Wanderlust
by KentuckyChicken

"Chris, I have a mission for you."

The hole was dark and intimidating, a wide gaping maw of a shapeless monster that nonetheless exuded a terrifying aura. He shuffled before entrance, then remembered who was watching and steeled himself. His hand gripped the flashlight it was holding and he flashed a look at his commander and half-sibling. Luke smiled back, but it was an empty expression. It had grown more and more artificial ever since they left camp. And it wasn't getting any better.

Sometimes he wondered if he had made the right choice, following this path. He despised the father who had given him life and then abandoned him to a cruel, merciless world, but he had not thought of the consequences of joining the war on the opposite side of him. He had not thought that it would be this…hard.

Stop sounding like a wuss, he scolded himself. You chose this. Whatever you bring upon yourself, you deserve it.

Taking a deep breath, he switched the flashlight on and descended into that bottomless pit.

All he could do was hope that he would be able to come back out again.

"It's the Labyrinth. It still exists, and if we can use it then Camp Half-Blood is nothing. But it cannot be navigated by normal means. And that, Chris, is where you come in."

How long had he been down here? Days? Months? It felt longer to him.

His rations were running out, no matter how hard he tried to preserve them. He would need to find somewhere to resupply soon, or else he would starve.

For some bizarre reason he had the feeling that the labyrinth was messing with his head. It seemed to change every so often, and he could see no way out even when he tried everything in his book of tips to navigate it. Things became endless in here, save for the dark tunnels that grew ever darker, the occasional odd room with nothing worth any value in it, and the smell of monsters.

He wondered how long he could go on before he lost it.

"I assume that you are familiar with the myth of Ariadne's twine, yes? That's what we need – the original twine, used by Theseus to come back to the living after he slew the Minotaur. We had sent scouts down there, of course, but I don't trust them. I trust you. I trust your reasons for fighting this war, brother, and we need your help now. Lend it to us."

The Labyrinth is changing.

He was an idiot for not noticing it before. A great, big, stupid idiot. If he was at camp his cabin would've stolen all of his underwear for this. But thinking about that wouldn't make things better now, because if he thought of camp he would think of a scowling girl with stringy brown hair and an electric spear, and things like that were dangerous.

He had to remind himself that he had enemies, that he was fighting for something. Down here, the only thing that mattered seemed to be…nothing at all. He had lost track of all times. Even eating had become less of a problem for him. He seemed to be in trances when he moved.

It was lonely down here.

"Luke, just tell me. What are the chances of me coming out alive?"

He found a body of a milkman today. It jolted him back into reality – he had to get out of here. There was a reason few people had survived the Labyrinth. He had to get out. He had to get out…

But how?

Blue eyes were averted. "I'm sorry, Chris."

There was light ahead. Sunlight.

He was so glad that he cried and launched himself toward it. It was a dead end, however, just a small hole about five inches across that looked out to a field of grass. Empty.

He stood there for hours and screamed. Nobody heard him. Eventually he gave up and moved on. At the very least it had given him hope. There will be bigger entrances that lead to the outer world. And when he got out, he would take a good, long break before coming back in here. He couldn't return to Kronos – not until he got what he came here for.

As scary as the Labyrinth was, he feared the Titan Lord more than anything.

He thinks.

It's lonely down here…

It felt forever before he arrived at another entrance. This one was barred with steel. He tried to hack at it with his sword, but it wouldn't give.

There was another body today. It wore a purple shirt.

He didn't care anymore.

I have to get out…

He finally broke. He went crazy and started hacking at the wall with his sword until it broke, and then he clawed at it until his nails broke. Then he sank to the ground and sobbed. Then he got up again and beat against the wall, screaming only one sentence both in his head and by his mouth.

"Let me out! LET ME OUT!"

No reply. The world had turned on him once more.

Please, please let me out!

He couldn't handle it anymore. He prayed to his dad. He prayed to the Titans, to the gods and to every single deity out there, real or unreal, for a way out. He promised them everything he had, not caring that he was contradicting himself. The walls were driving him crazy. Wait. Wasn't he already crazy? That's funny.

He opened his mouth and laughed. It was a shrill, crazed sound. And he liked it.

Oh, now that's priceless.

He stumbled on, giggling to nobody.

One, two, three, save a little bit for me…

Nothing. Nothing today. Nothing at all.

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

Was there supposed to be something?

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

His legs hurt, but he pushed on. There was light ahead. Fireflies? Fireflies were pretty, he remembered. He liked them. He should follow them.

He chewed on his fingers absently, getting the taste of blood. It wasn't delicious. He let his hand dangle by his side and kept walking.

"I'm sorry, Chris."

It was hot. He didn't like hot. Grunting, he looked around for some shades. He found one soon enough and scurried over to squat down on it, chewing on his fingers. He didn't like the taste, but it was better than nothing.

There was a woman, too. She came over to him and gave him a frightened look, then ran away and shut the door of her house. He just watched her. She was acting weird.

He giggled. Funny. Weird. Weird is funny. Was it?

She came out again eventually and gently ushered him into the house. He let her. As long as she had something better than fingers.

He didn't like the taste of fingers. Too fleshy. Maybe it would go better with milk?

The woman called somebody today. She had wrapped his fingers with white strips of cloth, making it impossible to bite through. He tried to take them off but she glowered at him and he stopped it. For now, anyway.

"Clarisse," the woman said.

Clarisse.

"Clarisse," he repeated, a faint light of recognition in his mind. He knew that word. It was probably better than fingers. No, he was sure it was better than fingers.

The frustrating thing was, he couldn't reach it. So he kept saying that word. Maybe it would bring back something.

"Clarisse. Clarisse. Clarisse. Clarisse."

Clarisse Clarisse Clarisse Clarisse…

"Hi, Chris."

He got a brief glimpse of reddened eyes and brown hair before powerful arms locked themselves around his neck and squeezed.

"Clarisse," he wheezed. Suddenly everything was right again.

Definitely better than fingers.

Fin

This is why you don't listen to creepy music and wonder about the workings of the human mind at 10:30 pm.