (That was how they always did it; Thalia went out and scouted ahead, planning which stores had which things that they needed and maybe killing any monsters that might be a hindrance, and then Luke went in and shoplifted the stuff because he was better at it and people never really watched him as closely.)
"But, he is my dad," Annabeth said, with a confused little frown. She argued with him like she never argued with Thalia, because she trusted him now.
"Someone who doesn't take care of you isn't a real father. A real father loves his kid, and doesn't treat them like a mistake."
This remark brought tears to her eyes, because she was a bright kid who understood what he was implying.
He pulled her in for a hug, which she automatically returned, and he soothed, "It's okay. I'm right here." And just to drive it home a little better, he added, "You deserve a dad who loves you. And a mom who loves you."
She hugged him tighter and stayed silent, just listening to his outpouring of reassurances.
When Thalia came back, she took one look at them (still hugging; Annabeth still crying) and inquired, "What's wrong?" Dropping into a half-crouch and laying one hand consolingly on Annabeth's back.
"She just got sad about her old family," he said.
And Thalia's eyes got faraway for a moment, and then she firmly said, "Hey."
Annabeth turned her head from Luke's shoulder to meet Thalia's eyes.
"We're here for each other. We protect each other. We take care of our own. We're your family now. Alright?"
Luke couldn't see Annabeth's face, with his arms still wrapped around her, but he felt her nod.
He smiled and gave her a squeeze. Their baby.
Their family.
...
It lasted only two months.
Because how dare they make something that was better than what the gods made for themselves. How dare their family make Olympus so jealous.
Thalia died, and Zeus mocked her form in some garrish gesture of false affection.
Luke caught Annabeth huddling near that tree more than once. Missing the only real mother she'd ever known. Curling up along "Thalia's" leg.
He only dragged her away the first time. (Barely managing not to shake her and insist, That's not her! That's some thing they made that looks like her, so they can tell a story about her that makes them look good! The story of the daughter of Zeus who died trying to get to Camp Half-Blood, died protecting her friends, so now she gets to protect everyone. A story where this sick cult was her true destination, and not just the place she resorted to for the sake of their girl. A story where she was Zeus's pride and joy.)
Annabeth didn't cry, as he dragged her off, but she looked at him so brokenly with those big brown eyes. He could begrudge the rest of camp of that myth of the girl in the tree who smiled down at them, but he couldn't begrudge her.
Maybe he should have told her anyway. But he was always the more indulgent parent. The one who needed to make her happy.
"Hey, kiddo," he said, the second time he caught her at the tree. "Have you had dinner yet?"
"Yeah," she said glumly. "Oscar took me."
Oscar. Head of the Athena Cabin and champion swordsman. Luke had told him privately that he didn't need to worry about Annabeth, that she was his (Luke's) little sister. He'd told him, but he didn't listen. Oscar hadn't taken Annabeth under his wing in the way she needed (Of course not; she needed her family.), but from what she said, it seemed he was constantly in her ear about how great camp was. Taking her to the dining pavilion and selling her on how cool it was to give offerings to a deadbeat goddess, inviting her to sit with her "siblings" at the singalongs, showing off the insipid beads on his stupid necklace until all of a sudden she couldn't wait to get her first bead, too.
"I'm glad," he lied. "I'm glad you're not put off by the way everyone's acting."
"What do you mean?" she asked.
He took a pause. "If you haven't noticed, then it's not important."
"No, what is it? How are they acting?"
His girl. Always wanted to know what she was missing. "Well...You have to remember that they don't know us. All they know about us is what Thalia did in the end. It makes them assume things about us: that we're weak; that we're deadweight that needs to be carried; that we slowed her down, and that's why she had to die saving us. I'm worried that your cabin-mates are only giving you attention because they think you can't handle yourself like they can."
After that, she didn't let Oscar take her places anymore.
But she didn't wait for Luke to do it, either.
She trained more and better than any kids her age. Better than some of the older kids.
Luke would have probably been heartbroken to see her grow up so fast, if he weren't busy doing just about the same thing: throwing himself into his training. Mastering the sword well enough to put precious Oscar on his back. He was fast, and the scrappy persistence he had learned on the streets made him lethal, here.
The honest truth was, Luke lost focus on Annabeth. It hurt too much to linger on their destroyed family, so he followed the anger.
The Hermes cabin was packed. Not all Hermes kids; the unclaimed, as well. And the children of minor gods and goddesses who didn't get cabins. In the crowded space stuffed to the brim with unfulfilled emotional needs, his bitterness could fester.
He didn't actually want to be some camp hero. Glory, as Cult Half-Blood knew it, was just a means to an end.
When the voice first started speaking to him in his head, it only said what he was already thinking. About the gods, and their sheeplike followers.
But the voice had ideas.
Great, wonderful ideas. A great and wonderful plan.
In the course of that amazing purpose, Luke took for granted that Annabeth would always be the little girl who would take his hand as soon as he offered it. She had swallowed a little too much of the propaganda, but she was still his baby; she'd spit it back up, when he needed her to. She wanted a quest because she wanted to be like her "big brother", Luke. That was why she studied every new arrival so intensely. It was harmless, and when the time came, it would amount to nothing. They were just staying in camp out of convenience; it was always intended to be temporary.
He didn't realize the true extent of his short-sightedness until Percy Jackson.
...
The boy was Annabeth's age, with an anger in him that did remind Luke of himself, a bit.
Percy Jackson was the only one who Luke ever asked to take care of Annabeth.
"Just take care of each other, out there."
It had been so long since Luke last had to really worry about her. But he trusted Lord Kronos's plan.
Then, the Iris message.
When they'd left camp, Percy and Annabeth had been separated by a brick wall of grievances and adolescent miscommunication, but in that Iris message, suddenly that tension was gone. They weren't just on the same page; it was like they were on the same paragraph, alternating sentences like one of those call-and-response songs at the singalongs.
As Annabeth's ever-honest big brother, he called it out. "Guys, what is this? When did you turn into an old married couple?"
Annabeth didn't even look embarrassed. She seemed to just note his words as a fair enough observation. Jackson was the one who nervously changed the subject.
When the Iris message ended, Luke became aware of a feeling, thrumming heavy inside him. A dull panic that was tilting toward offense. He reminded himself that he should feel relieved; they were on track for the intended outcome of the quest, and they were wrong about who the lightning thief was. Lord Kronos would take the bolt and Jackson, and Luke would take Annabeth. She might need to cry it out later about her little crush, but probably not. She usually didn't cry.
She'd never had a crush before. Had she? No, he would have noticed.
Annabeth was always the same. Bright- so bright -and intense. Blunt, sometimes, and hard for people to read who didn't know her like Luke did.
She could leave Jackson in the dust, in terms of sheer intellect, but instead she was pausing to patiently correct the day of each monster attack.
Luke shook off his irrational resentments. Percy was a promising candidate; despite not being as clever as Annabeth in the demigod sense, he was coming into things with a fresh mind, without the years of brainwashing, and he already understood so well how the gods failed them. If Annabeth had to have a crush on a boy...
No, it was still too weird to think about.
Annabeth was still a baby. She wasn't ready to think about things like that.
Time has not been on your side, young demigod, Lord Kronos consoled him. But when you raise me, time will bend for you.
Time will bend.
...
He gave the shoes to Grover.
Luke was practically buzzing with anger at himself for not considering that Jackson might give someone else the shoes.
(What if he'd given them to Annabeth? What if she'd been alone?)
Jackson warned the gods about Kronos.
Jackson found out about Luke.
Even now, Luke still saw a lot of himself in Jackson. (Maybe that was why Annabeth was so drawn to him.) It was annoying, that he was still young, that his morals were still stuck in that simplistic place where the crimes of the gods were nothing compared to Luke telling a lie. But he was a kid. He thought like a kid. Luke might have been able to force his irritation back down, if-
"Our parents aren't perfect, but they're trying their best. I met your dad, and he-"
Luke lost his temper.
And Jackson would have been toast, if it weren't for her, and her cap, and her dagger.
(His bright girl. Always ten steps ahead.)
Luke remembered when Athena gave her that cap. How gladly she'd clung to it as proof that her mother cared, despite the years the goddess spent not speaking a word or raising a finger for her upkeep or defense.
And he remembered when he gave her the dagger. She'd clung to that, too. Used it still. Turned it on him, to protect Jackson and the lie she'd been sold about their parents.
"I heard everything." A look in her eyes that he'd never seen directed his way before.
There was no way they'd actually stolen her while he wasn't looking. He knew he'd been dedicated to his mission, he knew now that he should have spoken with her more about the things that mattered, should have faced his grief enough to tell her the truth, shouldn't have coasted on shared triumphs in camp activities, shouldn't have been so set on being the fun parent the laidback older brother. But they couldn't turn his girl into their soldier.
Time will bend for you, Lord Kronos reminded him. For now, use it wisely.
He fled.
...
His spies reported to him about the goings on at camp. A certain daughter of Aphrodite was nice enough to always tell him how Annabeth was doing, whether or not he asked.
(Which was good, because Alison always had something to say about it, when he asked.)
(Sometimes he hated Alison more than was tactically responsible for the movement. She was old enough to be Thalia, but she wasn't. She was waspish and petty and she didn't care about anyone or respect anything, and he could usually find it funny; they'd laughed together plenty of times. But she just kept bringing up Annabeth, badgering him about her...)
His spies told him that Annabeth had gone back to see the mortal man who failed her. Apparently, now he wanted to take her to Disney World. How convenient it must be, to lose a helpless little girl and get back a capable teen whom he hadn't had to raise. Was it easier to love her, Frederick Chase, now that the camp had sold her on the virtuous, long-suffering absentee parent? Giving out flashy vacations like Athena gave out Yankees caps, like Zeus erected trees from corpses that deserved to be laid respectfully to rest.
He took his anger out on many things, but most significantly the tree.
Of course, once again, time was not on his side: She was there.
She was visibly older, and she and Jackson moved into defensive poses like they'd known each other for years.
Annabeth had that look in her eyes that he just hated. More broken than ever; she'd mythologized this tree so much, the poor kid. What kind of domestic violence did this amount to, in her head?
He should have bitten the bullet and told her back then: It's not her. She can't hear you.
He had to run away from her again. There was no choice. But every time he did, he heard his own accusations about absentee fathers.
He had to believe in Lord Kronos's promises. At this point, he could hardly stay sane if he didn't believe.
...
He never saw more of himself in Jackson than when their eyes met through the gap between rocks. Urgency flaring into wild desperation.
She was bleeding. Fading. She was so small. Too young. Still a baby. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, baby, you're okay...
Jackson gave him the Fleece. Gave him the quest, for her sake.
It was like Luke's whole body deflated with relief, when she took that first deep breath of air, under the Fleece's weight.
More air for the fire; his desperation still didn't know where to go.
It was so close. He'd been relying completely on the cave occupants' willingness to volunteer the Fleece in time. What if he'd had to wait for Grover to convince Clarisse? What if Jackson hadn't been able to overpower her? His last conversation with her, she'd said that Kronos had changed him, that he was losing himself. The one before that, he'd told her the truth, but too angry, too mean, not like a brother or a father. The words, You only knew her for two months. You were just a kid. Before, he had imagined saying them gently, just explaining why she was so lost and confused, but instead they came out bitter, dismissive, and he'd watched them hit. Watched them hurt.
He could have lost her today, but she was breathing.
(She was bleeding.)
He scooped her up into his arms, like he used to hold her when she was little, when she was too tired to walk or run.
He could barely leave her side, as he steered them toward the Princess Andromeda via the stolen boat.
She almost died. I almost lost her. She was almost dead.
You have the Fleece, Lord Kronos reminded him. Our victory is close at hand.
He didn't say anything back, but his lord felt his hesitation.
You feel that she needs it more.
Cautiously, Luke answered, "She hit her head. Ambrosia and nectar aren't as good for brain injuries; she could still have permanent damage, without the Fleece."
For a while, Kronos was silent. Then, My followers will not be as sympathetic to your divided loyalties as I am. But I understand. Mortals have a linear view of time. Of loss.
The Titan's choice of words caused Luke to hurry to Annabeth's side again, just to make sure that she was still breathing. She slept soundly, her brow slightly furrowed. She was dreaming.
She isn't your daughter anymore. But she can be again. Time is generous to those who are generous to time.
Tears blurred Luke's vision. Through them, Annabeth almost looked like she had when they'd first found her. Adorable, chubby cheeks.
Will you restore the version of her who Jackson loves, or the version of her who you love?
His body curled around hers almost protectively, now. His hand in her hair, where her blood was drying. The same hair that Thalia braided anew, every week for two months. She loved it when Thalia brushed her hair.
"It's not her fault," he said. "I wasn't there for her enough, at camp."
And now you can be.
Yes...With Lord Kronos's support, this time would be different...He didn't know, yet, what the plan was, but Lord Kronos understood that he wouldn't forfeit Annabeth, and that was all he needed to know. "What has to happen, now?"
Take the Fleece from her. She will not die. She will just remain weak enough to stay asleep. That way, she will not interfere with what comes next. When you reach the ship, give the Fleece to me. It cannot mend my body before the son of Poseidon intercepts us, but with the vitality it lends me, I will slow time around you. Your enemies will not prevail against you while you do what must be done.
"What must be done?"
Take the ship to Connecticut. Go to your mother's house.
His stomach dropped. "My mother's...?"
Get her permission to take on the curse of Achilles. That will make you strong enough to serve as my host.
Before Luke could find the words to tactfully distance himself from the idea of serving as host to a Titan, Kronos was already adding:
Once you give your body to my spirit, you will share in my power....The daughter that time took from you, time will return....Your family will be made whole again....On your terms, because you love them. Not on the gods' terms....Time will bend for you. Do you see it?
Luke shut his eyes and let Lord Kronos show him how generous time could be. "Yes," he whispered.
My power, your love....My will, your body.
"Yes."
The uncaring hearts of gods and the feeble hearts of mortal parents will have no bearing on the future we create. You understand this.
"Yes, Lord Kronos."
Then do what must be done.
Luke gently slid the Golden Fleece off of Annabeth's sleeping body. Folded it and set it aside. (She whimpered quietly, as if she immediately noticed the difference. She noticed everything, didn't she?)
To keep her from getting cold, he drew her closer to him, using one hand to steer the boat while the other kept her from falling out of his lap. Her head was on his shoulder. He couldn't see her face, but he could feel her quiet breathing.
He smiled, as the tears dried on his face, and gave her a squeeze.
His baby.