Countdown

Countdown is a one-shot, Thalia/Luke-centric fanfiction, originally posted on FanFiction.Net. ''Dark themes. Viewer discretion is advised.''

Author's Note
Ah...haha...what's wrong with me...

Mmm, how morbid. AU ending to TTC.

Yeah, I have absolutely no clue how this wiki works and how you're supposed to lay out a page (where the heck are the rules?!), and this is evidently my first time on here. Hello, nice to meet you. That being said, enjoy. :3

Countdown
Countdown

Five...

"Beginnings are sudden, but also insidious. They creep up on you sideways, they keep to the shadows, they lurk unrecognized. Then, later, they spring."

You know that they think that you're impulsive, stupid, and bossy.

You are not stupid, contrary to what many people may believe. Although, yes, you know that you can be extremely impulsive and bossy at times.

You know that they think that you're selfless.

You are not selfless, contrary to what many people may believe. You do everything for yourself.

"Wh-what are you doing?"

''"I can't let you go out there." His blue eyes shine with fear. "You'll get hurt."''

''You go berserk. "I've been injured before!"''

''"There's too many of them." His voice is strong and clear, in total contrast to your hysterical, high-pitched one.''

"I'm sorry," he whispers in her ear, trailing the knife down your pale skin, "but trust me."

You remember blinding pain when he rips it down the tender inside of your forearm before everything sinks into inky blackness.

You're not selfless.

But you're not stupid.

And you want to tell him that you're sorry, but he's too far away now.

Too far away to hurt you.

Too far away to protect you.

Four...

"No one will see it. No one will know. But it will be there. And eventually all of the scars will have scars, and that's all I'll be—one big scar of a love gone wrong."

You've been a tree for the past six years.

''You've been. A. Gods damned. Pine. Tree. For the past. Six. Years.''

You don't know how, because the last thing you remember is him screaming down the hill. The last thing you have smelled is blood and monster dust. The last thing you have tasted is some thick, crimson red liquid pouring down your throat.

Annabeth tells you that he's long gone to Kronos.

You don't want to believe her.

You only remember his blue eyes, and how much love, hope, happiness had filled them when he was with you.

You can only imagine how they must look now.

And with a sick feeling in your stomach, you have a feeling that his defection has something to do with you.

He could have hurt you.

He hurt you to help you.

He could have saved you.

He cut you to save you.

He could have saved himself.

He was...he was...

Selfish?

You don't want to live with that fact.

You begin to wear long sleeves. To cover up everything.

Three...

"Hope is a waking dream."

That's when the call for a quest comes.

You want to go, very badly. Even if it means traveling with that jerk of a Hunter.

Because you're not selfless.

You want to see him again.

Even though you can still feel the bumps that are left behind by the slashes.

You want to save him this time. Not the other way around.

You do not allow the feeling of doubt to creep into your mind. Not now, not yet.

You can't afford that feeling. Because you're determined to give back what he gave you.

Hopefully, without all the pain.

Annabeth finds out an hour after the council meeting and, just like you suspected, she gets the wrong idea.

Annabeth lets out a small shriek. "Thalia!" she exclaims, pointing at you like you are taboo. "Did you cut yourself?"

"No," you snappily say, turning around on your heel. "Leave me alone."

She won't leave you alone.

"Thalia, why do you have scars on your arms?"

"Thalia, are you feeling alright?"

"Thalia, who in the name of Zeus did this?!"

You answer curtly, "Why would you care", "yes", and "that is none of your damned business".

Because you know that he did it out of love.

Two...

"Eventually something you love is going to be taken away. And then you will fall to the floor crying. And then, however much later, it is finally happening to you: you're falling to the floor crying thinking, 'I am falling to the floor crying,' but there's an element of the ridiculous to it—you knew it would happen and, even worse, while you're on the floor crying you look at the place where the wall meets the floor and you realize you didn't paint it very well."

Bronze meets steel in a burst of blinding electricity.

You don't remember much else except for the fact that you were crying like a baby and that you were not saving anyone.

And you remember knocking the sword out of his hands, sending it spinning uselessly down onto the craggy black rocks below Mount Othrys, shaking uncontrollably.

His mouth is moving, but you don't say anything or hear anything.

Until he lunges for your spear, and you lose your mind, and you kick.

And you simply watch his terrified face as he loses his balance on the peak of the Titan's base, and he is falling, falling in slow motion.

''You hurt him to save him. It's your turn, now.''

But did you?

Because you aren't selfless.

Moments later, tears begin streaming down your pale, pale face.

One...

"Killing oneself is, anyway, a misnomer. We don't kill ourselves. We are simply defeated by the long, hard struggle to stay alive."

And you want to scream in pain, because it's there. It's almost metaphysical—but it is there.

You hurt him, but you didn't save him.

It's the worst punishment.

You keep on seeing his broken form in your head. You replay the incident; you see it in your nightmares

They don't bleed, but they're still there. You cover your arms up with long sleeves, and they wonder why, because they don't know that you do it to cover up your invisible scars. And they'll get the wrong idea when they see the very real scars on your arms, just like Annabeth did, because you knows that he did it out of love.

Maybe, you console yourself, ''maybe you made the right decision. He was going to kill himself for Kronos.''

But it's not enough. Not enough.

You grip the knife, clutching onto it like a lifeline. Tears prick at your blue eyes, and one of them spills out, sparkling in the glorious light of the afternoon sun before hitting the vegetation on the ground.

He did it out of love.

You'll do it out of love, too.

And dimly, before all light fades to nothingness, you wonder if anyone will find the corpse.