484 fever and fear by chbslove (Percy Jackson)

*Biggest issue with the story is the implie/ basically stated PercyxLuke stuff, however it is rather important to the plot so it is what it is.*

Latest Update:COMPLETE

Summary: "Thought you were aiming to kill Kronos."

"I am," he said. "I'm destined to."

—

Percy was captured by Kronos' forces when he was thirteen years old. After two years of hell on earth and agony in general, he manages to break free. With his mortality thinning out more and more along with his patience and will to live, he only has one goal anymore before he's done with being alive – and that goal is killing Luke Castellan and by extension, Kronos.

Along the way, he meets some new and old friends, makes acquaintances and navigates his fight against the Time Lord from underneath a deadly maze. He finds out things about himself and the war that he didn't know before, destroys way too many things, and completely derails his powers and himself in the process. His father said it best once upon a time, when he wasn't a monster yet and still had hell coming for him. The sea does not like to be restrained, and neither does he.

It starts with an explosion, continues with earthquakes, and will ultimately be finished with a decision. Will he preserve Olympus – or will he raze it to the ground?

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33431572/chapters/83046181?view_adult=true

Word Count:41k

Chapters:11

Chapter 1: divine might

Percy woke to the familiar noise of the workings of the Princess Andromeda.

He decided to rest for a couple more minutes, leaving his eyes closed as he came to fully. His entire body, from his tense shoulders to his battered shins, was aflame with dull, ever-lasting pain – he was used to waking up this way by now, was used to the ache that never receded even when he fell asleep in here at night. He knew that he'd wake up here again, just like he had every single morning on every single one of the the three-hundred and something-something days he'd spent here.

He'd turn sixteen soon. The thought somehow worsened his headache. He was so exhausted – he was at his end. But that didn't matter. That would never matter as long as he was still here. He had to push himself through his suffering, or else it'd truly be the death of him.

He'd sworn something to himself when they'd first chained his hands together. When they'd thrown him into the deepest pits in Tartarus to fight monsters with his bare hands – every single scar, every drop of blood and sweat and every tear he had shed and for everything Kronos and Luke had done to him. He had sworn to himself that he would not break under it all. It was getting harder, with every time his restraints chafed his skin away – he was pretty sure he only had bones and a thin layer of skin underneath those shackles anymore. He was shattering slowly, exhaustion overwhelming him more and more, the hopelessness getting to him with the knowledge that no one would come for him, but he had been born out of a broken oath. He never – never – broke his own. He had to keep getting up, or all of the horror he had endured would've been for nothing.

He owed this to his family.

And with that cheerful thought, Percy finally ended his stupidly overdramatic internal monologue and opened his eyes.

Somewhere between his first and second year of captivity, Luke had gotten around to getting him an actual room on his stupid-ass cruise ship – the fucker was in the last stages of becoming the titan himself, and Percy could only shake his head at the thought as he shuffled off the bed, his chained feet hindering him just a little. The shackles were connected to one another, robbing him of free movement – despite what Luke may thought, looking at them filled him with a sort of grim pride that he filed under the worst of his emotions. He was wearing those because he murdered his way through the Andromeda's crew almost a year back. On his fifteenth birthday, he'd decimated the monsters of this ship in a blood rage that had almost, almost gotten him his freedom – until Luke had intervened and stopped him, refusing him mercy once again. After that, they'd put those chains on him, and whatever spell was on them, it bound his power with him and caged it into him.

Percy knew Kronos wanted him alive for some reason. Sure, he also wanted his ass freezing, miserable, tortured and hopeless, but very much alive. As he looked out of his always opened window and caught sight of his friend Kelli, the empousa, he felt a flare of that old lust to kill, sparking to life inside of him – as if she felt his gaze, she looked up and met it, baring her fangs at him in a grin. He didn't return the grin, as much as he felt like it. Instead, he turned to look at himself in the dirty mirror. It was full of his blood, but he could make out his features and frame somewhat well in the stained glass.

His face was gaunt and sunken in. He looked like a living skull, with hollow cheeks that gave him a hungry look, framed by his greasy curls that were growing too long again. The skin underneath and around his eyes was bruising black and purple. His left one was swollen and red when he opened it as wide as he could. The scars on his throat were white and starkly padded, standing out against his skin. They'd healed badly. He wasn't allowed any water except the little they made him drink – of course. That'd be too lucky. The scars that cut through his lips and his cheek healed better than that. Percy pressed his mouth into a thin line at the thought. Luke had stitched those up himself, he remembered, when Percy had been feverish with infected injuries and lack of his cherished water. Someone did him the favor of dressing him in new clothes whenever he was asleep. He shook his head again at the black T-shirt and the blue jeans. He was always barefoot, which led to his feet being perpetually bruised. He was pretty sure his ankle was sprained, but he'd learned to suffer silently. He stared at his thin frame, sharp shoulders and prominent skeleton. He looked like death – no wonder most thought him the devil.

As he watched the monsters shuffle around the ship he'd spent the past year memorizing, he reached for his restrained power. It had become routine to try using it – and he wisely kept to himself that he could feel it growing inside of him, despite the cage, despite the chains, despite the magic hindering it from bursting out of him. He highly doubted this ship would survive it if he'd manage to get it free. With every fiber of his being, he wanted to tear this yacht into pieces.

The key in the lock of his cabin turned behind him. He didn't care to face Luke, but his voice caused another wave of anger surge to the surface from deep inside of him.

"You're awake."

Not a question in essence, but Luke phrased it like one. Percy felt a smile tugging at his lips now. The son of Hermes was the only one who never quite fell for his charade of the hero losing his hope. Or, well, no. Percy didn't have hope – not that anyone would rescue him, anyway. He didn't think he needed somebody to do so. Not anymore. Not when his power was boiling inside of him like this.

He didn't answer.

Luke sighed. "Turn around."

Every single one of his braincells was very actively advocating against doing anything Luke said, but he needed to keep his act up. He let an indifferent look glaze over his face and turned.

Luke was leaning in the doorframe, Riptide at his side. That caught Percy's attention, along with the barely noticeable pallor around his nose. He hadn't seen his sword in years, but Luke was carrying it instead of Backbiter.

"We're on Columbia River," the son of Hermes informed him without further ado. "We're going to Mount Saint Helens. You're coming with us."

He didn't bother asking who 'us' was. The golden flicker in Luke's eyes was enough. Kronos wasn't inhabitating his body fully yet, that'd need more preparation – he gave him another week, or two or three maybe. Then they'd perform some ancient Greek magic ritual thing on him. He already jumped into the river Styx, Percy knew, and it wouldn't take long anymore before it was done. Luke would lie in Kronos' sarcophagus, that very thing in the room right next to Percy's that whispered in his dreams and tortured him in his wake, and when he'd open his eyes again, they'd be golden and never blue again. His feet ached as he shuffled over to Luke, and his mortal enemy or whatever gripped his arm tightly, tugging him along.

Percy never noticed how much he grew in the span of the two years that he was gone now, but he was starting to get as tall as Luke. Despite the restraints and the ache in his bones, they forced him to fight every day, throwing him into arenas in the Labyrinth of Daedalus and into literal Hell. He felt like he only consisted of bone and muscle, but the scarred skin under Luke's fingers didn't budge. On days where they would let him rot in Tartarus, wounded badly and not able to bandage his injuries properly, he sometimes used to imagine his skin was made of steel like Luke's was now. It was a strange comfort to feel the wiry muscle in his bicep stem against the iron grip on his arm, like his whole body was fighting against him with claws and teeth.

He blinked into the sunlight and enjoyed it heating his skin up. Kronos and Luke both were next to him, and he didn't pay much attention to their way. His feet found the gangway and he made no noise as the two minds in one body tugged him along and then lifted him up, confirming his suspicion that he was way lighter than he should be. Luke set him down on the load bed of a truck or something, and Percy opened his eyes to watch him as he adjusted him surprisingly gently.

In the two years of his captivity, they'd tried to kill each other multiple times. Still, Luke seemed to have grown to have something akin to a soft spot for him and eventually seemed to take a disgusting liking to him – he was the most conflicting asshole Percy had ever met. Luke had stitched up his injuries and given him more water than he was technically allowed, but he had also tortured him under Kronos' instructions and beaten the shit out of him in his own mind, and then again he had taken him into the sun after his months in Tartarus and kept him from killing himself – and Percy hated him with a vengeance that burned holes into his heart despite the way Luke strangely cared for him. The son of Hermes looked at him with blue eyes and leaned forward to brush his hair out of his face. Then he climbed onto the load bed himself and motioned for a – telchine or whatever they were called – to go back to the front. Soon enough, the truck started moving.

Percy focused on keeping his gaze as empty as he could while gathering as much information as he could snatch. Luke was nervous, drumming his fingers onto his thigh, turning his head to observe the scenery passing by as they drove off. The wind gave him goosebumps. He breathed as quietly as he could, but inhaled deeply. Fresh air was wonderful.

Mount St Helens. He turned the name around in his head – it had been a while since he'd been to school, but he thought that was a volcano or something in Washington DC. He wondered what they would do there – wondered what got Luke so nervous even with Kronos whispering in his head like he always did. That rarely ever happened. Luke never hesitated to do what he deemed necessary. For instance, he'd never hesitated to hurt Percy. Or lie to him. Or lie to Annabeth.

Annabeth.

The name awoke something that he buried deep inside of him. Annabeth – the last time he'd seen her had been on that godfucking yacht. After the showoff with the fleece, where he had tricked Luke into exposing his evilness in front of an Iris Message, his friends had fled with the pegasi – Gods, he hadn't seen Tyson and Grover for so long. They'd fled, but Luke had caught him before he could too, he'd almost hacked his leg off and then they'd taken his sword, knocked him out and tortured him and thrown him into Tartarus, where his powers warped and turned into something monstrous.

He held onto the thought of her, onto his hatred and longing for her. Blonde curls and gray eyes. Thirst for knowledge and wisdom. He missed her just as much as he missed everything else. He missed himself, too. He missed the boy he used to be.

He buried the feeling inside of him again and took to enjoying the ride. He always felt far too cold, but the wind was warm with July's heat and he was still alive, and that was a start if he'd ever seen one.

Mount St Helens was full of telchines.

Luke lifted him off the load bed and onto his own feet and then took his hand, intertwining their fingers. Somehow, he managed not to flinch away or make any sound in general as they walked through the volcano together. His shackles rattled with every movement he made, clattering together and startling sleeping monsters they passed awake. They were moving towards the center of the volcano, Percy could tell. It was getting hotter and hotter, and Luke's hand was sweaty in his, but he didn't mind. He'd been trading hell for hell for the entirety of his capture. Whether it was the Princess Andromeda, the Labyrinth of Daedalus or Tartarus itself, he was used to cruelty and horror by now.

So, when he saw Kronos' scythe being made, he still managed to play the role of the broken boy he'd uptained ever since his killing spree almost one year ago. Luke looped an arm around his shoulder now and urged him closer to the glowing blade in the forge.

Now he understood why Luke was carrying his sword. Backbiter was being molded into something new, something more terrible and disastrous than the sword ever was on its own. Percy silently watched its glowing form and cursed himself for being a complete lunatic. What he was considering wasn't just madness, but also his sure death. Still, he thought his end might be worth it. He just needed... he needed that scythe.

The telchines bowed before them, before the golden flicker in Luke's eyes. Percy didn't know what to feel when they blazed fully golden for the titan to address him.

"There was a prophecy," Kronos said over the noise of the forge, "a prophecy about a half-blood born of the eldest gods. It fated that demigod to either raze Olympus or preserve it when they turned sixteen... against all odds."

It cost Percy every single drop of his self-control not to incredulously drop his act. His mind was reeling with questions, but he stubbornly kept his mouth shut and his gaze on the scythe. If he could... a plan started forming in his mind, and he almost grinned at his own insanity. That really was absolute lunacy. Wonderful. And if the titan was telling the truth, it would solve both their problems relatively fast.

"There are currently four of you children of the Big Three," Kronos said with distaste. The number threw him for a loop. Four? Since fucking when? "Zeus' daughter is immortal now. Hades never claimed those Di Angelo siblings for him, but everybody knows they're his. The girl is a huntress of Artemis as well and will never turn sixteen, and the boy... the boy isn't of use. He's too young and too... childish."

Yeah, because that's such a hazard. Zeus' fucking sake. Both his uncles had kids now, apparently. He had cousins? What a surprise. One too young, two huntresses of Artemis frozen in time. So that meant... he was the closest to that whole preserve-or-raze-Olympus-thing. Which was once again just his fucking luck.

"I'll find a way to control your power, you know," Kronos thoughtfully said then, lying a hand on his cheek. Percy's revulsion almost made him gag, but somehow, he managed not even to let his lips twitch. Looking at the forge, he finished fleshing out that plan inside of his head, and he managed not to grimace at his own insanity either. "All of that divine might inside of your veins... it will be mine. You will be my weapon. My godkiller."

Fuck it.

Percy turned his head and stared into the golden eyes that wouldn't scare him anymore. He made his decision in the very second Kronos declared that he'd control the monster sleeping inside of him.

His voice was hoarse from underuse, but it was steady as he rasped out, "I'd rather be dead."

Then he made a break for the scythe.

Maybe it was pure insanity; maybe he'd lost it in the darkness of the labyrinth. But somehow, his year-long charade that fooled Kronos, but not Luke, managed to surprise the titan enough that he couldn't slow time down and stop him from ripping the scalding hot blade out of the forge. The telchines shrieked, but Percy didn't wait; couldn't wait if he wanted to survive the next five seconds. Well, he didn't. He wouldn't if he went through with the crazy plan he just made up. But he felt something that resembled victory when he swung Backbiter's warped form, cutting the shackles between his ankles open, and doing the same thing with the ones around his wrists in the next heartbeat.

His skin was melting away around the blistering scythe. They'd made a grave mistake getting him used to agony.

He whirled around to face Kronos. The titan sneered, raising his hand, no doubt to now slow time and capture him again – but the shackles slipped off his wrists, molten with the scythe's heat, hit the ground to his bruised feet, and then all hell broke loose.

His power erupted out of him like a storm come to life, a fire hazard as much as it resembled the ocean itself, wild and untameable and livid with rage. It exploded like a hurricane, all pain swept away as the divine might burst out of his injured hands, his cold heart, the darkest places of his soul, and tore into the ground underneath them as the only thing available to his control. He embraced the force of nature clawing its way out of his innermost core, feral in its wrathful destruction. Letting go, he let it consume him and eat him alive and swallow him whole, offered his body up as the tribute for the absolute ruination it would cause. It ripped through the volcano, ready to obliterate everything it could dig its blood-thirsty, murderous claws into.

Percy threw his head back and laughed. His hands were numb, his entire body screaming in agony, and for that one long second, he knew what being a god felt like, pure destruction in his veins and his enemy's weapon burning in his hands. For that long second, he was invincible, indomitable and infinite.

His whole world went black when Mount St Helens blew up under his feet.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33431572/chapters/83046181?view_adult=true