Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

— Percy Bhysee Shelley, The Fitful Alterations of Rain

Alfred’s number and by extension the manor’s is the only one she has memorized.

It’s the only one she willingly allowed herself to remember. Anna Elizabeth Wayne was dead and in her place, Annabeth Chase lived. And if sometimes her fingers twitched in the motion of Dick’s phone number or Bruce’s extension line well, that was between her and her nightmares.

Annabeth can still remember when she was eight, the first and last time she wrote Alfred’s number for someone else to see. 

“If I die,” Annabeth had said. Eight and jaw set and hard and already thinking of funeral shrouds and glory. “Call this number and tell them I stopped being afraid of spiders.”

Chiron had nodded, opened a worn leather journal and copied the number down. He had let her burn the piece of paper she had written the number on.

She had been tempted after the events of Luke’s failed quest to call the number. Hear it ring and listen to a crisp British accent for the first time in four years. She does not.

Percy Jackson changed that. And well, he changed a lot of things.

Which is why Annabeth is staring at the Burberry in her hand and trying to figure out the best way to back down from this but not able to find a real reason why. Maybe if she called she’d find the reasons.

She took a breath and hit the numbers as quickly as possible, squeezing her eyes shut as the phone rang. Two rings in, Alfred’s voice asked, “Alfred Pennyworth, how may I be of service?”

“Alfie,” Annabeth said and Alfred gasped loud and clear over the phone. “Do you think you come pick me up in New York next week?” 

Percy left with his mom on Moving Out Day. He walked with her up until the tree, up until Thalia’s tree and smiled at her in a way that set Annabeth’s heart a bit in a flutter, although she refused to show it.

“You’re staying?” he asked, his blonde hair caught a bit of wind and twisted in twirled in it.

Annabeth shook her head. “I’m going back to New Jersey, I think I’ll give them another chance.”

Percy smiled, broad and wide and his sea-green eyes shining. Annabeth was helpless to do anything but smile in return. A camera goes off and they both whip around to see Silena smiling deviously as a Polaroid drops into her hand and then took another photo of their startled faces.

“Silena!” they both cried indignantly and Silena laughed.

She walked up to them and handed them a Polaroid each. Annabeth getting the less put together one that made her lips twitch and think Seaweed Brain fondly. Silena shot them a conspiratorial look and skipped back to Clarisse with the grace of a gazelle.

They both stare at the photos in their hands and then flushed as they met each other’s eyes.

“Be safe, okay?” Annabeth asked, demanded. She punched Percy’s shoulder lightly to try to cover up for her desperation. “You’re not getting away from me that easily.”

Percy laughed, melodramatically gripping his arm. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Wise Girl.”

He tucked the Polaroid into the breast of his flannel and waved at her as he crossed the barrier and shimmered out of existence like he was a dream. Annabeth sighed, and went back to her cabin to pick up her bag. Jason’s bag.

It’s a worn shitty thing that had kept anyone from looking too deep into the bag and spotting the two curved blades and the three thousand dollars she stuffed at the bottom of the bag. Not that she needed them with the three Lotus Hotel cash cards she had. One for herself to be kept on a lanyard that Luke (oh gods, Luke) gifted her for her tenth birthday with a joke about identifying her body. The other under the mattress and kept in place with a bobby pin, and the final one in one of her favorite architectural books that she kept in her bag at all times. 

Annabeth shoved in two camp shirts into the bag, a pack of new underwear, a few sports bras and the warmest leggings that the Camp Store offered. And then hesitantly, she grabbed the denim jacket she had worn on the quest and pulled it on, shoving the Polaroid into the pocket. 

She looked around the cabin, no one was here. Sophia, Nestor, and Archimedes were with their mothers, Malcolm, Julieta, and Dorian with their fathers and while Annabeth usually stayed to represent the cabin in case of emergency, she didn’t think she’d be back for at least a week just because of the travel time.

She walked through the nearly empty camp, and past the hearth. She climbed the Hill and emerged through the other side of the barrier. Alfred stood on the dirt paved road, holding the back door of an ‘understated’ Mustang. His eyes were more piercing than before she ran away, age and perhaps pain, had done that to him. The most startling thing is the lack of hair on the top of his head. Annabeth nearly blurted it out but had to physically bite her tongue to keep the words from coming out. 

“Miss Anna,” Alfred greeted. His voice shook with emotion and Annabeth blinked back tears.

“It’s Annabeth, now, Alfie.” she corrected delicately. “Annabeth Chase.”

Alfred stared at her for a moment, prying all her secrets from within her and motioned for Annabeth to get into the car. She slipped in and set Jason’s shitty bag on the other seat and tried not to let her hands shake. They did anyway.

Alfred slipped into the front seat and drove out of the dirt road and onto the nicer paved one with a sense of urgent non-urgency mastered after years of her father’s nighttime career.

“How’s my brother?” she asked, and Alfred knew she was referring to Damian and not Dick, Jason, or Timothy. She never called the former her siblings if she could help it. Not out of possessiveness but because her father never signed a single paper answering for them.

“Master Damian’s studies are progressing as yours were, Miss Annabeth. He’s as intelligent as Lady Talia was all those years ago and his tongue is a sharp as yours. He enjoys art, history, and other recreational activities that your camp preforms.” Alfred said, professionally. Annabeth kind of wished he’d drop the act and answered her honestly, but it had been six years and a week of dead silence after the phone call and Alfred didn’t owe her anything.

“I am,” she searched for the word, “pleased that he meets the standards set by our father.”

They drive a little further in silence. Alfred periodically glancing at her through the rearview mirror and Annabeth bouncing her leg and staring at the grimy New York landscape give way to fields.

“Are you happy?” Alfred asked abruptly. “There with children like you?”

Annabeth met Alfred’s eyes through the mirror. “I have six other siblings, Alfred. They respect me, they love me, and I make sure that they survive the summer and winter. I have, well, I had Luke, the boy I was with when Clark found me in Connecticut, I had Chiron and Mr. D. I have people, Alfred, a community of people that respect me and listen to what I tell them. I don’t think I could’ve been happier anywhere else.”

“You always loved responsibility.” Alfred said. “I believe that’s what frightened your father.”

“Bruce,” Annabeth said deliberately and watched the minute flinch in Alfred’s posture and silently filed that away in her mind. “Is scared of everything except his death. I don’t think that you can simply point at one personality trait I have and claim that’s what drove him away from me without diving into twenty-four different fears that bled into his actions at the moment.”

They go the rest of the drive in utter silence.

Annabeth started at the manor and gripped the back of Alfred’s headrest. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t do this. Annabeth took a breath and let it out. She reached into her denim jacket’s pocket and pulled out the Polaroid with Percy.

You faced Hades, Annabeth reminded herself, you descended into the Underworld, battled against Ares. You can do this.

For Percy.

Annabeth smiled down at the Polaroid and slipped it back into the jacket. She could do this. She could do this.

The manor gate, silver and steel, opened silently to reveal a perfectly maintained lawn and a sprawling rose garden to the left of the house and a miniature dog park and jungle gym on the right. Unbidden, Annabeth looked for the well instinctively the only outside entrance into the Batcave and instead found a statue of Athena. She stared at it for a moment, her body feeling ice-cold as she did and reached out blankly for her bag where her hat was stowed.

Annabeth pressed her head to the headrest, took another breath, and smiled at Alfred through the rearview mirror. They pull up at the Cul de Sac at the start of the steps and Annabeth took a moment to appreciate the gothic architecture that sparked her passion and imagination from a young age. The pointed arches that filled every empty space in the entrance, the glass stained windows at the very top of the house that displayed the flaming heart of Jesus Christ that always made her laugh at the irony.

Alfred stopped the car and got out first. Annabeth let him open the door but insisted on carrying the bag. They walked up the stairs and Annabeth’s breath hitched as she glimpsed the ramp. She hadn’t been there for Barbara’s shooting. She hadn’t regretted it until now.

Alfred unlocked the door, a nice door that complimented the house instead of looking out of place. Alfred waited for her to cross the threshold and Annabeth couldn’t quite bring herself to cross it.

Her camp necklace shifted and the coldness of Bruce’s college ring set her nerves alight. Annabeth took a step and then another.

The front entrance instead of having a flower vase had a coat rack and a key holder. The holder was filled with keys that Annabeth recognized and some she did not.

 But the house was dead quiet so she continued walking.

Photos hung on the wall. She recognized the people in them but not the moments. Good, she had her own hanging in her cabin, taken from Luke’s bunk, she didn’t need these foreign photos because Bruce had made his choice before any of them had come along.

“Is anyone home?” Annabeth asked as they entered the living space. Two couches and three loveseats took up the space around a sturdy wooden table that had probably seen its fair share of people thrown upon its surface.

“No, Miss.” Alfred said and Annabeth could hear the concern in his voice. Did he think Annabeth would fly into a jealous rage or burst into tears? “Master Bruce and Master Tim are at the company, Master Dick and Miss Barbara are out on a date, Miss Stephanie and Miss Cassandra are at the mall. Master Duke and Damian are at Gotham Academy.”

“Right,” Annabeth said. “I forgot they have summer grade orientation programs before school next week. I’ll have to ask Chiron to send my coursework for Herondale All Girls to here.”

Alfred raised an eyebrow at Annabeth’s back and Annabeth flushed, reluctantly turning to face him. “You do not believe you will remain the whole school year, Miss Annabeth?”

Annabeth slowly shook her head. “I have responsibilities, Alfred. If Dorian’s, my third in command, situation with his father deteriorates like he’s been hinting at all summer I have to go take care of it.”

“Take care of it, how?” Alfred asked and Annabeth can hear the underlying accusations of Chiron not caring enough and anger coursed through her veins.

“I’m his sister,” Annabeth hissed. “I have to make sure he doesn’t think I’ve abandoned him like Bruce did with me. I have to make sure that he’s transferred from Ukraine to America with full citizenship and is placed with someone the camp can trust and won’t think he’s a maniac. Chiron can do everything else but I’m his Cabin Head, Alfred, I can’t abandon him!”

Alfred remained silent and Annabeth cooled down, stricken by her words. She hadn’t meant—

Well, she hadn’t meant many things but she refused to abandon anyone at Camp that required her help. She couldn’t pretend she wouldn’t leave without a backwards glance if Chiron called for her no matter what Dick and Alfred wished. It was better to draw her boundaries before they crossed them without meaning to and Annabeth lashed out at them before they understood.

Percy was the only one she had let get away with asking about Thalia. But then again, she let Percy get away with a lot of things, hadn’t she?

“Where’s my room?” she asked. I’m sorry.

“It’s the room across Master Tim’s, the furthest from Master Bruce’s room.” I am too.

AP:

Family dinner, no exceptions. No guns, no knives, no batarangs, we have a guest.

DW:

Of course, Pennyworth. Does this include swords?

DT:

Okay! Uh, who's the guest???

BW: 

Alfred, why can’t I access the cameras?

Who’s the guest?

AP:

@DW Swords are allowed, I imagine Miss Chase will appreciate the challenge of fighting you off Master Damian.

TD:

@JT you’re not exempt

JT:

Shut the fuck up replacement. I’m not going.

AP:

@JT You will be coming, Master Jason. You only have two options, coming through that door conscious or unconscious.

JT:

I’ll be coming then.

DG:

everyone is so formal when they type istg

@BG and me will be coming btw

should we bring anything??

AP:

@DG *I

Yes, I’d appreciate you bringing the lemon bundt Miss Anna so enjoyed for our guest

SB:

the plot thickens…

The room is made for a child. The clothes Annabeth wore when she was seven wouldn’t fit her now. The soft purple of the room felt wrong compared to the pretty gray-green of her cabin, and the bed was a size too small for Annabeth to fit in it comfortably.

Sighing, Annabeth pulled out her thermal leggings that she didn’t want to break out this early into the trip and a camp shirt. She knew Alfred would call for a family dinner, but she wasn’t sure how formal it would be. Maybe she should search Bruce’s room and see if any of his dates left anything worth wearing in there?

A knock off the door and Annabeth heaved a sigh of relief as Alfred handed her black jeans and a gray silk dress shirt.

“Thank you!” Annabeth said gratefully. She tucked her thermal leggings and camp shirt back into the bag. She closed and locked the door and went to take a shower in the attached bathroom.

Her hair care products were still there and Annabeth checked the expiration date. They were new and untouched, but they were still the same one she used when she was seven.

She took a deep breath and turned on the shower. She couldn’t afford the sentimentality until she understood what dynamics were at play here and if Damian would accept her. Annabeth couldn’t care less about Dick and Jason’s opinion, since they both were the ones who left in the first place. Tim, Duke, Stephanie and Cassandra were strangers to her.

But Annabeth remembered Talia and she owed it to Damian to listen to him the same way she would to Sophia or Nestor or Archimedes. She should’ve been here for him, that was the blame she would accept from him.

Annabeth sighed and discarded her shirt. It was going to be a long night. 

Damian walked into a veritable feast. Tofu stacked high, fried pork and chicken elegantly presented on a platter. A Caesar salad, probably worth more than a week’s allowance, is merely a cornerstone of a dish.

“Wow,” Thomas gasped. “Alfred, everything smells delicious.”

“I hope—” Pennyworth grunted as he placed a boiling pot aside, “—that the miss enjoys it as much as you will, Master Duke.”

Damian pursed his lips and scanned the room for any sign of their mysterious guest, but there wasn’t a single thing out of place.

He left the kitchen, lips still pursed and hand absentmindedly finding a knife in his pocket. He curled his fingers around it as he went to his room upstairs. His eyes lingered on the constantly locked door that so represented his lost half-sister.

The only threat to his ability to maintain a place in the family.

Damian sighed and went into his room, across from Richard’s and next to Cassandra’s and Thomas’s. 

Todd was on the other side of Father’s room from Richard, Drake was across from him, his half-sister next to Todd, with Stephanie across from hers.

He locked the door and paused, waiting as he heard a soft click from down the hall. He waited, but no other noise came until Thomas trampled up the stairs with the grace of an elephant.

Damian let out a breath and began to change. If it was a family dinner, it would not be a formal event, but he’d certainly dress well for their guest. A green polo of middling quality, gray dress pants that had space for knives to be hidden but also a sword which is Pennyworth’s text was the indication their guest would expect.

He gelled his hair as more and more of his siblings stormed through the halls to get changed or to collect belongings from their room.

Damian pulled on his boots and straightened his posture. He spared a glance at himself in the mirror and smirked, pleased with his look.

Damian unlocked his door and was immediately pulled into a headlock by Richard. He snarled and bit Richard’s wrist, who laughed as he dropped Damian.

“Ready, Lil’ D?” Richard asked cheerfully.

Damian grunted, but did not resist Richard’s incessant urging to enter the kitchen. Father and Cassandra were already there, and Brown and Drake were discussing something about the morning patrol with Thomas.

Todd, of course, wouldn’t arrive until he heard the seats being pulled back and then would remain until he had finished eating and then stir up a fight until everyone lost their appetite, and he was free to leave. 

Damian had learned to eat quickly when Todd was around.

He and Richard took their place, with everyone else following suit. Two seats were left open. One for Todd who sauntered in after a beat and the other for the guest.

“Rude,” Todd said, jabbing his chin at the seat.

Pennyworth pursed his lips, and Father stiffened in alarm at the motion.

Footsteps resounded from the staircase, and they all turned instinctively to the noise, poised to defend themselves.

“Sorry I’m late, Alfie.” a girl said and Father rose from the chair abruptly, already moving to the dining room entrance with wide-eyes. “I got turned around with the new renovation on the sixth staircase.”

Standing there, with box braids to her stomach and piercing gray eyes, stood his sister six years older than any photo they had of her.

Chapter Text

Dick doesn’t move. Dick couldn’t move as he stared at his little sister come back from the dead.

Oh, he hadn’t wanted to tell Bruce that in his heart of hearts he knew that an untrained seven-year-old wouldn’t survive in the streets of Gotham for one night let alone six years but there Anna stood looking healthy and alive with the same calculating look in her eyes.

“Anna,” Bruce breathed out and Anna simply inclined her head.

“Bruce,” Anna greeted professionally and the illusion shattered.

Guilt rose in his stomach as quickly as Bruce’s face dropped in shame, but Anna had already brushed past him to make her way to her seat next to Damian.

Damian who was pale but revealed nothing and Dick felt even more sick. He was really failing at everything today, wasn’t he?

To his surprise, Anna crouched down to Damian’s level and offered her hand. “Hello, Damian, I’m your sister, Annabeth Chase. I hope we can get along or at least not kill each other for the inheritance when Bruce kicks it.”

Not Anna but Annabeth. Not Wayne but Chase. Not a happy cry of Dick or Jason but an introduction to Damian.

And Damian licked his lips and shook her hand. “I look forward to working with you, Chase.”

He waited as though expecting Annabeth to chide him for not using Wayne or his use of her last name. Annabeth just smiled and took her seat next to Jason and across from Tim.

“It smells delicious, Alfred.” Annabeth said, revealing a chipped bottom tooth that could only come from blunt force.

“Master Dick,” Alfred said deliberately, and it’s like a kick in the chest to get Dick back in gear. “Bought some lemon bundt, Miss Annabeth, if you cannot bring yourself to stomach anything here.”

Annabeth smiled, her cheeks dimpled at the exact same place Damian’s did. Dick kind of wanted to cry. “Thank you, Dick. And thank you, Alfred. The Stoll twins ordered the most ridiculous thing, and you should’ve seen Sophia realize we really could order whatever we want.”

Alfred bowed and Steph, beautiful, wonderful Stephanie broke the stupor they all had been under.

“You’re Anna Elizabeth?” she blurted out. “Where have you been?!”

An irritated look flashed over his sister’s face. “New York, mostly. Connecticut, a few times. California most recently after I was involved with a terrorist kidnapping.”

Jason shot up and Bruce whipped around so fast from where he was staring hopelessly at Alfred Dick feared he’d gotten whiplash. “WHAT?!” they both yelled.

“That’s the cover story anyway.” Annabeth said, and she held her hand out for Damian’s plate with all the absentmindedness of an elder sibling. Damian, wide-eyed, placed the plate in her hand. “The truth is more related to Mother’s side of things.”

Jason heaved an impatient sigh and Dick rolled his eyes almost instinctively. “The spiders, Anna, aren’t attacking you. They’re—”

“Jason, shut the fuck up.” Annabeth said and everyone in the room choked. Jason was meant to be handled delicately, with empathy and kindness not this brazen antagonistic attitude. 

Annabeth handed Damian back his plate now loaded with vegan food, and she reached to pour him a glass of guava juice they kept specifically for him.

Dick stared at her then back at Damian who looked at the plate in surprise.

Tim piped up. “What do you mean the terrorist attack was a cover story?”

Annabeth shrugged. “My friend is a good liar when he wants to be, I’m an even better actor and our other friend cries really easily. Why bother in concocting a difficult lie when you can feed the reporters and the world an easy half-truth to swallow?”

She started serving her own plate, loading it with the fried pork and the salad before collecting the freshly made bread from the center of the table. Bruce made his way back to the table and sat heavily in his chair.

“You got one, then.” Bruce said and he sounded devastated. “Oh, Anna, what did you do for it?”

“Annabeth,” she corrected fiercely. She shoved a forkful of salad into her mouth and Dick realized that she and Damian were already eating. Scrambling, the whole table started to serve themselves but the devastated way Bruce spoke lingered in the air. 

What was that? Tim asked with only an eyebrow quirk.

Dick gave a minute shrug and Cassandra signed an ‘I don’t know.’

Steph and Barbara were having their own really intense eyebrow conversation and Duke was trying to talk with Annabeth who began a whole spiel on architecture while Bruce tried to pry out all her secrets with just his eyes.

Jason was already eating in dead silence, glowering at Annabeth. 

Dick wanted to shake him and tell him to rejoice because their little sister was alive. He wanted to take Jason aside and tell Annabeth didn’t mean it and that she'd apologize in a moment. He wanted to do exactly what Annabeth did and tell him to shut the fuck up because he’s not the only one with issues. Sure Joker may have killed you, but you're not the one who found out your childhood home was responsible for churning out soldiers for a death cult, and you're their messiah, Jason. 

But Dick can’t do that, so instead he smiled at Annabeth and tried not to let out the yell he’s been keeping for six years out.

“Who’s your friends, the ones from the story?” he asked and Annabeth just perked up.

Her whole posture shifted from calculatedly cut off to animated and war and clearly delighted by this train of conversation.

“There’s Grover,” she said and Dick can hear the complicated past in her tone. It’s the same one Bruce took when he told a story about Minhkhoa or Talia. “He’s the one that led me to safety. He’s brave, I didn’t think he’d be very brave, but when he gets going its inspiring. There’s Percy. And well he’s the reason I’m here really. The only reason is if I'm honest.”

And that, that stung. Dick wasn’t enough, Bruce wasn’t enough, all ten of them weren’t enough but this Percy guy was worth absolutely everything to Annabeth.

“How long have you known him?” Damian asked, and fuck he actually sounded curious. 

“Three months,” Annabeth said cheerfully. “He’s such a Seaweed Brain and I don’t think I've met someone so manipulative and so stupid at the same time. Wait, no, the Stolls. Someone remind me I still have to eviscerate Connor and hang his entrails on the Big House for Mr. D before I leave.”

Jason looked up and raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure you could manage that?”

Annabeth shrugged. “Depends.” she didn’t elaborate.

“It’s nice.” Cass said and everyone jolted in silent surprise. “To have a sister.”

Annabeth smiled wanly and lifted her hands to form familiar ASL gestures. I. AM. HAPPY. TO. MEET. YOU.

Cass beamed. WHERE. DID. YOU. LEARN?

FRIEND. AT. HOME. SHE. WAS. CURSED. FOR. W. H. I. L. E. Annabeth fingerspelled the last part with a bit of a grimace.

Dick beamed. “You’re so smart, Annie!”

Annabeth's lips twitched like they wanted to pull into a smile but her gaze clearly caught on something, and it vanished like shadows in the light.

“Annabeth,” Bruce finally said and Dick had never seen him look like that. All barely restrained fear and anger. “What did you do?”

When Bruce was young he met Athene in Arcadia as he was hunted down by one of his teachers. She had looked like a statue, like the ones outside his window when he was young. She introduced herself as a fellow runaway student of a mercenary and they both traveled together fleeing their teachers.

They didn’t fuck, they didn’t kiss, but Athene was still one of the most stunning and most brilliant people Bruce had met. He had thought maybe, he thought about taking her home and see her wearing his mother’s pearls. Bruce had once thought maybe with Minhkhoa, would later think maybe with Talia, is still thinking maybe with Silena.

She gave him a child six months later, too small and delicate for her to be truly real with everything of Athene’s but his mother’s dimples and his father’s nose.

Bruce couldn’t stop for her. He couldn’t stop for her if it meant losing so many more children like her to other suffering that could end if only he continued.

He wrote a letter to Alfred, found Minhkhoa and asked him to take her back to the States to her ancestral home.

“Foolish man,” Khoa muttered, supporting the child delicately. “Does she have a name?”

“Anna Elizabeth,” Bruce replied. “My mother’s mother was Anna.”

Alfred raised her for the first year of her life while Bruce followed his path all the way down to Ra’s and Talia. They knew about Anna, were interested in bringing her into the family and training her alongside the brother they so desired from Bruce.

Then, Talia was pregnant and Bruce was already preparing for a plane to be sent to pick up his daughter.

Then, Bruce returned to Gotham with only a suitcase and a dream.

He tried, he promised on his mother’s grave that he tried with Anna. Dick took to her like a duck to water, cooing over her for the four years he was there before the five grew loud, and the cage felt too tight and he flew. Jason was more distant with Anna, not wanting to bother with the baby when he had to work on his grades and homework and Robin. But Anna had still adored him.

Jason told her he was leaving to Ethiopia.

Anna hadn’t told Bruce.

Bruce told her the spiders she insisted came to devour her at night weren’t real and maybe if she had cared more about reality than her imagination Jason would still be alive.

She’s gone by the morning using a flaw in the architecture to escape.

Everyone blames each other after that. Bruce had just lost Jason, had ripped open the earth looking for Anna sick with guilt and rage and grief. Clark told him that she had called him once in Connecticut and then had disappeared with two children, older than her who called her Beth.

When Tim came with Cassie Sandsmark, things started clicking in Bruce’s brain. Spiders, Arcadia, Athene. Gods.

His daughter was doomed to die before he even returned to Gotham, wasn’t she? The programs looking for her went offline, Damian and Duke arrived and Jason returned. Anna Elizabeth Wayne vanished into the history of the family like a bad dream and Bruce couldn’t hold out any hope. He could only have one miracle after all, and he had received two he had never dreamed of with Jason and Damian.

He should’ve known these things come in threes.

“Annabeth,” Bruce said, all desperation and fear and relief. “What did you do?”

Annabeth’s face froze over, exactly like his father’s. She straightened, she tilted her head up in an Alfred-esque motion and met his gaze firmly. 

“I waited.” she said unabashedly. “For five years I waited for a quest. And I got one. I’ve gone into the Underworld, I fought Enchidna and tamed Cerberus. I’ve retrieved the Lightning Bolt of Zeus with Percy and Grover, and if I’m right I’ll go to war in four years. I’ve waited, Bruce, and I’m finally being rewarded.”

“With death?” Bruce asked without thinking.

Annabeth nodded and Bruce felt sick to his stomach. “I’ve lived over the average life expectancy for a demigod by a month. I’ll probably live a little longer to see a Great Prophecy completed. Death is expected, he comes for us all after all.”

“You’re thirteen.”

“I’m smart. Now, Damian, I imagine you’re good with a sword as Talia’s son, care for a spar?”

Bruce watched helplessly as Annabeth led Damian away into the backyard. He had no authority over her and she knew it. She had already run away once what was another time?

Annabeth ignored Jason and Dick with such practiced indifference Jason wondered if she actually even remembered them. She moved like a fighter, a fighter she hadn’t been six years ago but who the fuck knew what had happened to her in the meantime. She was a Wayne, and they tended to fall into the craziest of shit no matter what.

And she hadn’t cared about him. Hadn’t given him a single glance, hadn’t showed an inch of surprise at him sitting at that table living and breathing. Nothing. Jason wasn’t sure what to do with that because everyone cared he had gotten used to them forgiving him for no matter what and leaving the house in more vindicated in himself.

“How did you meet Mother?” the demon brat asked and Jason can’t deny he’s kind of curious too.

“Where do you think you were conceived?” Annabeth replied and Jason choked. The Replacement, who had followed him spat out his water behind him and Jason considered punching him, but he was too invested in Annabeth story. “She made me breakfast, told me she was my step-mother, and that she would teach me everything she knew when my father saw the light. She was the coolest person I ever met.”

“Rude,” Dickwad chirped as he appeared from the doorway. Annabeth unbuttoned her gray shirt casually and let it drop, revealing her sports bra and scars. Scars that littered her arms and front. Her wrists looked a little raw as though she had been chafing against something and there was a distinct scar of a sword on her shoulder.

She pulled out a knife and Jason instantly got a headache. His eyes insisted it was a normal knife, but he couldn’t discern a single feature to tell its make. His mind however insisted it was a bronze dagger with a laurel wreath engraved in its pommel.

“I’ll concede,” Annabeth said, shifting into reverse grip as the demon brat pulled out his sword and went into a ready stance. “Kor'i was a bit cooler.”

She caught the demon’s brat sword on her pommel and Jason’s breath hitched. Oh, Annabeth was good. She kicked at him and Damian shifted backwards and had to hurry to keep Annabeth’s knife from spearing his left shoulder. She slashed and hacked at Damian’s defenses, and he started leaping and flipping to avoid Annabeth’s determined and fierce pursuit of him. She seemed to know all the tricks an assassin had and countered with a few inventive ducks and rapid changing grips that would leave a less agile fighter stunned.

Jason reckoned that if he set her up against a third of the Rogue’s Gallery Annabeth would come up on top with little injury. Especially after she punched Damian half-way through a flip sending him sprawling and ruthlessly pinning him down and kicking away his sword in a smooth movement. Her dagger was once again held in a delicate reverse grip that hovered above Damian’s throat and for a second Jason felt fear for the demon brat before his sister pulled him up.

“Good fight,” she said appreciatively. “You’re emulating Dick’s style more than I thought you would, and you pulled some of Luke’s tricks. I’d say that you see if you can pick something up from Timothy, his style is more useful to your sword so long as you only use one unlike Dick’s dual wielding.”

“Know much about that?” Jason asked. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it. Dick and Barbara gave him irritated looks which he happily ignored.

Annabeth buttoned her shirt and the demon brat fiddled with the bottom of his shirt but didn’t snap as Annabeth casually swung an arm around his neck. “My sister had a phase.”

She and the demon brat walked back up to the porch, and she plucked the cigarette right out of Jason’s fingers and took a long drag before handing it back to Jason and exhaling. Jason made an indignant noise to cover up his shock of Bruce’s daughter unflinchingly smoking like a champ.

Annabeth faltered when she saw Barbara. Shame and guilt were written clear on her face as she tentatively walked forward.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “but I really couldn’t stay.”

“It’s alright.”

“It’s really not. I’ll have to find a way to make it up to you, Barbara.” Annabeth insisted. “I promise.”

“You can start,” Barbara decided, “by rolling me back inside.”

Group Chat: Middle Children

TD:

She doesn’t seem to like us all that much

SB:

To be fair to her, we’re basically strangers who have no connection to her past and

Invaded her home after she left

She doesn’t really have to like us

DT:

She was really on top of Damian though

Like Dick on top of Damian weird

Is she like…

Anti-adoption

SB:

Oh my god

TD:

@DT WTF 

Why would you go there????

DT:

It made sense in my mind!!

There’s probably a better word for it though than I could come up with

SB:

OH MY GOD

 Annabeth goes to sleep that night dreaming of Percy. 

You were right, she wanted to say, they wanted me to try again. 

Can you listen to me talk about Thalia? Do you mind if I tell you about myths again? Will you sit with me? Can you help me with Dorian? He likes you best.

In three short months, Percy Jackson had slipped into Annabeth’s life like he always belonged in that empty space where a crack in her heart hadn’t truly healed. He was the plaster in a wall of issues and Annabeth felt all the safer for it.

She curled up in her too small bed in a room that needed to be repainted with borrowed pajamas from Stephanie, and she dreamed.

They were on the shore of the canoe lake and Annabeth could hear the sing-along from the amphitheater. Percy felt solid and warm and real as he quietly recounted what Luke had said to him before he tried to kill him. Annabeth listened and looked at the stars, not daring to look next to her lest she find her recollection less than perfect and his face unreal.

The dream eventually shifted into a nightmare. Ares emerging from the canoe lake demanding a rematch with Percy. Annabeth screamed and tried to trick Ares, tried to find a way out of this rematch for Percy, but Ares knocked her aside and went for her friend. Percy didn’t even fight him and the sword found its way into Percy’s gut and Annabeth cried and cried.

Percy would’ve fought, would’ve been right along with her trying to figure out a way to escape, but this was a nightmare, and they so rarely offered the truth to the slumbering soul. She yelled for Chiron, yelled for Poseidon, yelled for Mr. D to come and fix Percy please, please, please. She couldn’t lose someone else not again, not like Thalia, but no help came.

Instead, she watched as Percy’s body turned into a flower, his blond hair becoming petals, his blank and glassy green eyes turning into pistils and his clothes becoming leaves.

It was horrible to witness, her mind filling up the gaps of the transformation like they had run through Thalia’s final moments over and over and over like a dog with a bone.

She woke up to rain battering the roof and tears on her cheeks. She hadn’t screamed, her throat wasn’t raw enough for that. Annabeth wiped uselessly at her cheeks and checked the time on a still working clock on the nightstand. 7:09 a.m

Annabeth had work that needed to be done.

Chapter Text

The Wayne library had been developed over two centuries of book-obsessed Waynes and Bruce’s incessant need to know everything. One fourth was completely devoted to the classics filled with annotations accumulated from Martha Kane and Jason Todd. The other, the science, and law half was well-worn and had new volumes coming in every day and old ones being donated to the Gotham City Library when their time came. But there was another fourth completely devoted to mythology and architecture.

This was mostly incidental, the knowledge of the architecture necessary for breaking into buildings and mythology was always useful when a new magic user popped up. Some part of Annabeth thought Bruce had kept it for her when she returned, but it was foolish to think. Bruce didn’t do sentimentality for his children that weren’t dead, and even the sentimentality he had for them was blunt and terse and hid every true feeling with the militaristic practicality shoved into him by his years of study.

Still, Annabeth found the books she needed, the rare ones from ages past that the Justice League had found gathering dirt and dust beneath the earth. 

Oú Élpisma Eísō Tó Ýdōr or in English, No Hope in the Water, was a text supposedly authored by Poseidon’s first mortal lover, painstakingly copied by thousands of hands detailing the war between the Titans and the gods and the fights that shattered the earth. If Annabeth’s suspicions were right then she needed to know everything there was to know about Kronos, about the war, and about the prophecy.

Oh, she wanted to hate Chiron for letting her know too soon, but it was better that she knew that Percy Jackson would die, and she could figure out ways to cheat Death of her best friend.

Chains and ropes like Sisyphus, the Styx like Thetis and Achilles, strength like Hercules, cunning like Harry Houdini all nights but one.

The options came and went and somehow Annabeth doubted that Sally Jackson would let Percy descend into the Underworld once more on the off chance of survival. Pragmatic women, Ms Jackson.

Annabeth kept reading, chewing on her bottom lip the whole time as the graphic writings of the atrocities both sides committed were put clear. Sacrifice everything, seemed to be the bottom line here. Even your sanity.

She imagined herself without any brakes and shuddered as the thought of Wayne Manor covered in corpses and blood came to mind. Annabeth couldn’t trust herself without those brakes, and she didn’t think anyone else would either. And Percy without them…well, Annabeth would take up the knife herself to end his life. She’d be kinder than most or so she hoped.

“Annabeth?” Tim asked and Annabeth jerked in her seat. “Are you alright?”

Annabeth blinked rapidly, the sunlight which had been weak when she began reading now burned through her jeans and cast a golden glow in the room. Sunlight in Gotham, Apollo must be feeling risky today to pass over head with such deliberateness. Or, Annabeth conceded, he must’ve found a pretty mortal to fuck down here.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”

Tim shot her an incredulous look. “You’re reading a book that is impossible to read since the language has been lost!”

Annabeth glanced back down at the book, and winced. It was written in Dialect Linear B. She could recognize the Athenian-Minoan mixture if she looked closely, but her brain simply processed it as easily as it processed other types of Ancient Greek.

“It’s a dialect,” Annabeth said, shrugging. “Once you recognize it as such it’s easier to read.”

It was not.

Tim continued staring but snapped out of reverie. “B is asking for you.”

“He couldn’t be bothered to get me himself?” Annabeth asked even as she stood up. She didn’t bother marking the book. She knew exactly what page she was on.

Tim frowned and followed Annabeth, likely trying to lead her, but she had lived here for 9 years and the six renovations she had confirmed hadn’t changed the location of the Batcave or Bruce’s study.

“He’s had a tough time of it.” Tim defended, his lips twisted into a scowl. “First you, then Jason—”

“First Jason then me.” Annabeth corrected. “Then you, Cass, Stephanie, Damian, and Duke. I rather you didn’t mess up with the sequence of events.”

Annabeth paused in front of a family portrait between the two staircases leading to the separate wings and Tim flinched at the sight of it. Not out of disgust but out of guilt. Annabeth reached out and gently stroked the frame. Her hand itched for Silena’s Polaroid camera, to take a photo of the portrait, so she could stick it above her bunk along with all the other pictures of her siblings and victories in Capture the Flag. It’d replace the photos she had of Luke above her bunk before…well, before anyone started pointing fingers and calling her a traitor.

“Uh,” Tim fumbled for the right words, misinterpreting Annabeth’s actions. “We’ll commission a new one.”

Annabeth shook her head. “I’m not a Wayne.” she said, and walked up the East Wing staircase.

Tim scrambled after her, taking the stairs two at a time to catch up with Annabeth. “Why did you—”

“Pick Chase?” Annabeth finished. “I didn’t, Thalia did really. Because she and Luke chased me up and down Baltimore when I got kidnapped by the Hunters of Artemis. They were nice, gave me lots of hot tea, which to me, experiencing my first winter without a roof over my head was everything.”

Annabeth glanced at the mirror that had once been Great-Aunt Blanche’s and had thus never been moved by Alfred who refused to touch any of Great-Aunt Blanche’s things. Tim’s face was set and unsurprised. So they had talked about her last night, she had been worried Bruce was losing his touch in the face of so many children.

Not, she conceded, thinking of Luke, that children made you weak. Sometimes, they strengthen your resolve to do whatever you think is best for them.

Annabeth stopped in front of Bruce’s study and raised an eyebrow as Tim kept walking. She could hear the noise of shuffling papers and the keyboard clacking away inside the room. Tim looked back at her and seemed abashed.

“My office is the one after.” he said awkwardly. Annabeth gave what she hoped was an understanding smile and knocked on Bruce’s door.

The chair, which she assumed must be new, rolled on the sleek wooden floors that she knew lied behind the door. Heavy footsteps approached, and the door swung open with nary a squeak.

“Annabeth,” Bruce said, “come in.”

I found her in Connecticut, the message from Clark said, Bruce rubbed his face half in disbelief, half in hope. She had two children with her as they exited Ms Castellan’s house. I caught a ‘Thals’ and a ‘Luke’ that match up with Ms Castellan’s son. I’m not sure why exactly they’re there, but Ms Castellan is not well Bruce. She keeps rambling on about spiders and a cage, I caught something about a scythe there too, but I don’t think I can leave her like this.

Anna had slipped through his fingers again. Bruce closed his eyes and tried to block out the noises of Cass, Tim, and Steph playing video games downstairs as the unbidden she should be there with them came to mind. Yesterday was the anniversary of Jason’s death. Is that why she had sought shelter? Did she want to call Bruce and ask for him to find her?

It was foolish, Anna had had a whole year to return to the manor but Bruce at least wanted to set things right. To apologize for what he said to her that night.

He’d redouble the search tonight. At least, she was alive, that’s all he could ask for.

“Sit, please.” Bruce said and Annabeth stared blankly at her favorite leather chair unmoved from its spot between the bookcase and the window. She walked to the chair in front of the desk instead, Dick’s spot, her mind supplied.

She sat, crossed her feet instinctively to keep them from bouncing rapidly. She rubbed her hands on the leather of her chair, it wasn’t as soft or as supple as the one in the corner, but it was still nice to feel.

“I’m formalizing your return.” Bruce began, and Annabeth kept herself from grabbing a pen and throwing it at his face. “There will be some press coverage of course, but we can keep that to a minimum. Get you enrolled in Gotham Academy and other such things.”

Annabeth waited for a moment to see if Bruce had anything else to add before sighing. “I’m not coming back.”

She raised a hand to forestall Bruce who snapped his mouth shut. “I’m only here as a favor to a friend. I have zero expectations this will work, and most of it rests on two things. One, you don’t understand my willingness to simply up and leave because all the wards never show any sign of permanently leaving you like I do. And two, you, you, Jason and Dick, still don’t believe me about the spiders.”

“Because there aren’t—” Bruce cut himself off and his expression closed off. “They were real weren’t they?”

“As real as mom.” Annabeth agreed. She sighed, and leaned back in her chain, back twinging slightly in pain. Damian had gotten a few hits last night. “And you never said that it’d be okay, instead you sent me to bed. You never told me that I’d be safe but that you’d catch me in the morning if you were free. You never heard me, just listened. And then you were gone.”

“I’m right here, Annabeth.” Bruce said, gently.

Annabeth stared at his hands, remembering the ash he brought back from Ethiopia. “You are now.”

Anna stood on the window ledge looking down at the sheer drop. Her eyes are dry from weeping, and her cheeks still stung from the blow that she knew he did not intend to land but did so anyway.

She had gone into Jason’s room, where he wouldn’t come the same way he wouldn’t go into Grandpa’s room. His go-bag which Anna had noticed the second time he had allowed her into his room remained untouched for everything except a picture of his mother taken out and placed on his nightstand and the bear on his bed.

She had taken it. Its patched and sloppily stitched bottom was perfect to offset her rich clothes until she could lose them for donation bin clothes. Anna estimated that she had four hours until Alfred and Father noticed she was missing. All she needed to do was climb down.

She licked her lips, setting her eyes on the statue next to her window. Handholds, all the way down, a gift from Great Aunt Blanche’s gentleman callers according to Alfred. Anna took one breath, then another. She grabbed onto the gargoyle's wing and started to descend. 

It took twenty minutes of not looking down and hoping for the best, but Anna's boots hit the ground and Anna sprinted through the rose garden to the shed. She opened the door, not bothering to be silent.

No one would have cared anyway.

Stephanie has only seen Annabeth twice in the past week, each time only at pre-patrol lunch before the girl vanished again. According to Cass, she had been in the library every day, reading over some book that no one else could make heads or tails of.

But, Stephanie had noticed that Annabeth kept on wearing the same jeans from dinner last week and seemed to cycle through two shirts that she knew were Selina’s. So, shopping was in order, although they’d have to be subtle and quiet about their trip. Bruce had instigated a strict Annabeth is still missing policy when talking about her anywhere and apparently hadn’t even let anyone outside the family know, not even Clark, who had apparently been fond of Annabeth.

Stephanie remembered the newspapers that had run over and over again with ‘WAYNE HEIRESS MISSING! WAYNE WARD DEAD!’ It had been an endless parade of people speculating and pitying over these events over and over again. Photos of little Anna Elizabeth were splashed in every front page and Stephanie had supustisously scanned every child in the Narrows looking for little miss proper in hopes of a payout. Eventually it had all died down, but when there wasn’t a better story they mentioned Anna, and it all sparked again.

“You’re staring.” Annabeth said, nose still buried in a book. “Either spit it out or go practice, Ju—Stephanie.”

Stephanie emerged from behind the bookcase, raising an eyebrow. “Siblings or Bruce?”

“Both,” she replied. She snapped the book shut and Stephanie tried to make sense of the writing in the notebook, but it was all in Greek. “You’re not a ward, right?”

“Right,” Stephanie said, suspicion creeping into her tone. “You know you aren’t the sole inheritor.”

Annabeth laughed. “I wouldn’t know what to do with the money if I had it. Magnus might if I gave it to him.”

Stephanie silently pulled up her knowledge of the Wayne family to look for a Magnus. Her brow furrowed as she went down the line. Elias Wayne had Blanche, Agatha and Thomas, Thomas had Bruce and Blanche had Natalie and Randolph with some up-and-coming businessman and Agatha had married some southern aristocrat and had a son, Colt. Randolph had Aubrey and Emma who Stephanie had met last month and Natalie had died a year ago but no one could find her son… Magnus.

“You know, Natalie’s dead.” Stephanie said carefully. “And no one knows where Magnus is.”

“… He’s in Boston?” Annabeth said, a confused look on her face. “You haven’t talked to Aubrey about this? Her whole meta power revolves around tracking things and people.”

“She’s a meta?” Stephanie asked incredulously, remembering the dainty and frail looking Aubrey. She hadn’t seemed to have an inch of strength behind those bones beyond what was required to lift a book.

“You didn’t know? Gods, Bruce, what have you done with the files?” Annabeth muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose. She took a deep breath. “You know what, never mind. Let’s do whatever it is you want us to do.”

“Uh, right, clothes. You need some. You’re not wearing the same clothes for the whole time.”

Stephanie sensed the ’ve done that before it came out of Annabeth’s mouth and raised a hand to stall it, which Annabeth respected. Huh, she really was like a better Bruce. Stephanie took Annabeth’s hand and pulled her out into the hallway, nearly slamming into Jason as she did. Annabeth twisted to avoid Jason and then kicked the back of his knee of what Stephanie guessed what nothing but utter pettiness.

Jason snarled and whipped around to yell, but Annabeth had already booked it and Stephanie was hot on her heels.

“It was hard to track you down, Annie.” Aubrey said she leaned against the limousine and Thalia and Luke weairly crowded Annabeth from behind. “You moved fast.”

“Well now that you found her, leave her alone, mortal. ” Thalia hissed. She tapped her wrist and Aubrey jerked back in instinctual fear of Aegis. Her eyes dilated and she eyed the shield warily.

Annabeth gripped onto Luke’s jacket as he gripped the pommel of his sword. “Not going back.” she muttered. Her throat still burned from where the monster had choked her yesterday before Luke knocked it away from her.

Aubrey shrugged and opened the limousine door. “I’m just here to give you a ride to Connecticut. Weird guy with wings on his feet showed up in my dreams and Dad said to do what he said and find you, so I did.”

Luke’s face twisted and Thalia winced. Annabeth stared wide-eyed at Luke’s face and then tried to emulate it.

“Hermes,” he hissed.

Cass found the Polaroid on the kitchen table two weeks after the dinner. It was facedown and clearly left behind in a hurry and Cass could only assume it was Tim’s since he was the only photographer in the family. She reached out, plucking it from the table intending only to give it glance but paused.

Annabeth and a blond boy were staring at the camera in surprise. They wore vibrant orange t-shirts with words that Cass couldn’t quite discern and a pegasus in the center. The boy’s eyes were as intense as Jason’s but didn’t carry off the hardened anger that Jason had in him. Instead, he looked young and happy and a little frightened. His boy screamed surprised but it also said protect.

Cass could guess what exactly he wanted to protect right next to him.

Annabeth looked happy. Not that she was always serious or blank-faced, but her happiness at the moment tended to be dependent on Damian’s openness at the moment or how interesting the books she was reading were. The mere presence of the boy or perhaps the location seemed to set her alglow even as the camera took her by surprise.

Cass memorized the boy next to Annabeth in case she needed to find Annabeth through him. Young, curly blond, intense blue eyes, taller than Damian a touch shorter than Tim. Small scar on his hand, had an injured shoulder at the time of the photo, face was still full of baby fat, and likes layers of clothes.

Cass held the Polaroid between her fingers delicately and snapped a photo of it out of habit. She sent it to the group chat and went to Annabeth’s room to deposit it.

The manor sounded terribly empty with everyone out doing their own thing and Alfred and Annabeth taking care of the rose garden outside, but Annabeth’s room felt even emptier somehow. The bed had been shoved in the corner and the floor was covered with books and notes but the paint was faded and the desk hadn’t even had the white sheet taken off it.

The bedspread was hardly mussed and Cass suspected Annabeth spent more nights on the floor than on the bed.

Her eyes landed on a bag that looked as though it had gone through hell and back more stitch than fabric. It wasn’t hidden or meant to be seen. Just set down as a matter-a-fact statement.

I will leave. Maybe not now, but I will.

And that was so terribly sad.

Damian woke up in the Batcave to the sound of someone reading aloud. Everything was murky and distant but the voice was nice and he didn’t have to open his eyes to listen to it.

“As yet I looked upon crime as a distant evil; benevolance and generosity were ever present before me, inciting within me a desire to become an actor in a busy scene where so many admirable qualities were called forth and displayed. Oh, you’re awake. Want me to keep reading?”

Damian cracked open an eye and nearly yelped in shock as he saw Annabeth staring at him with a prompting look on her face. Her face is smudged with blood, his blood, Damian guessed, but she looked alright otherwise.

“Line.” Damian grunted out and let his eye close again.

A breath, a rustle of a page. “ But, in giving an account of the progress of my intellect, I must not omit a circumstance which occurred in the beginning of the month of August of the same year. ” Another breath, and Damian felt himself start to sink into daze. Annabeth’s voice was rhythmic and soothing, each word perfectly pronounced as she read on. “One night, during my accustomed visit to the neighbouring wood, where I collected my own food, and brought home firing for my protectors, I found on the ground a leathern portmanteau, containing several articles of dress and some books. I eagerly seized the prize, and returned with it to my hovel. Fortunately the books were written in the language the elements of which I had acquired at the cottage; they consisted of Paradise Lost, a volume of Plutarch's Lives, and the Sorrows of Werter. The possession of these treasures gave me extreme delight—”

And Damian knew no more.

Annabeth snapped her book shut and turned to look at a pale-faced Replacment and stoic Jason. She stood with every grace of a predator that intended to sink into your neck no matter what you wanted. Jason was kind of reminded of Selina and hurriedly vanished that thought. 

“What were you thinking?” she hissed and the Replacement shrunk back. “I don’t care that you don’t get along, you let him walk into a trap set by Black Mask all alone?”

“He rushed ahead.” Jason defended. “I’m not in charge of that little—”

Annabeth hurled the book at Jason’s head which connected with his shoulder instead. It still hurt like a bitch and Jason cringed in pain. She had aimed at the height he was six years ago.

“You are supposed to be right behind him. You are supposed to escort him back to Batman. I know you remember everything Bruce drilled into you because Dick remembers and I do too. Did Dick ever let you get shot through and through? No! He didn’t because he followed after you no matter how angry he was at you! Di immortales! What is wrong with you two!”

“Dick is never—” the Replacment started but Annabeth shot him a withering look, and Jason choked back a laugh. Dick never angry? What a joke.

“Jason?” she said prompting.

Jason set his jaw. “He fucking hated me but he always ended up more beat up then I was by the time patrol ended.”

Annabeth nodded firmly, her glare less acidic but no less condemning. “He’s the baby, like you both were at one point and you can’t act as though you weren’t as insufferable as Damian can be at moments.”

“He cut my line!” the Replacement yelled, waving his hands to punctuate the point.

Yeah, and I beat the fuck out of you a year ago and you don’t fucking care so why the anger at the seven year old, Jason thought uncharitably. If your going to hate someone than you should hate everyone that did something equal to their level.

“He’s what? Six months out of assassin training? When Dick was first brought home he used a seam ripper, and we tore all of Bruce’s suits and hid the pieces and this was only the third day of not seeing Bruce during brunch. After seven days he shredded all the pillows with the knife Alfred uses for coconuts.

“He did not!” Jason said incredulously. “I would’ve known if he’d done that.”

Annabeth raised an eyebrow but held her hand out for her book which Jason bitterly dripped into her hand. Frankenstein, she had good taste.

“He still tried to kill me.” Tim said defensively. “Little psycho.”

“Tim, he’s Talia’s son, Ra’s al Ghul’s grandson. Do you expect him not to go for the throat when that’s all he knows?”

“You just like him more than you like us.”

Annabeth shrugged and walked back to Damian’s bedside. She opened her book again and continued reading while the Replacment slunk away.

That, Jason realized with a chill, was the most she’d acknowledged him in three weeks.

Jason licked his lips and strode out of the manor. He wasn’t staying in this hellhole a minute longer than he was supposed to. Even if he was worried about Annabeth.

Anna is small enough that Dick doesn’t really register the four year old when he saw her. She reached perhaps his waist but her eyes were the ones that demanded his attention not her height.

She was a cute little kid, Dick would concede, but she didn’t speak as much as she read or followed him around.

Dick liked kids, heck Dick was good with kids but being alone in this empty manor with this little silent kid following him around felt a bit like Mr Wayne just wanted him to play live-in babysitter for his daughter while he was gone for hours at a time.

So Dick found a sewing kit, a seam ripper and planned vengeance.

Vengeance that Anna had stumbled upon.

“It isn’t what it looks like!” Dick blurted out, seam ripper in hand.

“You tearing up Papa’s suits?” Anna guessed.

“Okay it’s exactly what it looks like. Please don’t tell Mr Wayne! He’ll, I don’t know, send me back to the orphanage.”

Anna blinked and nodded before walking over to the nightstand and pulling out another seam ripper, much sharper and newer than the ones in Dick’s hand.

“He doesn’t wear those.” she said quietly. “We must go on the offensive and attack the ones he wears daily.”
She lisped half those words and Dick cooed at her.

Annabeth got a call on the fourth week of staying there and was on the phone for three hours straight with somone called Dorian and someonce called Chiron. She spoke Ukranian frantically into the phone, accent not crisp but understandable nonetheless. Stay there. I’ll come. Wait for me.

The Greek was a bit harder for Dick to distingush it sounded old and modern at the same time but the gist of it remained the same. Let me go. I’ll come back. Wait for me.

In the end, Annabeth didn’t leave but her old cell phone buzzed every hour with what must’ve been updates that she obsessively checked like she was waiting for the world to explode.

Dick sat next to her for the whole time in the empty and dark home cinema. She didn’t protest.

“Who’s Dorian?”

“My little brother. His father, well, he’s not the best about Dorian being a demigod. He’s my third so I have to take care of him so he can take care of the littles.” Annabeth said.

“Do you have any older siblings?” Dick asked. The besides us hung in the air like a chandelier on a broken chain, too pretty to take down, to dangerous to leave it be. 

“Leyah went on a quest for Mom four years back. She never made it home. Before that, Oscar went, he never made it back either.” Annabeth sighed and glanced at her home as though hoping it’d have all the answers she wanted at this very moment. “I thought she’d give me that quest this year. I’ve been waiting for it for so long but… she saved me to give a chance to be part of a prophecy so much bigger than anyone could ever dreamed to be part of . So that means I have to make her proud.”

Dick swallowed and wondered if this is what the Titans had seen when Dick insisted that he owed Bruce everything, that they would never understand the relationship between them.

“Will they give us your body?” Dick finally asked, afraid he overstepped.

“If there’s enough left to bury.”

Annabeth’s phone beeped again and relief was clear on her face. She sunk into the chair and went limp. It took Dick a moment ot process she was out like a light and he carefully removed the Nokia she had accepted from Bruce from her hand.

CHB Year-Rounders (DNI Summer Children)

Teacher of Legendary Heroes (and Hercules): @everyone We’ve arrived in the US. Lady Stoll was very helpful under the circumstances to smooth over the process.

I’m taller: Mom’s great for that!

I’m whiter: Yeah, it’s called being able to bribe all the goverment officals because I have blackmail on them, Travis.

Garden-ew: Please shut up.

Garden-ew: @findingdorian know we are delighted to have you back in the states with us year-round!

Vitya-Vitya: Everyone shut up it’s literally dinner time and we’re all on out phones. Also congrats @findingdorian

findingdorian: @vitya-vitya, @Garden-ew, my full apprication. @owlbird, I’m fine, it’s just a scratch. @i’m whiter and @i’m taller, find a hole and die.

The chat continued on but Dick’s eyes lingered on Dorian’s text. Owlbird, huh, Dick thought, chest full of warmth for his sister, maybe one day.

Duke is coming back from his morning shift on the fifth week to find Annabeth making tea and reading that creepy old book. He’s tired, bones aching from where he got thrown against a wall, but the tea is somehow more enticing than sleep so he stumbled into the kitchen.

His…sister(Foster sister? Person who was legally related to but hadn’t spent much time with) sat on the countertop, two mugs already prepared as the tea steeped. She silently slid one across the length of the table and into Duke’s waiting hand without taking her eyes off her book.

Duke took a sip and moaned. It tasted like his mom’s sweet tea somehow, the one she’d make when she was able to find a child a new home and wanted to celebrate. It was a hot version of it but no less comforting for him to drink.

He didn’t realize he was crying as he drank it until Annabeth handed him a paper towel to dry his eyes. There was no pity, only understanding.

“The first time I had tea made out of leaves straight from Hestia and Demeter’s garden I cried for two hours straight. It tasted like the lemon bundt Dick got me when he came to the house with the intention of fighting with Bruce and I sobbed my eyes out.” Annabeth said quietly. “I’ve only had it twice more. The second time it tasted like that stupid aloe vera plus a thousand other things protein shake Bruce likes to drink and the hot chocolate Jason would make after a nightmare.”

“And this time?” Duke asked softly. He took a sip of his tea and felt tears dripping down his face as he swore his mother’s hand was on his shoulder.

“Blue Cherry Coke.” Annabeth whispered like it was a crime. “He’s destined to die and I just keep getting attached.”

Duke said nothing. He couldn’t find the words to ask, to tell her to fight the fate she expected to fall on her friend. Instead, he watched her shake her head and drown her tea like it was a shot before dumping the cup in the sink.

He just sat down on the floor, staring down at the tea for a long time before drinking it cold and crying more.

Annabeth left the sixth week in the middle of the afternoon after sending all her work through the mail to coincide with her arrival in New York on Friday.

She wore clothes she had stolen right out of Barbara’s closet, which saw the least use or change in the manor and grabbed the go bag, now stuffed with batarangs, small explosives and two new books and left through the window in said room.

She didn’t run, she didn’t really think she’d need to. Instead, she strolled past the rose garden she helped Alfred fix, past the shed where she had found her first weapon, and into the woods behind the house. And Annabeth kept walking. And walking.

And walking.

By the time Annabeth stopped for a break, the nymph had already found her.

She was a small thing, but most nymphs were no matter what age. Her hair was dark blue and long, and her green skin offset the eerie void of her eyes.

“Juniper?” Annabeth guessed.

The nymph smiled. “That’s me!” she said happily. “Ready to go to California?”

“Change of plans,” Annabeth said, pulling out her phone. “Do you know where Richmond is? I have to check up on something.”

Juniper frowned and Annabeth pulled out her trump card. “Please, it has something to do with Grover.”

Juniper’s face smoothed out and she contained a laugh at how lovestruck the nymph looked. She grabbed Annabeth’s hand with sharp fingernails and they both vanished into the undergrowth.

Dear Alfred, the note began and Alfred sat down heavily into the chair next to his desk. 

No, he pleaded, not again. Not another dead child, not another escapee that would return to be place in a coffin.

There’s been an issue at Camp that needs all my attention for the rest of this year and most of the next. I’ll be back after the summer although it’ll probably be the same amount of time as this time. Thank you for picking me up and still loving me even after I ran away on you last time. Please inform Bruce that Aubrey is a meta and she should look into training and that I already took off the trackers in my phone.

With all the love in the world,

Annabeth. W. C.

P.S. If body is returned, please bury next to Grandmother Martha and lay roses. If body is not returned, please intern ashes to be buried next to Grandfather Thomas.

Alfred wept.

“Do you think she knows we know?” Thalia asked as she crumpled up the newspaper. Her blue eyes catch the fire’s light and Luke has to look away.

“Maybe, I’m not sure. She’s good at hiding.”

Thalia tucked a strand of frizzy dark hair behind Annabeth’s ear and sighed. Luke watched her, all Luke could ever do was watch her.

“We’ll figure it out.” she decided. “We’re family after all.”

“Yeah,” Luke said, softly. “Family.”

They both pretend not to think it’s odd that Superman came looking for a child with the same name as the missing Wayne Heiress telling her that she had to come back home before the funeral before B fell further down into a spiral when Annabeth woke up.

It’s a kindness that they can afford to offer her. Kindness that none of their parents would’ve offered otherwise. But he and Thalia are supposed to be better than their parents. (Right? Right!? Right.)

The sky cracked open and rain started to fall. 

Thalia smiled as Annabeth splashed in every puddle and yelled in delight. Luke swung her around and played with her every step of the way, both their smiles made him feel alive and whole in ways he can’t quite explain. 

Family. Always.

[End of Part 1]