Climb (Percy Jackson x Reader)

five

✺ THE PUPPETEER ✺

Luke didn't see her eyes go empty.

He didn't see the life sparkling in her face when it was still there. He couldn't.

She'd turned away from him.

And it made sense. Why wouldn't she look to those she loved? Why would she look at him?

After everything—what he had done, what she had endured—Luke couldn't possibly be worthy of her dying gaze.

He used to be. Once.

When he lost her before, she'd cared enough to look his way. She even smiled in reassurance, letting him know that everything would eventually be all right.

It wasn't. Not then. Not without her.

How could he possibly think that it would be easier to bear for a second time?

Maybe it was because he had believed she would stay with him, keep herself on the side where it was safe. He let her hold his fate in her hands because he vowed to do the same for her. He believed she would stay because he had trusted her with his life, with his secrets.

He had trusted her with everything.

— x —

"I bathed in the River Styx."

(Y/N) furrows her brow, her eyes flickering with suppressed emotion. Luke leans back against the chess table, nodding as if to reassure her of the words.

"You know, I figured that in order for me to succeed, I needed to ensure that I couldn't be taken out," he explains, watching carefully as (Y/N) fights to keep her expression neutral.

"Why would you do that?" she asks, restraining herself from wringing her hands together. "You're already a skilled fighter. All the Curse of Achilles gives you is heightened abilities at the cost of later weakness."

Luke tilts his head. "I don't think it's a curse."

"It is literally called a curse."

"It makes me practically invincible, (Y/N)," he furthers, biceps flexing with irritation. "My skin won't sustain any injury."

"Yeah, but the rest of you is still mortal. The inside of you can still be broken. And besides, it's guaranteed death if someone gets lucky and hits your spot. It wouldn't be otherwise. Surely you knew that." Luke knows exactly what she's thinking as panic streaks through her expression—that he was smart, that he would never have chosen the Curse on his own accord. "Was this really your decision?"

An answer doesn't come.

(Y/N)'s hands tremble as he refuses to look at her, and she clenches them into fists.

"Luke," she starts, taking a step away, "who's pulling the strings, here?"

The son of Hermes snaps his head towards her, eyes filling with hurt at her defensive stance. "Do you not trust me?"

She doesn't respond.

"(Y/N)," he breathes, stepping forward. He stops when she again moves back. "What's going on? I thought we were fine."

(Y/N)'s hand brushes over her dagger, and Luke stiffens at the action.

"I need to know," she says, glancing warily at the sarcophagus in the corner. "I need to know if the person making these decisions is really you."