A/N: Slightly AU. Percy did not spend over a year at Camp Half-Blood before he went on his first quest. Rated M for a reason. Rick Riordan owns the wonderful Percy Jackson universe. Also, this was written by inkbender, who wanted to sanitize his account; thus fleshflash is the place where inkbender will publish all that dirty stuff :)

NOTE: Plain text in the story, written in present tense, is narration of the present. Italicized text in the story, written in past tense, is narration of the past.

Leave it to Annabeth to find the best shortcuts.

Smooth sandstone walls curves gracefully away as Percy shoots out of a narrow passageway into a cathedral-like, dark cavern. He can feel the water in this cave, but it isn't a warm, whole body of liquid; it slithers along the walls, drips menacingly from the jagged stalactites above, and pools in cold puddles on the limestone floor. And through the floor, Percy can feel the vibrations of the gigantic, mutated cave creature scuttling after him.

"What now?" Piper asked the group sourly from the deck of the Argo II. With smoke issuing from the cabin, most of team deigned to stand outside in the light rain.

A hazy figure supporting another emerged from the doorway, with Leo waving dark clouds away from Reyna's face. "It's not a kitchen fire," he announced, shooting a particular look Jason's way. "The explosion came from the engine room..." Leo thumps the side of the ship, where leathery bronze wings gently tuck themselves flat against the side of the ship. "Nothing I can't handle."

Percy sighed in exasperation, his hand itching for Riptide. "Tops, how long is this going to take?"

Percy's eyes search for an escape, sweeping along the sandstone walls for dark recesses indicating other offshoots. When he's run about fifty yards into the cavern, the sound of rock breaking-a gunshot, except lower in pitch and accompanied by tumbling debris-resonates throughout the cave and white tentacles thrusts their way into open space.
He has no idea what it is-but it's probably the monster they're trying to contain. And he now understands why Apollo had taken the precaution of firmly gripping his shoulder, looking him in the eye, and instructing, "Don't take this thing on alone."

"Hey, you go wade into the blazing inferno that is the engine room and tell me. I don't know. Maybe a day or so?" Leo's hands had already pulled a battery and wire out of his bottomless tool belt, and he was nervously fiddling with it.

Annabeth literally growled. "We're running out of time," she yelled, pointing at sliver of white in the evening sky. "According to Artemis, the minute that moon disappears, some monster is going to burrow up from underground and raze Colorado."

"Thalia and her Hunters are already there," Jason piped up. "We-"

"-should keep the situation contained," Piper interjects forcefully. "Slice it up right when it comes out and scatter the dust, right there. It'll be hard enough if it gets to a city."

"On foot then," Percy decided instantly. "This plain is relatively flat-"

"And those mountains," Annabeth interrupted, "are relatively a vertical wall. Those things don't ever dip down into mountain passes. We'd have to take the tunnels underneath to get to the plateaus where Thalia is."

"Un-underground?" Reyna gulped. "I... I don't do so well in... tight spaces." Her fingers automatically find the bow always strapped to her back.

"I'll need someone to help me with Festus," Leo provided as something below crashes, sending vibrations through the ship. "We'll be a while."

"Don't take it on alone." And here he was, taking it on alone. The small cave entrance Annabeth had led them to had eventually branched into a larger tunnel-one recently dug and about the diameter of three city buses. They hadn't figured it out then-after all, wasn't the monster sleeping twenty miles away? That main tunnel had eventually ended in a black pit, so Annabeth had directed them down a tighter cleft in the rock. Might as well keep going forward.

That small passageway had continued for quite a while, slightly broadening until that albino salamander with six-foot long meat cleavers for claws had literally dropped on top of them, tunneling down from above. With little to no maneuverability, they used size to their advantage, darting through the narrow crevice while the thing clawed and squealed after them.

And somewhere along the way, Annabeth and Jason disappeared into another diverging tunnel-their guide and the other warrior. Piper's eyes were set and determined and her hand clutched Katoptris tightly, but it shook and her skin was pale in the strange luminescence that emanated off the slimy walls. The confrontation had been rather brief; once there was a opening, Percy whirled on the thing with Riptide uncapped and at the ready-but it knew who was the weaker one and so of course the tentacles had poison tips that numbed on contact. Piper was quick and sure with the triangular dagger, slicing off searching feelers while Percy sunk the bronze blade into one of those meat-cleaver-ed paws-but the explosion of dust stopped at the leg, quickly reforming while the body remained whole.

Piper screamed once as her legs buckled, scratches on her face allowing the entry of numbing poison, her unfeeling skin not registering pain as she collapsed against the rough sandstone walls. But the carnivorous monster's attention had already been redirected, and Percy ran-not out of fear, but to draw it away from Piper's unmoving body.

You couldn't fight monsters anymore; not after the gates of death had been open for so long, and monsters hardly returned to Hades before springing back into their original bodies. You could only slightly incapacitate them and then run like hell.

This cavern does not help Percy run like hell. Once that thing is done squeezing out of the tight space, it's got all the freedom to maneuver, to somehow trap Percy while he can only find weak spots and ways to hold it behind, keep it from killing him. His chest is heaving, orange shirt deemed too attention-attracting and discarded a long time ago. Sweat drips down his brow as his fingers grip Riptide, muscles taut and ready to react. React. It's all he can do until an opening is presented. A pathway straight to the heart-that would disintegrate the entire being-or dividing of attention on the part of the monster that would allow Percy to present his back while fleeing. All the while, his eyes are searching for an exit, a tunnel branching off other than the one the salamander is coming through.

A giant salamander. This is not how Percy Jackson is going to die. The frill of poisonous tentacles waving about its head looks almost ridiculous, but his attention is drawn to the blank white eyes. It doesn't use vision... probably heat sensors somewhere on the nose, or maybe on those tentacles in addition to the poison barbs. Or maybe its sniffing him out, catching the exquisite aroma of warm flesh wafting off the tense figure in front of it. The rest of its body is slithery, pale jello; four other webbed feet behind the initial pair, which holds those six-foot claws, and a series of black dots or holes along its soft underside.

His mind immediately begins analyzing the enemy while keeping a lookout for chances to flee - uping his chances of survival through all methods. It's almost as if Annabeth is right there behind him, whispering analysis into his ear: those holes on the bottom probably latch onto things and drain nutrients. The monster probably isn't fully aquatic anymore but still retains the need for constant hydration. If you could pull the water from its body-

It's completely out of the tiny crevice now and it wastes no time in charging forward, tentacles straining forward for him. He waits for the right moment while Annabeth whispers, Definitely in the tentacles. Its head travels low to the ground, almost just gliding over the white limestone, all its legs flat on the ground propelling it along; its movement is certainly serpentine, undulating as if it were an eel underwater.

Riptide flashes in the faint luminescence as Percy leaps up at the last moment, tracing the tip across the gelatin flesh that passes a couple inches beneath. The bronze cuts through a cloudy eye patch and the monster screams, its head jerking up and messing up its undulating pattern. The backbone lashes out and Percy's mind reevaluates the situation, trying to land and roll safely away. Adrenaline floods through his veins when he lands, allowing him to take the strain that might have incapacitated a lesser-bodied person. But he is Percy Jackson, and he's still got his wits about him.

Which is promptly disproven the next moment when the flat tail slams into him, knocking him sideways. The limestone is wet and slimy and provides little resistance, allowing him to retreat gracefully for quite a distance. He hisses as he suddenly lands in shallow water, and he's immediately in contact with the entire body surrounding him. He can feel the little ledge he's on and how that ledge suddenly drops away two feet to his right and there's an underwater tunnel that leads to another cavern. An escape. He thinks back to Piper, but she's still a ways back in that passageway and the salamander probably won't go back for her until it finds him.

But he'll be long gone.

Percy rolls to his right and drops into the deep water. There are a couple tiny life forms drifting around but none as threatening as the huge thing back there; still, just in case, he pats his jeans pocket and finds Riptide faithfully there, capped and pressed against his leg tightly.

He sinks even more, deciding to put more distance between him and that monster. This is a tactical retreat, he tells himself. Apollo was right: this thing cannot be fought alone. It needs its attention divided and Percy needs Jason to have his back and Annabeth behind him, orchestrating the battlefield and providing as his anchor. Leo would be off to the side, constructing a final stunner for the killing blow, and Piper would be sectioning off body parts that fall off, sealing them in separate containers. He needs his team... and hopefully this cavern will lead him back to them. That large cavern back there only holds one entrance and exit other than this hidden one, and the first is guarded by a seriously pissed monster.

The tunnel slopes downwards and continues for a bit, and Percy feels his body naturally adjust to the increase in pressure. It winds and twists and Percy is almost considering going back, since it doesn't seem like it's headed anywhere, but the next moment there's a light at the end of the tunnel and he shoots towards it, straight up a tall well and into a small room. He doesn't breach the surface though, cautiously surveying the dimensions from his position underwater. The brightness in this room is much different from the eerie bioluminescence of the cave; this room definitely has a golden hint to it, an almost natural light source. Cautiously, Percy pokes his head out of the surface of the still waters.

In front of him is a gentle, sandy slope leading up to a small hill. It's surrounded on three sides by straight walls, as if a dry well were dug here; sure enough, almost fifty feet above them, what appears to be sunlight leaks through a crack in the ceiling. But the figure on the little pedestal is the thing that draws Percy's attention. There's nothing else in the tiny room, other than the small pool that Percy's sitting in right now.

The statue appears to be solid gold. A solid gold statue of a bare-chested young man sitting with his knees up and covered by a smooth amber cloth, leaning back on his locked arms with his head slightly tilted back to expose the throat. However, Percy can still see his face, and that's what holds his attention. The face is contorted, almost as if in pain. And it's Luke Castellan.

The name springs a hundred memories in his mind. Kronos' reincarnated body, shining like the sun as he swung his golden scythe in the halls of Mount Olympus. Luke, his once athletic body showing signs of aging as Thalia knocked him off the cliff at Mount Tam. Luke, the tall young man whom they had battled with over the course of three years. His blond hair, his blue eyes, his friendly demeanor as he accepted Percy into the Hermes cabin, showed him the ropes, gave him a helmet, made him belong. His tanned skin, his athletic build, his long legs as he loped next to Percy during Capture the Flag. And that first night, when he slipped into the cool quiet of Percy's cabin in the middle of the night... Percy still remembered Luke's muscled body, his soft caresses, his tender whispers as he made love to him for the first time.

And the problem is, Percy isn't sure if that event was a good or bad thing.

From the first moment he'd stepped into the Hermes cabin and seen the easygoing blonde striding towards him, the thirteen-year old boy had connected with him. To him, it was an older-younger brother relationship. As an only child constantly switching from school to school following accident after accident, Percy hadn't had a lot of friends growing up. Hell, five different schools in five years, five different neighborhoods and five different homes looking at five private academies that would take a dyslexic, ADHD kid with an accidental destructive streak. He was somewhat surprised at first when Grover, a constantly hungry, rather hairy "thirteen" year old, had immediately latched on to him the minute he'd entered Yancy Academy in New York; other than Grover, who, eventually Percy figured out, had actually been assigned to watch over him, Percy hadn't really made any fast friends with anybody other than his mother.

So when Luke had immediately welcomed him, befriended him, trained and sparred with him, Percy had immediately bonded. So what if the older boy sometimes let his touches - pats on the back, hand on the shoulder, leg pressing against his under the table - linger a little longer than necessary. Percy had made his first true friend. Somebody who actually looked out for him, and not by default, like his mom.

Even when the gestures became increasingly personal-one on one footraces through the night, collapsing back at Percy's empty cabin with Luke's arm slung around his shoulder and pulling the younger boy closer to his heaving chest-or swimming and wrestling in the lake; the younger Percy had never considered the purposeful placement of Luke's muscular arms when he seemingly randomly grabbed any flailing limb, working his way to eventually immobilizing the thirteen-year old, holding the struggling boy tight against his body in the cool water, and laughing quietly into the smooth skin of Percy's neck while he writhed fruitlessly in Luke's arms.

They had gone swimming a lot.

Clarisse was always out to get him, giving him the evil eye that he could also feel burning into his back. He and Annabeth exchanged scathing remarks, each not willing to give in one stubborn inch. Silena floated around as if she didn't have anything but helium in her head - she certainly spoke as if she did - and fussed over her makeup and clothes and color-coding her armor. At the age of thirteen, girls were still a strange species of creature, and the attention from Luke was all he needed to get by.

Stuck in his lonely cabin, he actually began to look forward to visits Luke made in the middle of the night.

Sure, Luke could just drop by anytime, but Percy was sure that, as the leader of Hermes cabin, which still contained an overflow of unclaimed demigods, the eighteen year old probably had a lot of his hands. It actually comforted Percy though that, even though Luke had a lot of stuff to take care of, he still had enough energy to drop by at one in the morning and talk. And if he left a soft kiss lingering on Percy's head-then, a week later, his cheek - and finally, softly, tenderly, on the lips - before he left, even if it did seem a little weird... but who was Percy to judge? He'd never stayed long enough in any school to form an opinion, and, though no film he'd ever watched depicted brothers or best friends saying goodbye with such a loving gesture, Percy figured that the gesture only strengthen the bond between the two of them. He was now closer to Luke than anybody else in the camp. Even that Annabeth, whom Percy could see goggle at Luke from across the platters of food while Luke's hand slipped under the table and rested lightly on the inside of Percy's thigh. Luke liked him better than anybody else, and young Percy relished it.

So when Luke had taken that final step, Percy wasn't sure if he didn't want Luke to continue. The older teenager had slipped in one night and, instead of sitting at the foot of the bed while Percy sat at the head under the covers, Luke had clambered up on the bed, two hands pinning the covers down on either side of the boy, and almost tackled Percy with his lips. This Luke wasn't gentle, soft lips moving against his; they were rough, needy, sucking at him while his hands pinned the boy underneath the covers.

"L-l-luke?" Percy stammered.

Luke pulled back, and Percy's blood ran cold; this was not his Luke, his eyes were almost a different color with desire and his actions were jerky, non-fluid, uncontrolled. But then the brother Percy knew pulled himself back together and his body was almost transformed before his eyes, taking that smooth, easygoing attitude again. But all was not the same, and Percy could still see that longing behind Luke's eyes. For some reason, Percy felt ashamed; it was as if he had denied his only friend the only thing that friend had wanted. After all the things Luke had done for him, he couldn't do this for Luke?

"Percy, I-I... I'm sorry," Luke stuttered, pulling back slowly. His eyes still swirled in the dark, looking over Percy's bare chest with its sinewy muscles just developing. His body was still tense, as if still wanting to leap forward and take Percy. But he was restraining himself painfully, and Percy almost couldn't deny Luke whatever he wanted.

He didn't know what Luke wanted, but his gut feeling was telling him not to find out. A very strong gut feeling. Almost like a panic. This was wrong. This was not right. This should not be happening. This-but Percy squashed those thoughts down, pushing them underneath the boiling surface of his mind. This was Luke, his closest friend, asking him for just one thing. Percy had an inkling of what this might be, and his entire body was screaming, RUN! But that one person, the only one who mattered-

Percy's arms shot up, wrapped themselves around Luke's neck, and brought him crashing down on top of his body. His limited arsenal of movies didn't really show anything beyond this first step-making out, and then what happens? Fade to black, fade back to two naked people cuddling in bed. That sounded nice and comfy, nothing like this frantic scrabble of lips and tongue pushing inside his.

His arms were still wrapped around Luke's neck, bringing the heavier boy on top of him, closer to him. He was just a little frozen, just a little petrified and unsure of how to proceed next, and Luke sensed that. He pulled back, concern momentarily sliding in front of that other...hungry look in his eyes.

"Are you sure you want this, Percy?" Luke whispered lowly, pulling back a little. It loosened Percy's grip around his neck and shocked Percy back into movement. Luke's voice was heavy with something Percy couldn't identify yet, but it made him feel... wanted. Necessary. Luke wanted him.This didn't have to be a one-way friendship, with only Luke handing out the benefits to Percy. No, Percy had to give something back in return. He just never knew how, and now Luke had provided him a method of repayment. A method that Luke so deeply desired himself, iand performing that act would be enough to satisfy the kindness Luke has heaped on him for the past few months. If only Percy could get over the sick feeling in his body, the almost repulsed set of his mind.

Quickly, Percy shoved those restraints aside, squinted his eyes shut, and nodded briefly.

He was slightly surprised - slightly relieved? - when Luke pulled himself out of Percy's arms till his back was straight, his legs still stradling Percy's waist. Percy opened his eyes briefly to see what Luke was doing - he was taking off his shirt, revealing healthy, tanned skin dark in the moonlight.

And then Luke's mouth was on him again, but this time right beneath the neck. It was a strange feeling, Luke sucking his neck lightly, but Percy gasped in surprise when teeth nibbling on the tender flesh there. Then Luke was moving down, or his mouth was moving down, and before Percy knew it, Luke was tugging at his waistband and Percy had to stop him right there. "What are you doing?" he hissed, yanking his pajama pants back up. Luke's head was right there on his flat stomach. There were private things -

"Shhhh," Luke whispered, hauling himself up onto Percy's body. One hand ran up through Percy's thick, black hair and tangled there while the other remained on his flat stomach. Percy could feel something tingling there, and it wasn't a feeling he had given a lot of conscious thought to. But now it was reacting and it was because of Luke and his hand very purposely sliding its way south as Luke's lips crashed into his above, distracting him with a hand in his hair and lips against his and the body above his and he didn't realize until Luke's other hand had cupped his recently grown cock.

Percy immediately stiffened, but Luke looked pleased, and Percy had to fight the internal reaction at being touched... there. But Luke was whispering approval, soft words that fell pleasingly on his ear, murmurs that melted into soft kisses and Percy actually felt a spark of... happiness? Pleasure? Some strange, wild feeling uncurling deep within him, hidden deeper than that previous gut reaction.

Luke's hand moved further down to cup his balls - the two large ping pong balls that Percy was rather embarrassed about. They were so large, yet Luke's eyes had that wild look again that made Percy want to give more, and Luke's rough fingers on that tender, virgin area drew out a long moan from Percy's lips.

Luke's eyes darkened with desire as he tackled Percy once more, exploring more of Percy's mouth with his tongue and Percy's uncharted territory with his skillful hand. Every new position elicited another breathy groan from Percy as those fingers traced the length, finally wrapping around the shaft and moving up, squeezing out something wet.

Percy gasped suddenly as Luke broke contact, his tongue suddenly no longer in Percy's mouth but on his cock. "L-lu-luke," Percy stuttered, his words punctuated by sharp inhalations. Sensation exploded down there as Luke's fingers were still wrapped around the bottom of his shaft but Luke's tongue was swirling around the swollen, angry red head. Pleasure fought for dominance and Percy's breathing came faster, his stomach undulating with breath after breath.

Suddenly, Luke simply swallowed the entirety of Percy's cock, and something explodes through him. His leg muscles clench and his abdomen crunches down, and Percy lets out a long hiss and throws his head back as Luke takes that one precious thing from Percy.

And Percy watched that all leave when Luke pulled a Pit Scorpion out of nowhere and set it on him. The teenager walked away and never looked back. He left Percy to die - his first true friend, who was yet another fake trying to manipulate him and ultimately leave him behind. He hadn't been able to deal with it, but the poison took him out of his misery before it could register too deep. And then, while he was sleeping it off, Athena, goddess of wisdom, strategy, crafts; the guide for heroes, who directed them on their paths - she dropped by in the middle of the night and smudged the memory of it. Not enough so that he would completely forget the affair; she left enough so that, the next time Percy saw him aboard the Andromeda, he'd feel that hurt, the betrayal, the instant distrust and alienation. But she couldn't erase the emptiness he felt when he woke up with Annabeth sitting next to his side, and even though she left a snide remark as she breezed out the door, he still hung onto that lifeline that somebody, somebody out there was his friend.

And now, she was his girlfriend. And they'd been thick and thin, ranging from a loveboat ride from hell to the raging seas of the Bermuda Triangle to holding up the sky to activating Mt. St. Helens again and making it look like he'd died when really he'd washed ashore on a floating island in the sky and been nursed back to health by the resident cursed maiden. They'd been through extreme circumstances and come out stronger, bonded beyond physical union even though they hadn't even done that yet.

Now, in the present, reflecting on his experiences, Percy realizes that he is infinitely closer to Annabeth than he ever was to Luke; for all he knows, Luke was simply using him as a scapegoat, branded as the Lightning Thief. The sexual encounters were just an additional benefit. On the other hand, Percy hasn't even touched Annabeth and he knows - just knows - they'll live and die together. He loves her. Even after he lost his memory - everything that he knew, everything that he was - she still came for him, was strong for him, stood by him. And slowly, piece by piece, those memories came leaking through until he was inundated with everything: blue milk, Camp Half-Blood, his lifelong friend-and-mother, the strawberry fields, flying shoes, Grover speaking in falsetto to a Cyclops, the similarities between Thalia and Jason, the death of Pan, Annabeth's baseball cap, Rachel Dare in complete gold, frozen as a statue in front of the Marriott Marquis.

Which lands Percy back in the present. He blinks rapidly, pulling himself back from nostalgia to glance over the golden statue before him.

It's not Luke. The statue in its frozen state is slightly ambiguous and it does look slightly like the teenager he used to suck off every night in his lonely cabin, listening to the trickling water and the soft moans of the blonde servant of Kronos as his rough fingers knotted through Percy's black hair, as sweat dripped down his muscular torso and that husky voice whispered, "Fuck, Percy," before dragging him forward by his hair to deepthroat Luke's thick shaft. Percy remembers. That flood triggered by Annabeth's constant patience eventually brought those memories back too, and he made sure to excuse himself from all human presence before he screamed his heart out in confusion and anguish.

He loves Annabeth, and he can't live without her. But sometimes he'll find himself observing Jason, the way his muscles shift as he tries to flip an omelet on the gas stove or help Leo carry Festus' body parts around the engine room. And when he and Annabeth cuddle, he'll wonder what it feels like to have hard planes pressing tight instead of soft curves melding into his torso. But then he'll push those thoughts aside and go help Piper with the laundry or tickle Annabeth in her weak spot, which always ends up with Annabeth straddling him or him straddling her and then Leo will shout an innuendo up the pipes, which also transmits to the entirety of the ship and Reyna will avoid eye contact with Jason for an awkward hour or so.

The statue is still there in front of him when his head breaches the surface of the small pool; the figure is frozen in a position that remind Percy so much of those tarnished nights in his cabin, kneeling on the floor with Luke sitting on the bed. That statue is almost in the exact position that Luke would be in, his body supported by leaning back on his arms and his head slightly tilted back in ecstasy as Percy's oral skills improved; Luke's knees would be up, flexing muscular hamstrings that caged Percy's head into Luke's crotch.

Percy can smell the sweat wafting through the air as his senses readjust to terrestial life; he can almost taste the slight saltiness, and though he's lived in the shadow of that nightmare for months since those memories returned, attached to them is a sort of longing. For the need, the dependence that another man had on him. Only he could deliver; only he could satisfy.

Percy feels revolted at this sick, twisted feeling rising in his gut, but his curiosity bests him and he crawls out of the water hesitantly, closer to the frozen gold statue. He almost expects it to move, to sigh, to gasp and twitch as bestial urges ripple through his own body - but of course, the statue doesn't move at all. It's a statue... and upon closer inspection, it's not Luke. The gold sheen has taken all the color from the original model it was fashioned after, but even Percy can tell there is no scar running down from his eye to his chin. It became one of the things Percy focused on when the pain of Luke inside him was too much; that scar has been so deeply defined as Luke that, without it, even if the similarities are strikingly close, all hope of it being a replica of his eighteen year old lover vanishes.

Lover? It is such an intimate term for the man who used him, fought him, took hope from him those four years, killed his friends, and caused so much strife as the vessel of Kronos - but ultimately, Luke became the hero of the Oracle by luring the Titan into his body and dispersing the soul when the time was right. Even as his body began to burn away, allowing the King of the Titans to shine forth, Luke took back the knife he'd given to Annabeth several years earlier and sacrificed himself to save those he ultimately loved. Annabeth, unmoving on the cold marble of Olympus Hall; Thalia, his closest friend, nowhere to be seen; and Percy, the young boy he'd taken advantage of earlier in life, now the young man who finally brought him to the light and see the error of allowing Kronos to reign.

Luke sacrificed himself because, on the advent of Kronos' reign, everything he'd ever loved would be wiped away. It didn't matter that, either way, Luke was going to die; for the sake of allowing his loved ones - Annabeth, Thalia, Percy - to continue living, Luke sacrificed himself. And so the villain redeemed himself in the end, and Percy is still confused about his strong feelings towards the man who had brought him through his hero's journey and brought him closer to Annabeth and, in the end, killed himself so that Percy and Annabeth could keep living.

Percy realizes he's been inching closer to the statue all this time, so much that he's almost sitting at the feet of the golden statue. There appears to be a golden cloth draped across the statue's lap, covering the lower body; the cloth is also part of the statue and immovable. From these close quarters, Percy knows it is definitely not Luke: the face is a little rounder, the shoulders much more broad. Luke had been lean, the muscular physique of a runner, worthy of his father's title as the messenger of the gods. This statue is bulkier and definitely younger, and its golden sheen has nothing on the striking figure Luke had imposed when Percy last saw him in Manhattan.

There in Manhattan during the final showdown amidst the rubble and chaos, and even more so in the quiet hall of Olympus, Luke had had a supernaturally healthy glow to his pink skin - the first symptoms of the Titan's full glory waiting to burst from the human vessel. Luke's face, though he'd only been twenty-two at the time, had the aged, weathered look of a forty-year old, with haunted eyes staring into space contemplatively before he stabbed himself in his Achilles' heel.

Percy leans forward over the statue to touch that Luke's Achilles' heel: a seemingly random spot under his left armpit, but an area that would have been covered by armor and protected by the left arm, which held the shield. Percy doesn't know what to expect from touching that spot, and of course, nothing happens. The statue's features still don't match Luke's; the position is remains static, as if frozen in mid-ecstasy or mid-crab scuttle backwards away from the point of a sword. Percy can't tell, since the metallic face is stony and unreadable. There is nothing around to hint a story behind this strange work of art, nothing to show what artist decided to lower a no doubt heavy statue down a deep, narrow shaft and leave it in a tiny tomb of a room. Nothing but a tired, confused teenager sitting in the lap of a statue reminiscent to a past lover who gave him doubts about his identity.

Percy sits in silence there for a while as the water drips out of his hair, down the smooth skin of his bare chest, evaporating out of the wet jeans hugging his legs. It's not Luke. Luke Castellan is gone. Or maybe he's shooting for the Elysian Fields. Maybe he seeks reincarnation-to live a human life three times and ultimately attain the highest honor of the afterlife. Or maybe he just wants to see Thalia, or Annabeth, or even Percy Jackson. Luke's memories may have been wiped clean by the river of Lethys in the underworld, but his soul remains the same, and just maybe he may feel the satisfaction that his loved ones are still living. Maybe Luke Castellan's soul is out there right now, a two year old who has no idea what his previous life did to affect the lives of so many others.

"Did you ever..." Percy startles himself by speaking. He can't ever remember addressing Luke directly; it'd always been thoughts about his character and his life and what effect he'd had on Percy himself - but never a direct address to a frozen lookalike.

He musters the strength to continue speaking, no matter how ridiculous it is. It's almost like catharsis: flushing those thoughts from his mind by confronting them and expulsing them by any means necessary. Even if it means isolating himself from his friends and girlfriend to contemplate his newest memories, or screaming to the skies, to the gods, Why did this happen to me?, or by simply talking it out in a one-sided conversation with the criminal/lover.

"Did you really... love me?"

Nothing. Cold water continues to drip down his face from the dark mop of hair above, but hot tears spring to his eyes suddenly at the emotional onslaught that follows. The metal beneath him, with water pooling into the folds of the frozen cloth, seems to grow warm in response.

Percy wipes away those traitorous tears angrily, leaning forward. "Back at Half-Blood, even before I'd gone on that stupid quest to prove that I wasn't the Lightning Thief. Did you really love me?" He braces his hands against those broad shoulders that aren't Luke, but in his emotional state, the frozen face he sees, blurred by tears, might as well be the one who threw him into confusion. "Or were you just using me? Were you just obeying Kronos, fucking me twice a week so I couldn't break away from you later?"

He's unaware that the waters of the small pool behind him begin to froth angrily, corresponding with Percy's emotional upheaval. "Were all those weeks just something to tie me to you so closely, I couldn't help wear those flying shoes into Tartarus carrying Zeus' bolt? Damn it, Luke, why did you even mess with me like that? I was only thirteen years old! Fucking thirteen!"

A wave leaps up from the pool and crashes on the beach, but Percy doesn't hear it above the roaring blood in his own ears.

"What were you trying to accomplish? Did you think you could take me over like that and not expect me to break at some time? Why would you do that to me? WHY?" And he's so coordinated, so overwhelmed in anger and confusion, that when the pool behind him erupts into a thick, foaming geyser and crashes down over him, his breath doesn't even miss a beat; he transitions immediately from gleaning oxygen from air to separating it from water, even as the torrents rage about him.

The golden statue doesn't even flinch, doesn't move as Percy stares at it in furious anger. The water almost blocks out the light seeping in through the cracks in the well cover above, but the statue still appears to emit some of its own light, gleaming dimly in the dark waters.

As the waters finally cease its frantic churning, Percy's passionate feelings also begin to drain away, swirling back down into the tiny pool. Finally, when Percy's head breaches the surface of the water once again, he's just apathetic. All feeling has been sucked away again, leaving him empty and wanting to fill it with something.

"Did you think of me in the end?"

Luke had only been brought to his senses when he knocked Annabeth down mercilessly and saw her brilliant blonde hair spilling across the white marble floor. He hadn't even blinked when he drew blood from Percy's body.

"Did you ever think of how you hurt me?" Percy whispers softly, with no strength left to scream. His chest heaves at the exertion of pulling all that water out of the tiny, deep pool. And the act has brought him nothing but the need that he can't ever seem to fill. Not while Annabeth is around. Not while everybody at camp expects certain things of them. Not while he still has such a deep attachment to her, not while he still loves her so much he doesn't ever want to hurt her. They are bound so tightly together, and not through physical means whatsoever.

But she can't fill him completely. Percy has already given a vital part of himself away; or Luke had taken it forcefully, and it's something Percy can never get back. His virginity is never something he can offer Annabeth. the point of the matter is, Percy's split in two, and the fact that Percy doesn't hate Luke for that first act has Percy questioning himself, and why he needs another man to satisfy him in ways no woman ever could.

He can see clearly now that the flood is gone, and the statue in front of him is not Luke.

Luke is gone. There's nothing left for Percy but to move on.

But still, Percy can't help but lean forward slowly, placing his hands gently on those firm shoulders, close his eyes, and tenderly touches his lips to Luke-look-alike's lips. He lingers there for a while, feeling those soft lips slowly respond to his. He loses himself in the thought of Luke genuinely returning love without tugging his manipulative marionette strings; just Luke, no King of the Titans affecting his actions. He feels warmth on his bare chest as well as a growing pressure in his wet, tight jeans, and under his hands as what once was gold slowly begins to turn back to warm, human flesh.

The realization is shocking and Percy's eyes snap open. Staring back at him are not Luke's ice blue eyes, but rather a wild, vivid green.

All that's all he sees before their positions are suddenly reversed. After being frozen in gold for who knows how long, the young man is surprisingly quick, and the two roll over until Percy's flat on his back with his legs restrained by the still golden but now flexible cloth, and his arms held above his head by one muscular arm. Percy's still in shock from the sudden transition; one moment, a strange resemblance to Luke; now, a very real opponent who, now with color restored, looks even less like Luke and more like a desperate, wild young man holding a wicked-looking knife to his throat.

"Who are you?"