Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Six years. Six years, two great prophecies, a load of bullshit with a quest per year, entire other pantheons of gods- and for the first time in six years, Charlie can breathe . How many apocalyptic events has she had a hand in stopping at this point? How many near-death experiences? How little is there left of her for the pickings of gods foisting their problems onto their children (genuinely screw Zuess)? 

For the first time in six years, Charlie gets a moment to breathe for herself, and that moment is quickly overcome with memories. Memories stretching from even before she came to camp- that harpy that managed to have a go at her even before she managed to get to camp, her journey up with that satyr who’d strayed so far from New York for seemingly no reason at all, the reason she left her home city in the first place- her home city . 

Nostalgia for Gotham, her hometown. Nostalgia is the scent of cigarette smoke and the tenseness that comes with always being ready for a supervillain to attack or a mugger to get brave. Nostalgia is a boy, her only friend, who’d brave the streets of Crime Alley just to get away from his parents and be with someone who understood . 

Her family is and always will be her siblings in cabin fifteen, the children of Hypnos. Her older brother Clovis, who she’s pretty sure has narcolepsy but can’t get a diagnosis by nature of living at camp full time. Her younger siblings, the twins, June and Cal, who have so much energy that sometimes she wonders just how they’re related to the god of sleep himself. The family she’s lived with for the last six years, the family she’s fought beside, the family she spends every single night traipsing through dreams and humming lullabies. 

But her first-ever family was a boy in Gotham. Tim, her brother in everything but blood, who always had a camera around his neck and bruises under his sleeves. Tim, who preferred Crime Alley to his own home . The boy she spent sleepless nights on the roof with, discussing Batman theories or the latest Star Trek episodes. The boy who she’d been forced to abandon in that treacherous journey away from Gotham and to Camp Half-Blood. 

A boy who, in retrospect, had always known that she had gray streaks in her hair. 

Not that striking of a detail, huh? It’d take an idiot to miss the giant gray streaks running through her pitch-black hair, a jarring detail on someone so young. They’re not subtle; they’re blaring, they’re obvious, hey come look at me. And yet- well, she’d always been the only one able to see them. Her and Tim. The Mist hid that detail for her back when she couldn’t protect herself from what it meant, how it showed her relation to a god . 

No mortal eyes should’ve been able to see it. Not unless they were clear-sighted. But- there’s always been something a little bit off about Tim. At the time it was the same thing that set the both of them apart, but now that she’s older, now that she’s spent time at Camp Half-Blood, she can put a name to what those signs mean (what they meant).

ADHD. Dyslexia he hid well. Understanding Ancient Greek better than English sometimes. A natural ability to hide in the shadows so well that he could snap pictures of the bats without them noticing. Signs that meant they were the same as children, but now means- 

Tim might be a half-blood . 

He might be a half-blood who’s currently destined to live out the rest of his life in Gotham completely unaware of this fact. Gotham, the impenetrable city, where not even monsters can get in. The city that satyrs avoid like the plague without any real discernable reason, the city where the Mist feels sickly like it’s filled with rot, the city where magic and myth are wrong . Tim might go the rest of his life without knowing that he has a family that cares - not just absentee parents, not just the bats that don’t even know he exists, a real family. Just like the family she got by coming here.  

Charlie breathes for the first time in six years, memories wash over her like a calming wave of nostalgia, and she makes her decision. Satyrs avoid Gotham, so there’s no way for Tim to be picked up if he’s a half-blood through traditional means. Which means- it has to be a demigod, doesn’t it? A demigod who knows the lay of the land, who knows Tim , and who has limited soul-sensing abilities. A demigod like her . 

She pushes herself up from her bed. Because there are only four children of Hypnos in the cabin, they don’t really need bunk beds. Right now Clovis is passed out on his bed as per usual; a mess of blankets, pillows, and stuffed animals that she mockingly (affectionately) calls his ‘nest’. The twins are gone right now; likely practicing with their new wings down at the Pegasus stables or terrorizing any older camper with their newfound weapons. 

Her wings flutter and ripple behind her, stretching after being pinned to the bed for so long. Pure white, almost angelic wings- gifts from her dad. He’s not really supposed to give gifts like this or visit nearly as often as he does (resulting in a king-sized bed in the center of the room which is occupied more often than not), but he sort of does what he wants. Zeus, the main guy in charge of the ‘no contact’ rule, is just a little bit scared of him. Not that she’s complaining; wings just feel right on her back. 

Feathers fall to the ground when she stretches her wings. She stretches her arms above her head, working out any kinks from laying so awkwardly while mulling over her decisions. The ground is a mess of feathers at this point from both her and the twins, something she’s still figuring out the best way to deal with. 

Clovis is technically the head of cabin fifteen, but she’s his co-head and does most of the work. He only got seniority by the matter of being older than her and being at camp for a year longer, not by actual capability. More often than not she’s the one getting everyone’s butts into gear in the morning when the Hypnos kids just want to sleep in. 

On her way out the door, she pats Clovis on the head and throws one of his stuffies - a penguin - back onto his bed from where it fell off. She brushes her fingers across the poppy pots laid out across the windowsill, checks over the poplar branch, and then pushes open the front door. Sunlight hits her face, seeping warmth into her bones. 

Her eyes are drawn to the hearth in the center of the ring of cabins, as they always are. She waves a brief hello to the young girl tending to the fire, earning a small wave and smile back. It’s the middle of the day right now, just after lunch, so most people are still involved in their specific tasks. 

She spots a couple of Iris kids finishing off the coloring for the newest cabins, Hebe and Nike, while a couple of Hephaestus kids finish off the windows for them. A couple of kids run from training ground to training ground, various weapons clutched in their grasp. Overhead she spots a few pegasus fluttering through the sky, followed by the laughing and whooping forms of the twins stretching their wings. 

A smile spreads across her face. 

Instead of dwelling, or starting her usual afternoon tasks of helping some of the Demeter kids with the gardens or the satyrs with the stables, she starts towards the Big House. Although, lately she’s been helping construct the new cabins for the minor gods; being able to fly certainly makes getting supplies up to roofs or putting high-up things in place a whole lot easier. Right now, though, she has a mission. 

Mentally, she goes over her reasoning while she walks. While this shouldn’t be too big of an ask, really just requesting to go home for a bit, it’s still… well, she doesn’t tend to ask for much. At all. She’s a quiet, unobtrusive presence. That’s what she prides herself on. And now she’s going to talk to the big people in charge and kind of dip out of helping with things like repairs after the last world-ending event to ‘find a maybe half-blood’. Not a great look for her. 

Okay, maybe she’s a bit nervous. If she were to look in a mirror right now she imagines that her wings would be like puff balls on her back from each feather standing on end. But a little bit of anxiety is totally normal when talking to Chiron , the trainer of heroes , and Mr. D , AKA a fucking god , right? Not that Mr. D ever acts like a god. Or ever gets her name right. She’s still trying to figure out where he got ‘Karlie’ from ‘Charlie’. 

‘Hi, yes, I’m Karlie Greens, nice to meet you,’ She thinks with a snort. Seriously, six years here and Mr. D only recently started consistently calling her the same thing, let alone the correct thing. Although, some campers have been here longer and he still can’t get their name right either. Part of his drunken charm at this point (minus the drunk part what with the whole Diet Coke situation).

The Big House comes up in her view. It’s not a particularly imposing building, in fact, it’s more homely than anything, but it still has her palms sweating. She shoves her hands into the pockets of her shorts just to have something to do with them. She’s a ‘do’ person, not a ‘think’ person for god's sake! Just get on with it, Charlie! 

Her feet carry her inside without a whole lot of input from her brain. She nods at Will who’s scrambling around with Frozen-themed bandaids and a bright pink stuffed bear. For reasons she’s not enthused to figure out, of course. She catches sight of a couple of other Apollo kids raiding the Big House for medical supplies, so she nods to them too. 

A Clip-Clop draws her attention. 

A smile stretches onto her face that feels sort of strained but she doesn’t have enough time to figure out what it actually looks like. She turns to Chiron, looking up up up until she can see his face. “Heya, Mr. Chiron sir.” She cringes. Okay, not a great start. 

“Charlie,” Chiron greets in turn. He folds his hands behind his back and a soft smile rests on his face. A whole lot calmer than she feels right now, the little rat. Which is an unfair thought to have, so it’s staying locked tight right up in her head. 

“I was just wondering-” She cuts herself off, jumping out of the way of an Apollo kid, May or something, running through with an armful of arrows in her arms. She winces. That would’ve been a not-terribly fun trip to the infirmary. “Could we talk? Maybe somewhere where I’m less likely to be stabbed…” 

Chiron chuckles softly, an oddly calming noise. “Yes, of course. Come, come.” He leads her out of the entryway of the Big House with a wave of his hand, towards one of the off rooms that she’s pretty sure he and Mr. D play poker in sometimes. There are certainly enough Diet Coke cans lying around for that. 

“Right,” She says. She sits, because sitting means she has an excuse to tuck her wings back into her back, into their tattoo-like form, so they don’t puff up with anxiety anymore. “I was wondering- er. So… you know how I’m from Gotham?” 

Chiron stands across from her, behind the table. He nods, still smiling encouragingly at her. Alright, this is totally not a horribly awkward situation. Where is all that confidence from before? Gods, this is annoying. 

“Well, and you know how satyrs really can’t go into Gotham…” Another nod. She sucks in a breath, trying to steel herself. Come on, she can face down a crowd of her peers and direct them in a game of capture the flags, but the moment she’s against an authority figure she clams up? Pathetic. “I think that one of my friends- or, one of the friends I had in Gotham before coming here, might be a demigod?” 

She winces. “Like, he has a lot of the tell-tale signs. ADHD, dyslexia, understood Ancient Greek better than English, had a bunch of freaky abilities, he was clear-sighted. And I just… him being in Gotham means he isn’t on any satyr’s radars, which means right now he’s not on track to be found.” Her hands come together in her lap, fidgeting with the rubber bands and leather bracelets on her wrists. 

“You wish to retrieve him,” Chiron surmises. 

“Sort of.” She blows out a puff of air, rolling her shoulders. “I mean- I ought to figure out if he’s actually a demigod first and not just, like, a really freaky meta. Sort of like a longer-term mission? I know how to live in Gotham and get a part-time job and stuff, I won’t be mooching off of camp or anything.” Now that she’s started, she finds she can’t stop herself from talking. “And I know I’m kind of in charge of cabin fifteen, even though I’m just the second head. But the twins are settling in nicely, and I think they could take over getting Clovis out of bed and stuff. And they’re used to their wings enough that they could chase down the pegasus’ if they get away, which is mostly what I’ve been doing lately. I know I haven’t really left camp since I came here, but I swear that I know Gotham like the back of my hand, and-” 

Chiron raises his hand in a silent motion to stop and she clicks her mouth shut. Literally- her teeth clack together rather horribly, she closes her mouth shut so quick. 

“It’s alright, Charlie,” Chiron says. “There’s no need to do all this to convince me. I trust you to handle yourself out there, and I trust June and Cal to watch over the cabin in your absence.” She can almost feel herself start to buzz with excitement in her seat. “You may leave if you so desire. This seems like a relatively simple retrieval. All I ask is that you keep in touch about your progress, alright?” 

“Of course!” She shouts, jumping up from her seat. “I’ll pack right away, thank you so much, you won’t regret it!” She turns on her heel, running from the Big House as quickly as her feet will carry her, probably overeager. Here I come, Tim.  

-|-

Predictably, Charlie gets about halfway through haphazardly shoving clothing and books into her backpack before the twins are busting through the door, managing to rouse Clovis into the waking world. June’s leading the charge at the door, a sword held out in front of her triumphantly, hair filled with sticks and leaves, and clothing torn. Cal meekly follows his twin, clutching onto her hand tightly, his own sword gripped in his other hand. He’s not quite as torn up and leafy as his twin, but he’s close. 

Clovis blinks slowly. Clearly barely awake. 

“Charlie! Charlie, guess what!” June exclaims as soon as she’s passed the threshold. Charlie gives the young girl a pointed look, which gets both muddy boots kicked off in the entryway of the cabin and swords set against the cabin walls instead of wildly waving around. “So me and Cal, we were flying around with the pegasus, this nice one named Marshmallow, and then bam! We found a really big bird!” June continues, swinging her sword around wildly. 

“Red-Tailed Hawk,” Cal helpfully supplies. 

She shoves her bag to the foot of her bed, motioning for the both of them to sit at her feet. Cal comes easily, while June sits practically vibrating in her spot. She starts the lengthy process of picking leaves and sticks out of their tightly coiled hair. June’s hair, pulled back into two cornrows, should be tightly braided enough not to have gotten so much gunk in it, but ah well. Cal on the other hand has his hair loose, so he’s got a pretty bird’s nest-like mess on top of his head. 

Clovis pushes himself up enough to engage June in conversation, nodding along a little bit as she continues ranting about flying around with the bird and learning all sorts of tricks from him. Charlie continues picking through their hair, making a small pile of foliage on her bed. Not like there already isn’t any. The Hypnos cabin has a healthy amount of foliage just about everywhere thanks to several ‘sleepy time’ plants deciding to make their home here. 

“So can we get a bird for our cabin? Like a mascot?” June finally finishes, turning to her with a bright crooked-toothed grin. She rests her head on top of June’s head, now picked clean of leaves and sticks, smiling softly. 

“You’ll have to talk to Chiron about that one. And the harpies. Birds can be pretty loud, so I’m not sure how that would blow over,” She warns carefully. 

“Finch’s are pretty quiet,” Cal offers hesitantly. He twists around too, looking like a bundle of nerves in the form of a small child. “And they’re super friendly. If we say that we got it from Dad or Uncle Thanatos or something they’d have to let us keep it, right?” 

Devious little demon. Already growing up with lies on his tongue. “Dad would be willing to cover for you,” She relents a little, “But I’m pretty sure all it would take is Clove getting woken up once or twice during his afternoon nap for him to tattle.” Hopeful expressions from the twins quickly turn to murderous rage directed at the still half-asleep boy trying to untangle himself from his sheets.

Clovis looks up from untying his legs from his blankets, eyes wide like saucers. He looks kind of like a deer caught in headlights like this. “Uh,” He gets out intelligently. Both confused at suddenly being the center of attention and that attention being ever so slightly murderous. 

“I want a bird!” June shouts with all the rage of an eight-year-old who regularly climbs on a rock wall with a lava feature. “Let us get a bird!” Cal nods along to June’s words but predictably doesn’t shout. At least he’s a bit softer about his requests. 

“A bird,” Clovis echoes. He blinks a couple of times, clearly trying to catch up on the conversation that led to this outcome. “Um. That would be-” He winces. She can almost see the thought process laid out across his face; he doesn’t want to get into a fight about this, but he also desperately doesn’t want to deal with getting a loud bird that disrupts his sleep. She watches the cogs turn and vaguely wishes she had popcorn to go with this moment. 

But then- “Well, uh, Charlie’s planning on leaving camp for a while!” Clovis shouts, jabbing a finger accusingly at her. 

Two sets of blueish-gray eyes turn on her, wide with both righteous fury and sadness. Ah, geez, Clovis must’ve figured out that her bag of stuff wasn’t just for a trip around the forest. She’d sort of been hoping to bribe these two with sweets or something before they found out. 

“B-but…” Cal manages, lip wobbling dangerously. 

“You can’t leave!” June cries, lunging forward and wrapping tiny arms around her waist. She tumbles back until her shoulders hit the cabin wall, cushioned by her own nest of pillows. Cal joins June’s side in attempting to tie her to the bed with the weight of two eight-year-olds.

 “No dangerous quests! No more! You said you’d take care of us!” 

Hesitantly, she brings her hands down to rest on both of their shoulders. “It’s not a quest,” She says softly. “I just- there’s a boy who really needs my help. And you won’t be alone, you have Clovis, right?” 

Cal gives her an impressively deadpanned stare considering his age and she gets the message. 

“Look, I know you two can take care of yourselves while I’m away. It’s just for a bit, I really need to help this kid,” She pushes. She strokes her fingers hesitantly across the inked black tattoos on both of their shoulders- their wings in resting form. “I’ll check in every night with my dreams, okay? And I’ll text you guys on that phone that we got from cabin nine. And we can IM whenever you want.” 

“You’re not allowed to die,” June pleads, voice wobbly with unshed tears. “You’re not allowed to. Okay?” 

Being a half-blood isn’t easy. Usually, it leads you to dying in horrible, painful ways. 

Charlie smiles. “I’m pretty sure Dad would kick Uncle Thanatos’ ass if he tried to take us before we’re at least thirty.” Which is true; Dad’s talked about it before, and he’s fully willing to throw hands with his brother if they die too young. “Now come on, I need help packing.” Hopefully a distraction will stop them from plotting on how to tie her to her bed or something. Demigods tend to be a bit… extra in how clingy they are once they learn about what some of them have gone through. 

They’re still mopy, but at least they’re willing to help. As soon as she’s untangled from the mess of children, she shoots a warning glare at Clovis. He sheepishly moves to the cabin’s bathroom, collecting her toiletries and meekly pretending he didn’t just set that off. She brushes aside the sticks and leaves from her bed, pulling her half-packed backpack and duffel bag back to the middle of the bed. 

“You have to take Apple,” June announces, clambering over her own bed to retrieve one of her stuffed animals. A large red dragon that had its arm ripped off the other week, leaving Charlie to patch it up. 

“So I always have something to remember you by?” She prods, smiling crookedly at her younger sister. 

June shakes her head, holding the stuffed and sort of messy dragon up by the armpits. “So you have to return unharmed. If there’s even a single blood stain on Apple, I’ll be really upset and stab you, alright?” June demands, glaring furiously. 

She takes the stuffed animal carefully. This is one of June’s favorites, and the threat is very real. “I promise. Not a single blood stain, not a scratch,” She promises. She tucks the dragon carefully into her duffel bag, wrapping it with her pajamas just in case. 

“And you have to promise to finish reading Pride and Prejudice while you’re gone so we can talk about it,” Clovis orders from the bathroom. She debates the chances of June and Cal noticing if she flips her older brother off. 

“And finish writing that storybook for me,” Cal prods, shoving her notebook into her backpack haphazardly. “It’s gotta have illustrations and everything when you come back, alright?” 

She reaches out and ruffles his hair. She earns a small glare for her trouble. “You guys are all giving me so much homework. How will I even have time to do what I actually need to?” She earns Pride and Prejudice to her face for that one. She’s lucky she doesn’t break her nose with the force of it. 

-|-

Charlie slings her backpack over her shoulders. Jacket for the cooler weather outside of camp, backpack and duffel bag, potted poppy for a little taste of home, and everything is all packed up ready to go. June and Cal are less mopy too; more excited to hear stories about her adventures in Gotham and with all the vigilantes and stuff. Clovis, predictably, passed back out the moment the energy in the cabin died down. ‘Doesn’t have narcolepsy’ her ass.  

Just in case, she sets a protein bar and a water bottle on his nightstand. The twins should be able to drag him out of bed before dinner tonight, but just in case it’s better to be prepared for a cranky Clovis working on no food trying to lead nighttime activities for the other two. 

She waves one last goodbye to both June and Cal, under strict orders to check in tonight the moment she falls asleep. She steps out of the cabin, under the warm sun air, and points her nose towards the stables. 

While she can’t actually speak to the pegasus’ like some of the other people at camp can, looking at a certain water-themed demigod especially here, they tend to really like her and the twin’s. All for one simple reason; they can actually fly with the pegasus’. She loves stretching her wings with them, finding them whenever they’re in the mood for hide and seek in the air, and racing them whenever they’re feeling particularly antsy. 

If she left without a word, she’d be trampled the moment she got back in retaliation. 

She walks down stone pathways, across stomped dirt ones, and through the beautiful forest sprinkled with sunlight towards the stables. She waves at any camper she passes and simply relishes in the clean air that camp provides. She won’t experience anything like this for a while, so she enjoys it while it lasts. Gotham air… well, let’s just say that it can’t even come close to the fresh crisp air of a forest camp in the middle of nowhere. 

When she gets to the stables, there’s only a satyr in the corner trying to preen one of the pegasus’ feathers. She nods to him, then turns her attention to the pegasus’; all of them bouncing on their hooves, clearly ready to take flight with her. She smiles sympathetically. 

“Hey, guys. Sorry, I don’t have time for a flight today.” They visibly deflate and she winces in sympathy. “I know, I’m sorry. I just wanted to check in with you guys before I head out. I’m going on a retrieval run for a demigod, and I might be gone for a while. It’ll be June and Cal in charge of you for a while, alright?” 

One of the pegasus’ leans forward with his snout, so she rests her hand against him. Blueberry, she thinks his name is. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, hopefully with a new friend. And with lots of sugar cubes, so long as you don’t tattle on me to any of the satyrs, okay?” The pegasus snorts, wings fluttering behind him. That’s as good of an answer as she’ll get without actually being able to talk to them, so she smiles and takes it. 

She makes sure to give each of them a pat before she heads out. And she gives the satyr preening the pegasus a tip on getting between some of the smaller feathers, so even if she does get tattled on she’ll at least be in good enough graces not to get kicked out of the stables. 

Now, it’s time to make it to the train station. All she has to do is catch the train to Metropolis, a very popular destination, and then catch a bus to Gotham, a less popular destination. With wait times and everything, that’ll give her the day to research apartments in Crime Alley that won’t ask questions like ‘where are your guardians’ and ‘why do you always pay rent in cash’. Plus, she’ll have to figure out a job of some kind- one that doesn’t need things like ID or a real name. 

She makes her way across the grounds, towards the tree standing proudly on the hill. Thalia’s old tree, back when she was a tree and not a person. What a wild story. The glittering fleece wavers in the light breeze and Peleus sits curled up at the trunk, slumbering softly. She ought to see if she can sneak in a few pats while he’s sleeping on her way out. 

“You heading off?” She turns away from the tree, towards the voice calling out to her. Rachel, the Oracle, is walking by with a box of arts and crafts supplies held carefully in her grip. Rachel smiles easily once she has Charlie’s attention. “Good luck out there, alright? I know Gotham can be a mess. I used to visit every so often when I was younger for galas and stuff, it was insane.” 

“Right,” Charlie responds, relaxing a little. Not Oracle business then, just Rachel the sort-of camper. “I grew up in Gotham, so I know how to navigate everything. Thanks, Oracle.” 

Rachel frowns at her. “Rachel.” 

“Rachel,” She corrects. 

That, at the very least, earns her a smile again. “If you need anything while you’re there, just say you’re my friend and call up the Wayne’s. They’re in business pretty begrudgingly with my parents, but they’ll help you if you’re associated with me.” 

Associated with the Wayne’s ? If she can at all help it, never in a million years . “Yeah, I’m good.” She wrinkles her nose at the thought. She does not need to tempt the Fates. 

Rachel looks her up and down, eyebrow raised. “Although, you actually have most of the characteristics of a typical Wayne adoptee. Blue eyes, black hair…” 

Charlie frowns, bringing her free hand up to mess with her bangs. “My hair’s only, like, half black. And my eyes are hardly blue. More grayish.” Typical of a Hypnos kid; gray streaks in the hair and blueish-grayish eyes. Still, Rachel bringing it up is definitely a red flag sign of something for a demigod. Just in case, she’ll avoid the Wayne’s as much as possible. 

Rachel laughs, and it’s a twinkling sort of sound. Almost like wind chimes. “Right, right. Careful though, alright?” 

“Alright,” She nods. Even without good luck, she’s sure she can do this. She grew up in Gotham, she knows how to handle all of its weird bits and bobs. And that was before learning things like magic and how to fly. This will, in theory, be a piece of cake. 

Uh. 

Wait. 

No. No, she didn’t just think that. She didn’t just think the thing that jinxes every fucking mission or quest or whatever known to man. She didn’t think that banned phrase, the one no one even thinks of because of how unlucky it is. This is going to be a grueling mission, and it’s going to suck , so no need to change the cosmic destiny of whatever is about to happen and- 

And there’s a clatter as the box in Rachel’s hands falls to the ground. She’s almost too nervous to raise her gaze from the ground, but she forces herself to anyway. Predictably, unfortunately, Rachel’s eyes are completely green and the smallest bit of green mist is slowly circling them. She sort of wants to bash her head into the nearest concrete object until the lesson sinks in; never jinx a mission . 

When Rachel speaks, her voice is layered, like it’s hundreds of people speaking at once. Everything feels cold, drafty, like the winter wind is picking up all around them. 

“In the city with chaotic claw's grip

The wandering half-blood, the guide's trip

He will lead to the awakening one

The slumber of Hypnos must arise

Oh lonely, vicious, world-destroyer lies

Put the wretched down before dawn.”

Then Rachel’s eyes roll into the back of her head and she crumbles. Charlie lurches forward, barely managing to catch her before she bangs her head on the stone beneath them. Her heart pounds hard in her chest, sweat beads on her brow, her hands are shaking. Everything feels sort of fuzzy, sort of shaky, and she suddenly feels so nauseous she’s regretting eating lunch. 

The slumber of Hypnos must arise / Oh lonely, vicious, world-destroyer lies

This is a prophecy, clearly meant for her, clearly about her mission to grab Tim and come back. But- but that line . If it wasn’t for those two lines, if it was just the rest of the prophecy it might be something she’s begrudgingly willing to deal with, but… but this is too much. This isn’t a line she’s willing to cross. 

The thing is, the Big Three’s kids are powerful. So powerful, in fact, that they vowed to stop having kids (which lasted about as long as everyone expected). Percy Jackson caused an inactive volcano to erupt on his own will . Nico di Angelo can raise the dead and has before, in entire armies to fight for them. Thalia Grace could strike people with lightning with a single thought . 

And one of the things that she’s most afraid of, more than monsters, more than quests, more than Geia herself is- if that’s just the powers gifted to children of the big three, then what kind of monster would be born from a primordial god? Percy, Nico, Thalia, they’re all feared above all else. Revered, sure, trusted and loved- but above all else everyone is afraid of them. 

But their parents are just gods. 

And Charlie’s is a primordial god.  

‘Vicious’ and ‘world destroyer’ aren’t words she wants associated with her at all . She doesn’t want to be feared . She wants everything exactly as it is. She wants to fly with the pegasus every morning to stretch out her wings, she wants to chat with the satyrs about how one of them keeps getting mud in his feathers, she wants to laugh with Apollo kids as they try and shoot Nerf bullets at her in the sky, she wants to help the Hephestus kids build cabins, she wants community . 

Community that Thalia, Percy, and Nico don’t get to have. Community she won’t get to have if her first impression of this prophecy is correct. Community that her family will lose if someone sees her using her power to its full extent. 

(It would be so easy. So easy to lay her power across a battlefield, force everyone into a slumber so deep they never wake up again. It would be so easy to turn dreams into horrible nightmares, to turn daydreams into vicious hallucinations, to strip memories away and leave people lost and wandering. All this power at the tip of her fingers, all this power she refuses to use.) 

Rachel blinks green eyes open. Normal green, not oracle green. Her gaze is unfocused for a moment before she settles her eyes onto Charlie, confusion ebbing away into soft understanding. It might be the expression on Charlie’s face that causes the understanding- it might be the sweat, it might be the shaking, it might be the fear leaking from every crevice of her body. 

“A prophecy,” Rachel voices. She pushes herself up a little, sitting carefully on the stone walkway. Her eyes are far too understanding, far too caring , and Charlie’s stomach rolls . 

“A prophecy,” She affirms. Her voice cracks. “I don’t think I’m catching my train.” 

Rachel smiles sympathetically. “No, I don’t think you are.” 

-|-

Charlie doesn’t think she’s ever been this tense in her life. Even in the middle of war meetings to talk about measures against the end of the world she at least had the peace of mind that she was among company . She feels distinctly like she’s in the principal's office right now in comparison, on trial for something she hasn’t even done yet. 

She sits at the head of the table. Center of attention, exactly where she really doesn’t want to be. Chiron is in his wheelchair, a few paces away at the table, near the other head. He looks grim, but not necessarily falling apart like she feels. Mr. D is next to him, wielding sunglasses like he’s hungover and nursing a Diet Coke like it’s vodka, sitting at the other head of the table. Rachel sits on the other side of the two, tense but not near snapping like Charlie is. 

“Now that everyone’s here,” Chiron voices (nobody mentions how they were all waiting on Mr. D as they almost always are), “Can you tell us the prophecy, Charlie?” 

His gaze is scrutinizing. The feeling of being in trouble at school triples, and it takes a lot more self-control than she’d care to admit to stay seated instead of spreading her wings and jumping for the nearest open window (something she has, unfortunately, done in the past). Instead, she lets her fingers fidget with the end of her backpack straps, trying to focus her gaze on the table. 

“In the city with chaotic claw's grip

The wandering half-blood, the guide's trip

He will lead to the awakening one

The slumber of Hypnos must arise

Oh lonely, moonlit, daydreamer cries

Put the wretched down before dawn.”

Okay. Okay, maybe lying about the prophecy and replacing an entire line to make her not seem like some kind of monster was kind of a dick move, but… look, she’s really nervous about getting in trouble here. She really doesn’t want to end up like the Big Three’s kids. She doesn’t want June and Cal and Clovis to end up like that either. It would be awful . Even worse if it turns out she needs to kill someone or something! 

Silence reigns over the table. Mulling over the prophecy she imagines. But before they can draw their own conclusions about what each line means, she needs to focus their attention and twist the words to fit her narrative. Because, at the end of the day, no one can run to camp calling her a monster if it’s just her on this quest. (Manipulative bastard, but what Crime Alley kid isn’t?)

“I know it’s customary for three people to go on quests like this,” She starts, drawing three sets of eyes over to her. She tries not to shrink in her seat. “But I think that I’m supposed to do this alone. The prophecy calls me lonely, like alone. And I get this feeling that it’s supposed to just be me and the demigod I’m going to go find.” That feeling may or may not be crippling fear of people finding out just how easily she could go on a rampage and kill everyone. But who’s counting? 

“I don’t like that idea,” Rachel states easily, frowning. “But… prophecies are fickle. Going on a quest in Gotham alone is practically a means for suicide. But if you get the feeling you should go alone…” She helplessly shrugs, turning to Chiron as if asking for guidance on what she’s supposed to do here. 

Chiron frowns, folding his hands on the table. He looks all prim and proper like this, exactly like a principal would. Gods, school trauma never really goes away, huh? She should talk to one of the Athena kids about how they could get a therapist out here for everyone at camp, actually. 

“Prophecies can be fickle,” Chiron finally agrees. “And we know that sometimes they call for an unusual number of participants in a quest.” Everyone at the table (minus a still half-asleep Mr. D) winces at the reminder of the prophecy that called for seven demigods and kind of sort of nearly ended the world. “Considering how this prophecy isn’t a great one, and considering the feelings thus far, it may be wise to trust in Charlie on this one.” 

Thank the gods . 

“But,” no, wait, what? “It would be unwise to have you completely on your own out there.” Chiron turns to her, weighted gaze almost burning into her. “We will have our resident shadow traveler on standby with a child of Apollo in the event that you get injured. The moment that there’s an implication that you need more people in your party for this quest, call immediately and we will send people, alright?” 

Code for; we’ll have Nico di Angelo and his boyfriend on standby in case you mess up bad enough to need an assist or quick evac. She scowls. Not exactly the best of her options, but if anyone is going to understand her predicament, it’ll be the angsty ‘King of Ghosts’ himself. Even if he jumps in prematurely because of Chiron, she can still probably get him not to mention anything to the others at camp. Maybe. 

“Okay,” She agrees. 

“Check-ins with them, too,” Chiron continues. “Will Solace is rather good about making sure important events aren’t looked over, so it’ll be good to keep in touch whenever something happens, regardless of how notable it is, alright?” 

Less fine what with Will’s tendency to be a worry-wart, but whatever. If she can go alone, that’s all that matters. “Okay,” She says again for lack of anything better to say. “I’ll check in as often as I can. And if I need backup of any kind, I’ll phone in. Plus if it’s Nico on the case, I can send a distress signal to him pretty easily.” Weird ‘our parents all live in the underworld’ type of powers. 

“Good,” Chiron says, nodding. 

“It’s fine,” Rachel agrees begrudgingly. “But if you die, I’m going to the underworld just to kill you again myself.” 

Fair. 

“Wait, what’s happening?” Mr. D helpfully chips in. 

A great start to her mission. Now things have gone from ‘retrieve Tim the maybe demigod’ to ‘retrieve Tim the definite demigod and figure out what the fuck caused a prophecy’. This is going to be so much fun (said with sarcasm). 

Operation; pick up Tim, put the ‘wretched one’ ‘down’ before ‘dawn’ (whatever that means), don’t get caught as probably a little bit more powerful than she ought to be, and don’t run into the Wayne’s. Short version of all of this? Operation; don’t stain Apple. 

Somehow she doubts she’ll be able to keep that promise, now.

-|-

Chapter Text

Charlie isn’t moping. She isn’t, because moping is for angsty teenagers, and she’s a well-adjusted teenager. Y’know. Just with trauma from two different wars, constantly being under attack, and just the whole shebang that comes from being a demigod. Two-time war vet at fifteen, that’s at least earned her the right to mope a little bit, right? 

Okay, yeah, no, she is moping. Which is an entirely fair reaction when a prophecy tells her, to her face , that she’s a monster. Not in those words, but ‘vicious’ and ‘world-destroyer’ do enough of the talking for her. Seriously, who even comes up with these prophecies? How is it fair that she’s left trying to deal with whatever this ‘wretched’ thing is while also worrying about people finding out about a prophecy calling her a freak? 

Not fair. 

So, she’s moping. On the train to Metropolis, to be specific. A perfectly dandy place to mope; she’s giving off enough ‘leave me alone’ energy that nobody’s actually sat anywhere near her so far. Although, that might be because she’s on a bus to happy-go-lucky Metropolis while looking the part of a two-time war vet. Scars will fit right in once she gets to Gotham, but right now her whole ‘giant clawed mark across the face that clearly took an eye out in the process’ look makes her stick out like a sore thumb. 

Didn’t even get that one in the war, actually. A harpy got a lucky shot in at her face on her way to camp for the first time. She’s lucky she can sleep off injuries like that (even if by sleep she means ‘week-long coma that nearly made her satyr die of stress’). She’s also pretty lucky that once she got to camp an Apollo kid was able to salvage her eye enough that she never really needed it removed. It even has about twenty percent of its vision left! And the other one has, like, ninety, so that’s basically a whole functioning eye right there. 

But anyways, she’s moping. And researching apartments, because efficiency and all that. The phone that cabin nine managed to come up with, Celestial Bronze, clunky, the size of a brick, and runs like it doesn’t know the definition of wifi, but it’s a phone and it won’t attract monsters if she doesn’t use it for longer than an hour or so at a time. Once she gets into Gotham that’ll matter less with the whole dead-zone thing. For now, she’ll just take breaks every so often so her train doesn’t get derailed or something (fun stories shared around the campfire from the disaster Big Three kids). 

Finding an apartment in Crime Alley that’s shady enough to take rent in cash and not ask questions about things like adults is like finding a car with a working turn signal in Old Gotham. It doesn’t take her long at all, and she sets up paying in cash for the moment she arrives. She has a bit of money to start her off, pay off the first month of rent and buy a couple of cheap pieces of furniture just to get by. She’ll need to get a job if this quest is going to be as long as she thinks it’s going to be. 

Jobs are a bit trickier. She can’t exactly roll up with identification of any kind what with her identity being a runaway. Or dead, she can’t quite remember what she’s registered as right now. She pops up in the system and they'll ship her right back to old Bryan, her uncool uncle. Seriously. One uncle gets her a spear as a welcome home gift, and the other one yelled at her for an hour when she took too long reading a mac and cheese label. It’s not even a contest. 

Speaking of which. Habit, at this point, she flits her fingers over her upper arms, pressing through the sleeves of her jacket to feel out the familiar grooves of the bracelets around them. Celestial Bronze, with carved cloud shapes coming together into a rounded gem colored blueish-gray, just like her eyes. A gift from her uncle; one summons a spear, one summons a dagger. 

Wings from her Dad and weapons of war from her uncle. She really does have some pretty cool family. Hell, half her book recommendations are from her grandma Nyx. 

(Other family is less than cool. She could name names, but it’s relatively obvious at this point.)

The train dings. She shoves her phone into the pocket of her jacket; one specially made with a gray and blue color palette and holes in the back for her wings. She probably looks a little bit like a lunatic out of camp, but it’s her favorite jacket and like hell is she going to part with it. 

She grabs her backpack, her duffel bag, and her little potted poppy. She’s pretty sure that Cal named it ‘John Luke’ after his favorite character in the current Star Trek they’re watching through. She and Cal are pretty into it, Clovis always passes out before the episode even starts, and June always wanders off to another cabin to try and watch another show. She and Cal are Star Trek buddies for life as it stands. 

It’s her favorite of the poppies, not that she’ll admit that in front of the other flowers. It was Charlie’s first, back when she still shared a cabin with the Hermes kids. Her little corner, her and Clovis, with their potted poppies and nest of blankets and pillows. The pot was painted by an Apollo kid for her; a messy and colorful night sky. 

John Luke and her manage to make the change from the train to the bus. Metropolis is a bright city with towering buildings and an overall air of cheer. She can breathe in and smell things like food or perfume. A sensation that won’t last for long. As soon as she hits Gotham, the air of depression, various chemicals, drugs, and smoke will make itself known. 

On the bus to Gotham, she fits in a lot better. Nobody in Gotham is a stranger to scars, nobody in Gotham is a stranger to someone clearly under the age of eighteen traveling long distances alone. She squeezes herself into a seat near the front, just in case, and turns her gaze back out the window. 

More moping time? Eh, probably not. She’ll have plenty of time to mope in the best city for moping itself, Gotham ‘all of our architecture is centered around gargoyles’ City. Instead, she lets her thoughts wander into daydreaming territory. 

The bus lurches into motion and she tightens her grip on her plant. Some guy a seat over is eyeing her up, eyeing up her duffel bag specifically, so she holds tighter to all of her belongings. Six years, nearly seven, out of Gotham. Only to return after all this time to help a friend . 

If Bryan could see her now, he’d laugh in her face. 

She pulls out Pride and Prejudice to distract herself. This version is written in Ancient Greek; as most of the good books at Camp Half-Blood are. There’s an underground trade system happening right now between the three kids without Dyslexia translating books into Ancient Greek, getting the Hephaestus kids to print it off on their one functioning printer that doesn’t attract monsters, and then hiring the Apollo kids and Athena kids to bind it. She got this copy in exchange for helping one of the people in the trade go to sleep without nightmares for a month. 

All of her favorites are in Ancient Greek. Favorites because she can reread them without wanting to pull her hair out of her head. Pride and Prejudice, which she’s working through under strict orders from Clovis. Plus a couple of other classics carefully stowed away in her bag for later use. She’ll have to see if there’s a way to get any books in Ancient Greek in Gotham or figure out if she can stand audiobooks. There’s nothing better than a good book right before a good long nap. 

Slowly, as she flips through pages and lets herself get lost in the story, tall and proud Metropolis buildings become rolling countryside. Then rolling countryside becomes the gothic architecture of Gotham. Buildings that look older than grandparents, that look rickety enough that you’re never sure if they’re going to fall over anytime soon, that feel like home . 

She tucks her book away. 

Cigarette smoke in the air. Other drugs that she could name if she wasn’t too busy basking in the nostalgia of it all. The air is so heavy and chemical-filled that for a moment she chokes on it. There’s an air of danger , a sickly sort of feeling in the air that puts her on edge just as it always has. It makes her feel welcome in a way she hasn’t felt in a very long time. 

You can take the kid out of Gotham, but you can’t take the Gotham out of the kid. 

Although… now that she’s older, now that she’s attuned to magic and Mist and monsters, the air of sickly oppression feels- out of place. Almost as if the Mist itself is struggling to span itself over the city, like it’s ill and can’t keep up. It feels like a warning. (It feels like something big enough to cause a prophecy , gods fucking damnit.) 

She gets off at the main station and starts the long walk to her new apartment building. She’ll drop off her bags, go out with her little bit of cash, buy a little bit of furniture, and that’ll be that. The warning aura of Gotham is probably just this city being weird, and the mist being sick might very well be why monsters avoid this place like the plague. Why the mist is sick in the first place is beyond her, but ah well. It’ll just make it so she has to focus extra hard on making sure no mortals look twice at her oddities. 

A want builds inside of her, a want to take to the skies to reach her apartment. Her wings feel curled up, cramped in their stationary state. She’ll probably need to use her makeshift heating pad if she holds a prayer at sleeping tonight. 

Instead of flying, she walks across sidewalks, gazes at architecture, lets the feeling of home envelop her. (Unfortunately flying is not considered an appropriate response to feeling uncomfortable.) To most, the feeling of home being the scent of chemicals wafting through the air and ducking through alleys to avoid people eyeing her up for a mugging would be sad. For an Alley kid, it doesn’t much matter. 

Charlie gets to her brand new (clearly older than her) apartment in Crime Alley. It’s old, kind of falling apart, and clearly in need of some renovation. The landlady greets her with a cigarette hanging from her lips and a gun peeking out from her waistband. She hands over the cash for the month quietly, not bothering to try and start up some kind of conversation. Instead, she goes through the interaction as quickly as she can and goes up to her new apartment. 

Studio. No heating, which is going to suck with winter happening. A microwave but only half a working fridge. 

It’s beautiful. 

She sets her bags down on the ground and her poppy down on the window sill. It takes her all of five minutes to unpack; to set Apple out on the counter with her writing supplies and her books, to fold up her clothing and lay them out on a towel on the ground. She grabs some of her leftover cash, shoves it into the pockets of her jeans, and heads to the nearest thrift store. 

Buying furniture is a waste of money, she knows, but at this point, she needs at least something . She doesn’t even have a mattress, for Hypnos’ sake. Wasting a couple of bucks on two fold-out chairs and a table and then a couple more on a mattress hurts the Alley kid in her, but it soothes the part of her that’s lived in the lap of luxury for the last six years. 

If sharing a summer cabin with a million other people counts as luxury. Until like a year ago she was still in the Hermes cabin, tucked away in the corner with Clovis, trying to ignore how stiff her muscles got from sleeping on the ground and how many times someone stepped on her wings. Cabin fifteen is basically a mansion in comparison to that. 

Carrying home a mattress and her other furniture is a comical sight without a car. She earns enough odd looks that she debates just flying with it and using the mist to make her look like a drone or something. The chances of the mist failing because of how sickly it is are too strong, though, so she sucks it up and just carries a mattress across like three miles of Crime Alley. 

At least she has demigod strength and can lift everything pretty easily. Plus the chairs and table come with a box, which she quickly desecrates with her dagger and some duct tape to turn into a makeshift shelving unit for her clothing once she gets to her apartment. 

It’s a sad sort of setup, but it’s home for now. At the end of the day, that’s all that matters, right? Her bed looks okay with all the blankets and pillows she brought (packed into her duffel bag because Hypnos kids are nothing if not resourceful when it comes to bringing bedding). If she were an Old Gotham kid, this might be the point at which she calls back to camp and asks them to send her some more cash for groceries. 

As an Alley kid, she shoves her phone and keys into her pocket and points her nose toward the library to look for a job. Asking for help is just… not an option for people like her. It’s kind of like pulling teeth. Actually, it’s easier to yank teeth out of her own head than ask for help at this point. She’d rather deal with pain than the humiliation that comes with putting oneself in another’s debt, even if she’s already in camp’s debt. 

(She’s done that before. Cracked a tooth in the middle of a fight, and didn’t want to bother any of the medics with it because they get squeamish around teeth, so she just reached into her mouth and yanked it out. And then promptly passed out in the middle of the forest and got found like three hours later to be dragged off to the infirmary. That was not a fun day.)

Independence is the name of the game, though, so she needs a job. She swings her door open, into the musty hallways that have more than one suspicious red stain in it, and steps out. Only to be met with a wall of muscle instead of a clear path to the job search. 

Up, up, up , her clearly six-foot-tall neighbor towers above her. A wall of muscle, scarred to hell and back, wearing a leather jacket and an unimpressed scowl. His hair is black with a white streak through the front and his eyes are a piercing sort of blue. Distantly, through the panic of meeting a strange adult, she notes that he’s Wayne’s type. 

“Uh,” She manages intelligently. He raises an eyebrow and she desperately wants to climb into a hole and hide away from this whole situation. “Hello. I’m-” fake name, fake name- “I’m Karlie Greens. I’m your new neighbor.” Gods, she hates Mr. D sometimes. 

“Jason.” The man, Jason, doesn’t offer a last name. Okay, so probably a criminal, or recognizable enough that he doesn’t want to give anything away. Considering the location of his apartment, however, she’s going to bet criminal. Which- y’know, whatever, it’s the Alley. She’d be surprised if at least half of her neighbors weren’t criminals. 

“Right. Nice to meet you.” She smiles nervously, kicking back the part of her that distrusts adults on sight with a broom. This guy is hardly an adult. He looks, like, twenty at most. Twenty and clearly in a kind of pissy mood, but still hardly an adult. He’s not more than a couple of years apart from Clovis, and she bosses him around all the time. Totally cool. 

“Nice to meet you too.” Was that…? 

She squints at him. Soul sensing is one of those abilities that’s kind of hard to nail down. For her, it’s usually to do with things like how one sleeps and dreams. At most, she’ll get a bit of information on their memory without touching them. But, right now, almost a glowing neon red sign is a gap in Jason’s soul. 

A gap of memories? Sort of. A gap that’s definitely the source of nightmares, both waking and asleep. A gap that almost feels as if his soul was ripped out of his body and put back in not quite the right way. She imagines all it would take is him napping near her for her to go in there and fix it up for him, but most people don’t like having their souls messed with without consent. 

“Okay,” She says, blinking away from his soul and trying to get her brain back on track. “Uh. Do you happen to know of anyone hiring? Specifically, people looking for help with plants or something?” Great topic jump, ten out of ten, she’s not just panicking because this guy looks like his soul was played with like silly putty.

Jason blinks, clearly startled. Which, fair. That’s an impressive jump, even for her. And demanding this of a stranger? She’s really not doing great so far. Maybe being at camp and knowing basically everyone has dulled her ability to interact with strangers. There was a reason she wasn’t chosen to help with the whole ‘ambassador to Camp Jupiter’ thing. Although, no one in cabin fifteen was even considered , so it might just be a ‘let’s not have our first impression be someone falling asleep during the meeting’ thing. 

“Maybe.” Jason stalls for a moment, visibly gathering his thoughts. “Yeah, no, I know of a place. Do you want the number? She’s been kind of desperate for a part-time employee, so you should be able to get it pretty quickly.” 

“Yeah, yeah, that would be great.” 

-|-

Charlie ends up getting the job. Over the phone. Without interviewing or sending in an application. She’s pretty sure it has to do with the fact that ‘Dr. Isley’ is the recently reformed ‘Poison Ivy’ who no one sane would be willing to work under. 

She’s pretty sure she can handle herself. Worst comes to worst she just puts Dr. Isley to sleep and jumps ship. Dr. Isley might be good, but she’s not Demeter kid good and she’s been cornered by four Demeter kids at once before. 

With that out of the way, she has another piece to her plan to set up. A job, an apartment, meager furniture, and a vague plan forming in her head; all she needs to do left is make a situation in which she and Tim can regularly interact without needing to constantly invite him over. A situation like going to school with him. 

‘How to sneak yourself into any school you need to 101’ was not-so-surprisingly a class offered back at camp. Plus with her skills (BS magic), she’s able to nail everything down without even needing to resort to using the program one of the Athena kids taught her to use. She’s only successfully done it, like, twice anyway. 

Instead, she goes straight to Gotham Prep. Because of course Tim goes to a prissy private school like this one. She hasn’t been to formal schooling in over six years and the first time she’s going back is to a private school full of rich kids . A place where she, resolutely, doesn’t belong. How on earth do the satyrs do this regularly ? 

There are two ways to attend Gotham Prep; get in on ‘daddy’s credit card’ or get in on a scholarship. Considering she’s currently debating eating dinner for the next week or buying a space heater, she’s definitely not in any kind of position to pay her way in. And scholarships sure as hell aren’t in her ballpark right now. 

Sure, she’s decently smart. Especially when it comes to certain topics. Get her started on the neurology surrounding sleep and she could give a college-level presentation on the topic. She’s got a solid foundation when it comes to the biology of plants, she could list major Greek mythology events in her sleep, and she knows three different languages fluently. 

Math, though? English? Any science other than biology or psychology? Normal person history? There’s a reason half-bloods tend not to do very well in school. Just the dyslexia alone would have her struggling in these classes, struggling to stay awake when something doesn’t interest her is only the cherry on top. And that’s just academics; it’s completely ignoring things like behavioral issues that would get a scholarship kid expelled in a heartbeat. 

What is the solution? Simple. 

“Hi,” She greets the person at the front desk. The only person on this side of the building, as far as she can tell. 

The person, woman, with soft brown hair pulled into a braid, brightly colored glasses, and a bubbly sort of smile looks up from her computer. “Hello, there,” The woman greets, voice nice and chirpy. “I’m Lilith Richards. How can I help you?” 

Don’t fidget. Her hands stay firmly pressed against the sides of her legs. “I’m Charlie Greens,” She settles on saying. Tim will probably be less enthused about her using a fake first name, but she can probably play the fake last name off easily enough. Plus, saying ‘Charlie Graves’ always gets her a few weird looks. “I’m here to fill out paperwork? I’m a part of the Wayne Psychology Scholarship.” 

Now this is where things get tricky. Very specifically, this is where being a member of cabin fifteen comes in handy. She reaches forward with her magic, in in in until she brushes against the memories residing inside the woman, Ms. Richards. 

Manipulating memories while someone is awake is… tricky, to say the least. But it’s not impossible, not for her. It just gives her a bit of a headache. 

Carefully, she twists memories around, like weaving silk or sewing up patches on clothing. Wayne Psychology Scholarship gives scholarships to those who excel in the field of psychology. It is a part of the scholarships for specific subjects. It offers a full ride along with a small stipend to cover materials. On the computer, it will simply be entered as a regular scholarship.  

… 

Is manipulating memories like this kind of sort of incredibly immoral? She doesn’t like to think so. It’s not like she’s doing it to hurt people or make herself rich. She’s doing it just like how satyrs manipulate the Mist to go to different schools or how Athena kids will sometimes hack computers to enter campers in. It’s just… the same thing but with her specific skill set. 

And there’s not even any lasting effects for those she uses it on! It’s only her that ends up with a migraine pounding at the base of her skull. Ms. Richardson just clacks away on her computer, happy as a clam, completely unaware of what’s happening. Really, it’s a win-win situation for everyone involved!

…She’s never teaching the twins how to do it. Not for morality-related reasons, totally not, it’s just… not a skill they need to have. Totally. Kids don’t need these sorts of skills, do they? But she does , because of super important reasons that don’t involve taking advantage of people. 

And because of completely unrelated reasons to the guilt growing in her gut, she buys Ms. Richards a donut from a nearby coffee shop with some of her meager leftover funds before she heads for Robinson Park. 

The place that Charlie is going to work at for the foreseeable future, so long as the first meeting to iron out schedules and stuff goes well, is ‘Isley’s Ivy Imporium’. Or ‘Triple I’ as it was repeatedly called over the phone by Dr. Isley. A research center for plants funded by Wayne companies that has apparently made impressive leaps in the science of biology in the last year or so since it's been open. 

A center that also needs a part-time employee to do things like water plants, organize files, make coffee, and other such internship things. Charlie, as someone who frequently works with plants back at camp (never like the Demeter kids but she got as close as she could), figured it’d be a good job for her. Besides, Poison Ivy used to be her favorite Rouge back in the day when she lived in Gotham. Destroying companies that had unethical environmental practices? Yeah, she may have had a Poison Ivy stuffed animal that she religiously hid from Bryan. And may or may not be in her cabin right now, buried amongst her other stuffed animals. 

The nice thing about Triple I is that it’s also decently close to her home. She only needs to take two different buses to reach it, it’s almost a straight shot. And it’s only one bus from school, which’ll be nice with her hours putting her right after she’s done with school at the end of the day. 

When she gets there, she’s exhausted from a day of moving and signing up for school, battling a migraine from using her powers like that. But then a Gardenia in a pot out front perks up upon noticing her and she feels lighter on her feet. Sure, she’s supposed to go in and get things like her schedule and uniform notes, but… well, she can be a few minutes late. 

Cabin fifteen kids will never have the same powers with plants that cabin four kids do. But, when it comes to soporific plants? It’s sort of a ‘fish meets the son of the fish god’ type of situation. Except she can’t actually talk with them. All she gets is a plant vaguely shaking in her direction while she softly pets its petals, cooing over how pretty it is. 

“Aren’t you a pretty little thing?” She coos, running her fingers over the Gardenia’s petals. It shivers as best it can, clearly attempting to reach out to her but lacking capability what with being a plant and all. “It’s so nice to meet you. I’m Charlie. I bet you know my dad, huh?” The plant leans into her touch, pressing its petals against her palm. “Aww. So sweet.” 

“I see Alexander likes you already.” 

Charlie snaps her hand back to her chest, whipping her head around so quickly to find the source of the voice she almost gets whiplash. Dr. Isley stands a few paces away, wearing a leather jacket and Ivy-patterned tights. Maybe it’s a scientist thing? Regardless, she’s staring at her with a soft smirk and an appraising look in her eyes. 

Okay. Cool. She probably looks a little bit like a psychopath right now. Talking to plants without the ability to talk with plants and all. Totally normal. Just kind of the worst impression to make in front of her favorite former rouge. “Uh, yeah, um. He seems like a very nice flower. Are you Dr. Isley?” Which is a stupid question because she’s pretty sure there’s no one else in Gotham with red hair and green skin. 

Predictably, Dr. Isley raises an eyebrow at her. “Hm. Have to say, that’s a new one.” She tries very hard not to shrink at that. “You can just call me Ivy, though. You gonna tell me why Alexander’s singing your praises and calling you ‘your highness’?” 

Her eyes skitter over to the Gardenia, innocently leaning forward and seeking out her hand again. She frowns. She’d heard one of the Demeter kids say that her poppies tend to call her things like ‘your highness’ and stuff, but she’d sort of assumed that was just because they were hers . Is this a thing that all sleepy-time plants do? That would be inconvenient in front of a woman who can literally speak to plants . 

“Back home I have a big old patch of poppies that I take care of. Maybe word’s spread.” It’s a pathetic answer, and Dr. Ivy clearly doesn’t believe her, but it’s the best she can come up with on short notice. She gives one last pet to Alexander and then pushes herself to her feet, trying to offer up her best approximation of a smile. “Anyways, I was here to check in about my schedule and stuff? I’m working afternoons, right?” 

Dr. Ivy spends another moment staring hard at her. Whatever she’s theorizing, being the literal child of Hypnos is probably gonna be pretty far down on the list. She’s not worried. 

“...Alright. Come on,” Dr. Ivy finally says. She turns on her heel, not looking to see if Charlie follows in time. She’s quick to scamper after Dr. Ivy regardless. 

She’s led into the Triple I. It’s a rather beautiful place; sort of like a greenhouse filled to the brim with different plants, various random shelving units, and a small corner with lab tech. There is also a back door that says ‘employee’s only’ that she thinks is redundant, but she can guess is the break room and more lab tech. 

Some other plants wave hello to her as best they can, and she awkwardly waves back. Desperately trying to ignore Dr. Ivy’s piercing gaze. 

But, of course, her good luck can’t last forever. She’s led to the back, towards the ‘employee’s only’ door, when suddenly a lemon balm’s branches are desperately reaching out and trying to wrap themselves around her ankles. 

Huh. She looks down. It’s not going very successfully since lemon balm can’t usually move, but it’s definitely trying to trip her. Lemon balm is a mint plant, isn’t it? One of the other things she heard from the Demeter kids was just how much mint plants tend to hate her. Probably something to do with her dad hanging out in the underworld. Maybe it has to do with her running joke of calling Nico ‘Boss’? 

“I know you’re after misguided revenge, but could you please knock it off?” She whispers. She disentangles her foot as gently as she can, careful not to tear any of the leaves. 

“That’s not a reaction I’ve ever seen before,” Dr. Ivy comments. The woman steps closer, inspecting the lemon balm carefully. “Come on, Elizabeth. What are you doing, calling for revenge for your brethren? What did this girl do to you?” A moment of silence where this lemon balm clearly rants to Charlie’s new boss. All she can hope is that ‘my ancestor was murdered by her boss’ dad’s wife’ stays out of the conversation. 

It likely doesn’t, by the way Dr. Ivy frowns. “Hm. Let’s lay off the store-bought fertilizer for a while, yeah? You’re acting drunk…” She mumbles. 

Okay, that’s fine. If Charlie can just blame the lemon balm being drunk or something for why it’s spouting nonsense about Greek myths she’d be more than happy to move on from this topic of conversation. Still, the way Dr. Ivy is eyeing her is disconcerting. She’s not sure what conclusions the woman is coming to, but they’re likely not very good ones. 

“...Come on. I’ll show you your schedule, the forms you need to fill out, and your locker. Alright?” 

Oh, Uncle Thanatos give me strength . Not her dad, though, because he’s likely not awake enough to hear her begging. Even her uncle is a gamble because of how busy he usually is. 

“Yeah. Yeah, great, thanks.”

Chapter Text

Charlie is a deep sleeper, like any good member of cabin fifteen. Sometimes Clovis is so hard to wake up that she has to get the twins to help her drag him over to the lake and drop him in the shallow parts. Dumping him in a foot of water is sometimes the only way to get him to rouse from his coma-like ‘sleep’. She’s usually easier to wake up than that , but it still takes a lot to get her drawn out from the land of the unconscious ruled by her father. 

Things are different when it comes to dreams. They always are, aren’t they? She’s always been hyper-sensitive to them in a way that most Hypnos kids can only dream of being. When everyone in camp is asleep, she doesn’t even need to be asleep herself to know what they’re dreaming about. Which is inconvenient in a lot of cases when most people at camp have at least one war under their belts, but it’s sort of whatever. 

(Demigod nightmares are a unique brand of nasty that has her waking up panting most nights, clutching at her chest, forcing breath into her lungs but struggling to get air into her body. Most nights she makes rounds with warm milk and smuggled in treats to any camper she didn’t manage to save from nightmares in time.)

Being in Gotham was supposed to be a break. Sure, Gothamites have their own special brand of nightmares, but nothing she’s not used to. Joker? Scarecrow? Clayface? She can totally deal with nightmares like that, no problem. Staring down the barrel of a gun into the grinning wide face of the Joker is practically a vacation compared to the nightmares she deals with at camp. 

Not fucking this . 

The nightmare that jolts her awake the night after she arrives in Gotham is horrific . So horrific it’s on par with Nico’s dreams and his have the special added spice of Tartarus to back them up. It sends her shaking and panting and overall not having a stress-free vacation from demigod-flavored dreams like she’d been expecting.

Green-tinted vision, nails scratching against a wooden ceiling, it’s getting closer, he can feel himself running out of air, he can feel himself dying again -

She officially hates her new neighbor, Jason. Which is entirely unfair to him because he clearly has been buried alive at some point in his life and hating someone for being buried alive is entirely unfair. For poor hopeful Charlie who’d sort of been looking forward to nightmares about being brutally beaten to death by Bane? This is awful . 

Gods awful . She presses her forehead against the wall by her mattress, counting backward from ten to yank herself from the nightmare she’d accidentally gotten entangled in. She can still feel the oppressive weight, running out of oxygen, dying - and it was awful . It can’t be any better for him, the one being reminded of the trauma he lived through. 

Usually, for nightmares this bad, she catches them in seed form. Before they evolve into panic attack-inducing visions. At camp, she’s one of the designated ‘stop the worst of the nightmares’ people. This one managed to go into fully grown form though because she thought she’d be fine in a place without demigods. 

Foolish. Fucking idiot.

Habit, at this point, she reaches out with her magic. The nightmare is forced away, chased to the edges of Jason’s mind. She lets other memories fill its space; a younger version of himself baking cookies with an older gentleman, likely his grandfather. It seems pleasant enough, so she lets it take the nightmare's place. 

Her heart is still pattering in her chest. Sweat slides down her neck, her hands are still shaking. She hadn’t even realized it, but at some point, her wings had left their prison and are now spanned out behind her. Each feather stands on end with anxiety, making them look less like wings and more like fur balls. Gods, she hates nightmares like those. 

…Sleep is a distant fantasy, isn’t it? After getting tangled up in a nightmare about being buried alive there’s no way she’s getting back to sleep. 

Whatever. 

Charlie untangles herself from her blankets. She pushes herself from her bed (‘nest’ a voice that sounds suspiciously like Clovis teases), stumbling towards the kitchen in a half-daze. A glass of water and an apple that Dr. Ivy shoved into her hands yesterday later and she’s feeling a little less shaky, a little bit more able to take the day on for what it is. 

(If this were camp, she’d lay down on Clovis’ bed and press up against her older brother. She’d pretend that his presence is enough to scare away the dredges of the nightmare she was forced to experience, she’d feel comfort in his warmth. In the morning, he’d offer to let her talk about it, maybe even show him so he would understand.) 

(Here, she is alone.) 

For now, she has more prep work for attending school. She starts school - she checks the time, three am - tomorrow. For today, it’s all about picking up uniforms, books, a bag, that sort of thing. Whatever normal people do for school. And figuring out how exactly she’s going to talk to Tim. Would it be sort of rude to just suddenly show up at his school and be like ‘surprise! I’m not dead! I’ve just been away for the last six years! How have you been?’ 

…Probably. Yeah, no, definitely. 

Is there a way to give him a heads-up? She never actually got his phone number what with not having a phone before she went away and all. But… does he still have access to his old email? The one they used to use to share PowerPoint presentations with each other? 

That was always fun. Why they should be allowed pets, information on different interests, why they should watch different shows at their hangouts. It was always so much fun reviewing the presentations like they were coworkers at some big-name company; offering each other advice on the presentation, on the information, chiding each other on the bibliography. Whoever made the best presentation got to pick the movie. 

It’s worth a shot to at least shoot him an email. Hopefully not spring this whole situation on him once she gets to school. Which means she needs to go to the library and use their computers. The phones from Cabin Nine are nice, but they’re pretty much limited to texting apps (and Flappy Bird, thanks to one particularly invested Cabin Nine member).

The library is pretty quickly becoming a home base, a whole lot more than her cheap no-heating apartment. The woman behind the front desk, the red-headed one that she’s only sixty percent sure isn’t a vigilante of some kind, waves to her as always and she takes a seat behind one of the computers. 

It’s a long shot. More than a long shot, honestly. What are the chances of Tim not only still using this email, checking it, but also responding instead of calling her insane the moment she messages him? Next to none. But, honestly, she’s faced worse odds in worse situations and come out swinging. What’s sending an email to a friend she essentially abandoned in the face of the end of the world? Theoretically nothing. 

Practically? More nerve-wracking than the battle of Manhattan.

Deer Tim,

Starting off great. She’s not sure if she spelled any of that correctly and far too formal. Okay, no, try again, she can’t start this off by emailing him like she emails teachers. That’s insane, right? 

Hi Tim!

…Is that any better? Is she overthinking this? It’s not like this is that important of an email. Just an email to the first friend she ever made, her brother in everything but blood, letting him know that she is not in fact dead and just abandoned him for six years. You know. A super casual easygoing email to write. 

Hello Tim, 

That’s probably good enough for a greeting. Not too enthusiastic implying that she still expects him to be buddy-buddy with her after everything, but not so formal it’s like writing an email to a teacher. And she doesn’t need to let him know that she spent fifteen minutes in the library trying to figure out a good greeting, that’s for her to know and for him to never find out. 

I knew it’s been a whale since we last saw eech other, but it’s me, Charlie. 

Her fingers freeze above the keyboard. She squints. The letters are floating off the page in a very not-friendly way, and she’s not entirely sure if she spelled any of that correctly. Why can’t she just write this in Ancient Greek and send it to him via messenger crow or something? Gods, she hates the English language. 

I wood like to start by saying that I’m sory for droping of the map for so long. I reelly didnt intind to leeve you as I did, and I’m so sory for not bing able to get in to contect with you soonir. It’s a viry long story that I cant get into right now. I wood just like for you to now that I wanted to tak with you sooner, but I cooldn’t. 

I am finaly bak in town, tho! I arived yesterdiy morning. I’m going to be going to Gotham Prep with you! I wantid to giv you a heds up. I understnd if you dont want to be frends anymor after I left lyk that, and I am super duper sory, but if you dont hate me I wood love to hang out at skool with you. Wich is rude of me isent is? 

I am sory. I wantid to tak, I just coodent. I am just now abel to get into contect with you. You where my best frend befor I left, and I curs myself evry day for lusing that. You where reely awsom, you now? 

Anyways, I hope too see you at skool. If you dont hate me. If you do, I can avoyd you if youd like. Haha. Hav a good bay! 

-Charlie

She squints at the email. Everything is swimming around her, letters and emotions and memories, and no matter how much she concentrates the words aren’t making any more sense. This is probably the best she’s going to be able to come up with. Hopefully, he doesn’t dock points on her apology for it being horribly misspelled. 

(If she were back at camp, she’d get one of the aforementioned three kids without dyslexia to look it over for her. Camp, camp, camp… is she homesick already?)

Before anxiety forces her to back out, she jabs her finger down onto the mouse and clicks ‘send’. He probably won’t even get it , she tries to reassure herself. Who even still uses their email from childhood anyway? Still, anxiety is crawling up her throat and forcing worries into her head. Her fingers twist into her necklace, rotating beads, stroking the leather chord, fidgeting in a desperate attempt to soothe her growing fears. 

He won’t read it. This was just a meager attempt to let him know that she’s in town before springing it on him at school. A way to soothe her own anxieties, even if right now it almost feels like it’s ratcheting them up and up. 

He’s going to hate me. I dropped off the map out of nowhere, left him with those awful parents, didn’t contact him for six years , and all of a sudden I’m popping up out of the blue asking for us to still be friends? Gods, he’s going to hate me. I’m not going to be able to complete this quest, I’m not gonna be able to get him to lead me to this wretched thing, everything is going to fall apart. 

Friendships are hard. Why can’t she go back to Cabin Fifteen? There, friendships consist of siblings she sees every single day. They love her unconditionally. None of this ‘lol, sorry for abandoning you at your worst’ nonsense. The worst she had to do was deal with Clovis’ nonsense book recommendations! 

Her head thuds against the keyboard. A new email opens and the subject line starts to fill in with ‘g’s. She can’t bother to lift her head from the keyboard and get rid of it, check if she’s gotten a response, read a book, research, do something productive . All she can do is wallow. 

Ever since coming to Gotham, she’s been doing that a lot, huh? Maybe it’s the gothic architecture, maybe it’s all the rouge attacks, maybe it’s just how many memories this place digs up. Whatever it is, wallowing seems to be the most appropriate response to her predicament. What else is there to do? Look on the bright side? Hope for the best? Bah, that’s Metropolis talk. 

If she’s lucky, the floor will open up and swallow her whole. She’ll die and get to spend the rest of her life napping and wandering the dreaming world with her feather. The rest of her death? Existence? Whatever it is. She won’t have to deal with quests, friends who probably hate her, a city full of memories she thought she’d buried, and a fucking prophecy . 

Dying is, unfortunately, not an option right now. Neither is melting into a puddle and bemoaning existence for the rest of her life. A light coma sounds nice, but her dad would kick her out of the dreaming world after a day or so. Unfortunately for her, she has to continue on with this miserable and difficult existence. Being a Half-Blood sucks . 

Charlie raises her head from the keyboard. It’s a lot harder than it ought to be, and it makes her want to crawl into a hole and die, but she does it. Only twenty or so minutes have passed since she started her little pathetic drama meltdown moment. A relatively time-efficient breakdown all things considered. Quiet, too. Nobody else in the library has noticed her acting like some kind of Disney princess in the middle of crying about her love interest. 

She clicks out of the email that had started with her head thump. She probably ought to find a book or something to entertain herself with, even if the idea of reading anything more makes her want to slam her head into the wall. Maybe an audiobook? Libraries have headphones, right? 

But, just as she goes to click out of the computer, an email catches her eye. The only email in her inbox, actually. A response. Already. From Tim. 

Okay . Okay, okay, totally cool, totally fine. Just gonna find out if the key to this quest, her brother in all but blood, her best and first friend, and the key to this fucking quest hates her. That would suck, messing up a quest because of her inability to do things like be a reasonable human being (and, more importantly, she might die right here and now if Tim hates her now). She clicks open the email, even as every nerve in her body begs her to just leave the library and never think about this again. 

Meet me at this address as soon as you can. I will be waiting all day for you. Please.

Well. That’s not ominous at all. In fact, that’s kind of serial killer-y vibes. Double in fact, when she clicks the link, it shows her a burger joint that’s suspiciously close to the library. He somehow tracked her location? Coincidences don’t tend to happen with demigods. He was always a bit stalker-y back in the day. Maybe he just upped his game. 

(Not that she was any better. She was the one helping him learn parkour to keep up with the bats at night time.)

The please, though, is what causes her breath to hitch. She practically burns it into her eyes, she stares at it for so long. Everything else in the email could potentially sound angry since tone doesn’t travel well across text. But… that ‘please’. That request, that sounds almost weak and pleading. 

That sounds like her email, just shorter. Equally desperate, equally anxious. Could he… could he not hate her after all? Could she actually still have her friend after all? Is this not the end of the quest, the end of their friendship, the last chance he has to get a proper family back at camp? 

If she’s reading it right. Gods, she hopes she’s reading it right. 

-|-

The burger joint is some kind of hero-themed one. ‘Bat-Burger’ with a large bat signal in the front and posters in the windows displaying various other vigilante-themed food items; Nightwing, Red Robin, Robin, a bunch of vigilantes she can’t really remember. Maybe there have been new ones since she left town? Tim would know. 

Anxiety thrums through Charlie’s chest. The urge to bust out her wings and simply fly away grows with each step she takes towards the burger joint. She hasn’t stopped fidgeting since leaving the library- with the bracelets around her wrists, with the necklace around her neck, with the bracelets around her upper arms. She trips like four times on the walk there. She’d like to blame it on the whole ‘no depth perception because of one eye’ thing, but it’s purely not paying attention on her part. 

Things have changed. A lot. Oddities that they used to accept as the only thing tying them together and keeping others away finally have an answer for her. She’s been gone, unable to contact him for years . Everything is different, just like how it feels like nothing’s changed at all. She could cry, she could shout, she could run into the burger joint or she could run as far away as she possibly could. 

She pushes the door open instead. Her nerves are alight with anxiety. The bell above her jingles with her arrival, the scent of greasy food hits her like a wall, and the soft chatter of the employees behind the counter hits her ears. The only person actually sitting in the burger joint, on a random Wednesday at three in the afternoon, is- 

Tim. 

Taller than he used to be, but that’s expected. Still sort of gangly, but she can see signs of lean sort of muscle. Black messy hair, piercing sharp blue eyes, a sharper face that's come with his age, a Harley Quinn t-shirt, is she not a rogue anymore, it’s Tim-

Charlie’s eyes burn . 

She doesn’t fully register the moment she starts crying. One moment she’s standing in the entryway to the Bat-Burger, simply observing the room, the next her cheeks are wet and warm and she’s struggling to breathe. She takes a hesitant step forward, towards her brother , she wants to wrap him up in a hug so tight they’ll never be separate again- 

And he’s not any better. He’s crying too, he’s jumping out of his seat, he’s rushing forward- the hug connects and they collapse into each other just like they used to when they were kids. When they were tiny and against the world, just the two of them. When he was running away from absent parents and she was running away from an abusive uncle. When it was just Tim and Charlie . 

She squeezes so hard Tim’s ribs creak. He squeezes back just as tightly, and spots where she can remember bones have broken give their protest, but she doesn’t care . All she can care about is the boy wrapped up tightly in her arms, the face pressed against her shoulder, the shoulder she’s pressing her face into. Tears and snot staining both their jackets, they’re both probably disgusting, and she couldn’t care less. 

“T-Tim.”

“Charlie.”

That’s all they’ve ever needed. Each other. Even six years apart, even so much between them that she can’t name without sounding insane, even with all of that stacking up around her- here and now, this is her brother, and she feels safe . Safer than she has in a long, long time. 

Somehow, they manage to get seated. Still clinging a little too closely, still sniffling and wiping away tears. She can’t stop staring at him, making sure he’s real , just as he can’t stop staring at her. She sees Tim’s eyes catch on the scar raked across her face, at the odd holes in her jacket, and the scars lining the slivers of skin open under her clothing. Her eyes catch much the same; on calluses on his knuckles, on thin silvery scars across his wrists, on small scars across his face. 

A battered pair. What a sight they make. 

“You didn’t call,” He says, barely gathering himself up. She almost breaks down again, sobbing like a child. She wants to. But she doesn’t, and instead, she answers him. 

“I couldn’t.” She takes a shuddering breath, forcing the burning back from her eyes and wiping away the few stray tears that managed to escape. “I was- the place I was, we didn’t have phones. Or computers. It was- it was only recently that I could email you.” 

“Where were you?” Tim asks, stresses. The million-dollar question. A question that she can’t answer fully, not yet. But one she’s prepped for the best she can, and one that’s going to be quite a story. 

“It’s a long story,” She responds. She detaches herself enough from him to look into his eyes, smiling as best she can. “A really long story.” 

Tim’s brows draw together with concern. “I ordered us food. Uh, I figured if you didn’t show up I could just take it home. It should be done soon.” 

She draws in another breath. Enough time to give a highly edited version of her story, as truthful as she can be for now without revealing the whole ‘demigod’ thing. One that she spent a whole lot longer than she probably ought to have creating on the walk between the library and the Bat-Burger.

“I ran away from home.” Charlie leans back further, fingers twisting into her bracelets. Her eyes skitter away from Tim’s face, but he doesn’t yell at her for it. “My uncle- Bryan, the dirtbag,” Tim snorts wetly, “it turned out he was working with Penguin.” This, however, earns a sympathetic wince from Tim. 

“Ah. That sucks.” 

She nods. It did. At the time, she thought her world was falling apart. She could deal with a man who shouted at her and occasionally got a few hits in, but someone who worked under a rouge ? She had to get out of there. “So I ran away,” She repeats herself. “I ended up outside of Gotham by accident. I was trying to find your house-” Tim flinches and she tries not to let it hurt, “But I got lost. Then I was found. He, Diev, worked with an organization that helped kids like me. He took me in and took me to a boarding school slash camp thing.” Diev the satyr, who took her to Camp Half-Blood. Poor Diev who had to deal with her and the whole ‘dragging a dying infected child across an entire state’ thing. 

However, at her words, Tim gets a twisted sort of expression on his face. Not quite one she can interpret, but it looks… almost contemplative. Not quite, but close. “Diev. This man. And this place… they took you in?” He asked hesitantly. Prodding, but for what she can’t be sure. 

Still, she nods at him. “They helped me a lot. Gave me a place to stay, food, schooling, everything I could ask for. It was just in the middle of nowhere, so we didn’t have any phones or computers to contact people with. And it was chaotic for years , I didn’t have the chance to move back until recently.” ‘Chaotic’ is a light way of putting it, but there’s no way to explain ‘I’ve barely had time to come to terms with the fact that Greek gods exist let alone that I’m related to quite a few of them thanks to several world-ending wars’ without sounding insane. 

“Are you still in contact with them?” He questions.

Hm. Well, technically. With Will and Nico, specifically. And in her dreams with her siblings. But IMing and dream walking aren’t a super normal method of communication, so she probably shouldn’t bring it up. “Not really. I’m mostly on my own now,” She ends up responding. For some reason, Tim slumps with relief at this. 

He looks like he’s about to say something else, what, exactly, she can’t be sure, but then they’re interrupted. One of the people working the cash register calls out Tim’s name, presenting a tray of two different meals. Tim runs over and grabs both of them, returning quickly and sliding it across from her. 

A burger, a thing of fries, a drink, and a slice of apple pie. Exactly as they’d eat whenever they ditched school together when they were younger. She smiles. 

“What about you?” Charlie grabs her burger, picking her pickles out on autopilot to hand over to Tim’s side. “What have you been up to?” 

His face sours a little. He takes the pickles without really looking, sliding them into his burger without a second thought. “Well, it’s also a pretty long story. Uh…” He rocks his head to the side, considering. “Let’s see, the short version is that both my parents are dead and that I’ve been adopted by Bruce Wayne. And then I emancipated myself. I still receive support from him, and I still sort of half-live in his house, but I also have my own place.” 

Charlie drops the fry she was about to eat. “ Bruce Wayne? ” She hisses, ducking her head as if someone might be listening in. “Bruce Wayne as in the bat-cosplaying vigilante we used to follow around at night? That Bruce Wayne?” 

Time winces again. “Uh, yeah. Yeah. It’s sort of a long story how that ended up happening…” He picks at his food, eyes sliding over to the side instead of looking at her. 

“And it’s not a story you want to get into right now?” She guesses. He nods, hesitant. “That’s fine. I mean, I’m sure I have bits of my story that I’d rather not get into right now.” Like how Diev has goat feet instead of regular feet. Or how she finally met her biological dad and he’s not a dickbag like she always thought he was. Or just magic in general. 

“But seriously dude, that’s wild. You gotta tell me some stories.” 

Finally, this earns her a mischievous smirk. “He’s walked out of his secret lair thingy no less than five times with his mask still on. I keep having to remind him to take it off before he leaves the house.” 

She snorts. It’s an ugly sound, one that hasn’t really managed to come out of her since she left Gotham. The only person that’s been able to get her to ugly-snort is Tim, and she’s covering her face with a grease-stained hand before she even realizes it. 

She missed this. Chatting. Talking about Batman. Eating together. Her brother . It doesn’t matter who he’s a child of. It doesn’t matter if he’s a child of Zues himself, she’s her brother and she’s never letting him go again. 

-|-

In the end, they chat for nearly four hours before they’re kicked out for not ordering anything more. Tim forces his number into her phone and raises an eyebrow at its design. He talks about how excited he is that she’s going to his school, and for the first time in a long time, she’s happy . 

He’s also definitely the demigod she’s looking for. He practically reeks of weird dreams. Who knew, Hypnos kids can act as a sort of radar. Although that may just be a her thing. She’s the most in-tune with her dream powers out of cabin fifteen. (She’s only the assistant head counselor though. Clovis is technically older so he gets seniority.) 

Saying goodbye is one of the hardest things she’s been forced to do. She hugs him for probably too long, risks breaking his ribs, and he risks breaking hers in turn. The only thing that allows her to let go is the promise to talk at school. 

For the first time in years, something in her feels settled . Tim is safe, he is within her reach, and she doesn’t have to just accept that she might never see him again. She’s never letting him go again, not after everything. 

-|-

Bat-Chat

Red Robin: Hey Oracle? Would you be willing to look into a friend for me? She disappeared about six or so years ago and then suddenly reappeared, covered in scars and talking about going to some place that takes in kids and helps them. Some kind of boarding school/camp thingy. She looked pretty beat up when we met up today. 

Her name is Charlie Graves. I sent a couple of pictures to you via email, when she was eight and now for reference

Red Hood: You have friends???? 

Nightwing: Who is this?

Why haven’t I heard about her? 

Why have you never talked about her??? 

Spoiler: You have FRIENDS???? 

Oracle: I can do that for you

Red Robin: I can have friends? Why is this so surprising for you guys? 

Nightwing: You just never talk about her is all

WHICH I STILL WANT TO KNOW ABOUT

Red Hood: I mean ur not exactly likable

Spoiler: I sort of figured that your only friends are us

Red Robin: Gee thanks

Oracle: Hey, Red? Is this girl a meta? 

Red Robin: Not last I knew

Oracle: Cool. Cool. 

Red Robin: ???? 

Chapter Text

Charlie blankly stares at the tray in front of her. She’s in Bat-Burger again, but this time everything feels sort of fuzzy. The lights are at about half brightness, everything’s dusty, there are cobwebs everywhere, and there isn’t any food in front of her. Everything feels desaturated, not quite right. Not quite what she remembers, but also… not quite what she doesn’t remember. Memories are fickle like that. Everything’s strange. Nobodies here, not like there were. People were here, she’s sure of it- people behind the counter, people making food, and across from her. 

Oh. Someone is here. 

A butterfly. Perched on the table across from her, larger than butterflies ought to be. Black and electric blue, holding remarkably still for such a timid creature. It simply sits; not quite staring because she can’t see its eyes. It doesn’t flutter away like she knows it’s supposed to, it simply sits across from her, hardly moving. The butterfly feels almost familiar. Like someone she should know, like someone she does know, but she can’t name who this person is. A longing opens up in her heart. 

At the same time the longing takes root in her heart, a hole opens up in the center of the burger place. The hole, the black puddle pools, swallowing up the tables and benches as it grows. It’s like a black hole of nothingness. She can’t help but stare at it; she doesn’t get up, she doesn’t move an inch, she doesn’t even try to get away from it. She simply stares, like her eyes are being drawn in like magnets. 

It draws slowly outward. When it swallows something up, it sinks down into it slowly as if it’s made of something tar-like. It crackles and hums with an ancient kind of energy, the kind of energy she knows instinctively not to mess with. With each table and bench that sinks below the surface, a part of her feels a terrible grief like it’s a city being swallowed all around her and not simply the furniture in a restaurant. 

The black pit finally stops growing a healthy few feet away from her. It ripples like it’s made of water, but there’s nothing to it. It is Nothing. 

I̷ ̷d̶o̵ ̷w̸h̴a̴t̷ ̶I̴ ̵p̵l̵e̶a̶s̵e̷ ̷h̶e̶r̵e̷

She blinks. A voice, a thousand voices, erupts from the pit to say those words. I do what I please here , it had said. Somehow that feels important. But why it’s important slips away before she can grasp it. Everything in this place feels sort of fuzzy, a whole lot more fluid than it should be. 

Y̴o̵u̵ ̸t̸r̴a̷i̷p̸s̷e̶ ̸w̵h̸e̵r̶e̸ ̴y̴o̵u̷ ̷d̵o̷n̶'̴t̴ ̷b̸e̴l̴o̵n̷g̵,̴ ̵h̶a̵l̷f̸-̸b̶l̷o̸o̴d̴

It sounds almost angry. You traipse where you don’t belong, half-blood . That feels important too- does that mean her? Why does it feel like the voices aren’t talking to her? 

The butterfly is flapping its wings rapidly now. It can’t get up from the table for some reason. It’s clearly trying to get away from the pit, but it’s stuck to the table. She wants to reach out and help it, set it free or stand in between it and the pit, but she is still glued to her spot. Everything feels too far away to do more than watch. 

T̶h̴i̷s̵ ̵w̸i̷l̶l̵ ̵b̴e̵ ̸f̸u̶n̵.̵

It feels like a warning. This will be fun , the pit says, and Charlie shivers. The butterfly is frantic now, flapping so hard its wings are a blur. Sweat beads down her brow. Everything is starting to feel like static, like it’s being turned up to one hundred in her brain. Everything is too much and too little at the same time. 

The voice- doesn’t sound awake. There are hundreds of voices layered over each other and it feels cruel, it feels like a warning, but it also feels tired . Whoever this is, whatever being this is, isn’t fully awake yet. Like someone who’s just starting to wake up, who’s talking halfway between their dreams and reality happening around them. It feels sleep-addled and confused. 

The butterfly is scared. Terrified. That feels important too, but she can’t remember why. The butterfly is terrible, the pit isn’t awake, and everything is old and powerful around her. She can’t move. 

…

She blinks, and suddenly it’s the yellowish cracked ceiling of her apartment staring back at her. Not the weirdly empty diner, not a frantic butterfly trying to get away, not a pit that speaks with a thousand half-asleep voices - her apartment. 

Well. 

That was weird . 

It’s one of those dreams where it’s hard to tell if it was just an amalgamation of all the stress she’s under right now or if it’s an actually relevant prophecy. Forewarning? Usually, she’d check in with an Apollo kid, maybe share the dream with them to double-check, but right now she’s on her own. 

Better to be safe than sorry and analyze it. It’s always better to be prepared as a demigod than caught with your pants down at the worst moment. 

So, first things first. The butterfly. A symbol of Thanatos. Symbolizing death? Rebirth? Does that mean someone is going to die? Could be prophesying someone’s death, could be prophesying reincarnation of some kind, could be prophesying Thanatos’ involvement in this quest. Which makes sense considering he’s her uncle; he’d step in if things got bad enough (he isn’t afraid of Zues’ interference rule. Not as much as he should be). 

Secondly, the Nothing. She’s going to go out on a limb here and say that it’s the ‘wretched’ thing that she needs to put to sleep. It was half-asleep already, likely waking up, and it sounded older and more powerful than time itself. And chaotic. And evil. Definitely not something that can be wandering around without any kind of management. 

So, someone is going to die, she needs to put something that’s ancient to sleep before it wakes up fully, and maybe Thanatos is gonna help her with this. Also, the Bat-Burger was likely the setting of this dream because she’s fucking starving.  

As if to enunciate her point, her stomach growls. She wraps an arm around it and frowns. Yesterday, her only meal was the one that she and Tim shared. Being short on cash and having only a part-time job to keep herself afloat is… less than ideal. Definitely restarting her ‘starvation era’ that she lived in when she was in Gotham. Half the time when she was a kid her only steady meal was whatever Tim bought her. 

And now that’s looking like it’ll be the case again. What Tim buys her, lunches at school, and whatever she can afford to scrape up. For now, she shakes off her dream, manages to eat a protein bar, burning a bit for her dad to ask him about how her uncle’s doing these days just in case, and gets ready for school. 

Her uniform still sucks. It’s stiff, it’ll make whipping her wings out infinitely more difficult in an emergency, and her weapons are virtually inaccessible unless she wants to start stripping. But it means she gets to go to school with Tim, so she’s willing to suck it up and deal. 

The bus also sucks, she decides. People packed in so close that if a monster attacked she’d struggle to draw a sword at her hip, let alone shuck enough of her clothing to get at her magical weapons. She loves the weapons her uncle gave her, she really does, and usually, they’re incredibly convenient. However, when she’s required to wear sleeves , it’s an entirely different story. (It’s a bit of a joke around camp at just how far she’s willing to go to get out of wearing sleeves. Even if it’s snowing she’ll go out in a tank top and just stick close to Cabin Nine.) 

Her mood is stringy, to say the least. Weird dream, Aphrodite-damned uniform (because it isn’t stylish either), packed bus- by the time she’s saddling up to the front desk of the school, she’s already questioning every life decision that led her to this point. Maybe the harpy that took out her eye should’ve just taken out the rest of her all those years ago. Certainly would’ve made minor annoyances far fewer. 

The front desk person, lady, whatever, a different person than who greeted her before, gives her such a fake smile that it makes her skin crawl. It’s all teeth, it doesn’t quite reach the lady’s eyes, and everything about it screams plastic . If she didn’t know any better, she’d expect fangs to start poking out of this lady's mouth or something. 

“Hi. I’m Charlie Greens, I’m starting today. I was told to pick up my schedule and a map here?” She asks instead of drawing a knife on this woman. Which takes a lot of self-restraint and she’s very proud of herself for resisting the urge. Unfortunately, drawing a knife and calling a duel is fairly inappropriate behavior outside of Camp Half-Blood. Or in Camp Half-Blood if you’re not an Ares kid. 

“Charlie Greens,” The woman echoes. She turns to her keyboard and clicks at it a few times. When her eyes skitter over whatever information is on the screen, a fake plastic unnerving smile turns so patronizing in half a moment that Charlie almost gets whiplash. “Ah. The charity case ,” The woman drawls. 

Charlie’s fingers twitch. Pro’s of punching this woman; she gets to punch this woman. Cons of punching this woman; she gets kicked out of school, she doesn’t have a solid way of keeping in contact with Tim, and she loses one of her biggest meals of the day. Unfortunately, the cons outweigh the pros right now. 

So, she offers her best fake smile in return. “Yup. Big old charity case, right here,” She chirps, filling her voice with as much venom as she can muster. Maybe that week she spent sleeping in the Aphrodite cabin while the Hypnos cabin was being built and the Hermes cabin was out of commission (for… reasons) is paying off. 

The woman doesn’t so much as twitch at the venom in her voice. Unfortunately. “Dyslexia and ADHD… Hm, well, I suppose every billionaire needs their tax breaks,” The woman continues unnecessarily. It’s under her breath, clearly to herself, but not at all quiet enough for Charlie not to be hearing it, regardless of demigod senses. Seriously, who hired this lady? 

“Can I have my schedule and map?” She grits out. Just move this along quickly, please.

“Yes, yes,” The woman tuts, waving her hand in the air in dismissal. She spins in her chair, turning away from Charlie and towards a filing cabinet of some kind. “Letting riff-raff like this into the school…” She mumbles again, shaking her head. Then, she produces two blue sheets from the filing cabinet, holding them out to Charlie with a strained condescending smile on her face. “Do try not to get lost. I know it may be hard for you. But Mr. Wayne has given you a real opportunity, so you ought not to waste it, yes?” 

Charlie twitches. She takes the papers, grinning with too many teeth. If this were camp, she could just challenge this lady to a duel and get a bit rough in the takedown. Maybe corner her in capture the flags and break her nose. Give her a nightmare or two to tell her off for messing with a member of cabin fifteen. 

This is not camp, so all she can do is thank the lady and high-tail it out of the office before she loses her self-control. Gods , she misses camp. Sure, people are rude like that at camp, but it’s never about things like ADHD or dyslexia. They’re about fighting skills. Things she can defend . The only time she’s ever been genuinely angry with someone at camp was that time an Ares kid went off on her after the battle of Manhattan for being ‘lazy’ and ‘not helping with the battle’. 

(She yelled at him for over an hour about how she was giving arial support with the pegasus’, taking out any flying enemies before they could pick off their ranks.)

(He cried.) 

Instead of dwelling, however, she glances down at her schedule. Everything is as she set it, it appears. The electives she chose were Greek Mythology and Psychology. Greek Mythology for the easy A and Psychology for the fake scholarship (and also the easy A, let’s be real. What can she say, Hypnos kids know how to get into people’s brains).

Her first class of the day, however, is English. Arguably her worst subject. No, not arguably, actually her worst subject. A common theme for demigods who struggle with reading English letters on a good day. Gods, she’d rather have math first than this nonsense. 

Arguing her schedule won’t do her any good, though, not when she’s lucky to be in this school without getting arrested for brainwashing an employee. She sighs, pulls out her map, and starts the arduous process of trying to figure out where the fuck she’s supposed to be going. Hopefully, she’ll have at least a couple of classes with Tim, right? 

-|-

English passes with only a migraine to show for it. Then science, which she actually manages to muddle her way through because the lesson happens to be on burning gasoline and the chemical process that takes place, and she got that lesson from a very disgruntled Hephaestus kid (with soot-covered twins hiding behind her and a half-burned down cabin around them, but who’s counting). Then math, and she’s suddenly taking back her statement about preferring math over English. 

The first three subjects of the day and she’s wiped out, not feeling it, and hasn’t seen hide nor hair of Tim. Which is fantastic . (Please note the sarcasm.) Signing up for school was supposed to be about making a solid form of communication with Tim, how come it’s so difficult to actually find him? If she has no classes with Tim it’s basically just torture for no reason! 

The last period before lunch, however, is Greek Mythology. Actually a subject she can succeed in. She’s already feeling better before she’s swinging the door open, but then! There! 

Tim is sitting in the back of the class, two notebooks out in front of him, one clearly for this class and one clearly not for this class. His textbook is out of his backpack, under his notebook, firmly shut. His nose is buried in the firmly not-for-this-class notebook. He has a thermos that she’d bet her spear has coffee in it. 

Tim . 

Charlie hops over to the desk, feeling far happier than she has any right to be after a morning as terrible as she’s had. Who cares? She finally has a class with her brother! And it’s Greek Mythology no less! 

“Tim-Tam!” She chirps, sliding into the seat next to his. He jolts up from his notebook. His eyes are unfocused and bleary, honestly, he doesn’t look like he’s slept since she last saw him. But when his gaze lands on her, he lights up like a glowstick. 

“Charlie!” Tim grins as best he can, sitting up from where he was slumped over his desk. “You’re really attending Gotham Prep. Lucky we have a class together, huh?” 

“And it’s Greek Mythology ,” She adds on, matching his grin. 

His face sours a little bit, however. “Yeah. Greek Mythology.” 

Okay. That’s totally cool. Right. Uh. “Not a fan of myths and legends about the Greeks?” She prods, trying to hide her nervousness. Is he actually somehow a Roman god’s kid ? Don’t think like that! 

“No, they’re entertaining and all, just…” He frowns, squinting at the board. “I mean, I started taking this class ‘cause it looked interesting. But then the material is just kind of… too easy? It doesn’t really give me a challenge. I can zone out the entire class period and do my own thing and I still get an A. Why would they even have a class that’s this easy?” 

Charlie lights up . This class, this Greek Mythology class, isn’t exactly run-of-the-mill mythology. It’s considered an advanced class. ‘Honors’ or whatever it was called. The difference being that not only are they being taught about Greek myths and legends, they’re being taught Ancient Greek at the same time. Tim finds it easy because his brain is hard-wired to know that. 

Tim probably finds it easier than his other classes that are taught entirely in English. 

She grins. Evidence, yes please. 

“Who’s your favorite Greek god?” Prodding, sure. And definitely an inaccurate test. Not only do classes like this not teach minor gods with any kind of accuracy, or at all really, but favorites don’t tend to align with parents in the slightest. Her favorite used to be Artemis, after all. But, it’s still valuable information to start gathering on who could potentially be the birth parent for her friend. 

Tim scrunches up his nose in thought. “Uh… I mean, most of them are pretty terrible.” She snorts. Okay, damn, she’s thankful that the gods have a pretty hard time hearing anything that happens in Gotham, otherwise, this would be an entirely different conversation. “I guess… Artemis was pretty cool. And Hestia. Uh… Iris is pretty neat too. Liked the rainbow thing.” 

“Good choices,” She agrees with a nod. “Honestly, Artemis and Hestia are the most reasonable of the Olympic gods.” She chooses not to comment on the Iris thing. Definitely not because of a tiny crush she’s been nursing on a kid in the Iris cabin, no siree, just because it’s always more polite to talk about the big guys first. 

“Didn’t Hestia give up her seat or something?” Tim questions. 

“Honorary Olympian,” Charlie says easily. “Like Pluto. Just because everyone else decided to boot her, she’s still an Olympian in my heart.” Which definitely isn’t how the myth went, but creative liberties and all that. 

Tim opens his mouth, probably to make an argument regarding Pluto (a debate they used to have all the time when they were younger), but the teacher interrupts them by turning off the lights and turning on the projector. It opens to a slide on Kronos, which… isn’t pleasant. 

Seeing the man that nearly wiped out your camp and nearly killed you? Not a pleasant experience on a good day. Seeing him munch on a child that she’s about sixty percent sure is Hades, pretty much the only decent Big Three god? A stone is settling into her stomach and she’s suddenly not looking forward to lunch as much. 

Hearing a lesson on Kronos like he’s a myth is surreal, to say the least of the experience. After fighting his armies, after nearly dying in that battle, having to sit there and pretend he’s nothing but a figment of some old dead people’s imaginations makes her want to throw up. Or stab something. Maybe a little bit of both, actually, maybe she’ll take a page out of the Ares cabin book and take out her emotions with violence. 

But Tim distracts her by passing notes the entire class period, asking questions about other Greek myths, mainly minor gods, and she’s able to stop herself from blowing up. 

She’s more than happy to explain everything she can about Iris and Hecate, the two he starts off the period most interested in. Which sparks Tim’s interest because they really hadn’t covered much of either of them in class, and by the end, she’s explaining most of the cooler minor gods to him. May as well get him started on this sort of education early, right? Should in theory make the transition smoother. Maybe. Probably not, but one can dream. 

Lunch rolls around after that class. The stone in her stomach (that feels vaguely Zuess-shaped but she’s deliberately ignoring the mental image her brain conjured up) has mostly started to fade, so she’s well and properly hungry by the time she gets to the cafeteria. Tim leads her there and through the lunch line. She piles her plate high with as much of everything as she possibly can. 

Does it look a little bit stupid? Yes. Does she care? She hasn’t had a proper meal in like a week now, no she doesn’t. This rich prissy school can deal with her grabbing a few extra rolls off the top, they’re not gonna go bankrupt over it. And the people eyeing her can deal with her obviously being a scholarship kid who doesn’t get this kind of food at home. 

“Want to sit with uh…” Tim scrunches up his nose. He’s been doing that a lot lately. “I mean, I have a couple of friends I usually sit with. We can ditch them, though.” 

An invitation? A fairly roundabout one, but an invitation all the same. “Sure. That sounds fun.” Sure, she’s pretty terrible at making impressions on people. And other than Tim she’s never actually made a friend outside of Camp Half-Blood. Which hardly counts because he’s a demigod too. But if he’s managed to befriend them, then she has to have at least a decent shot at becoming friendly acquaintances with them. 

Tim shrugs. Forcedly casual, clearly nervous. Probably more than just average Joe friends with these guys- she’d wager it’s something closer to family. He’s likely worried about them getting along, in that case. 

He leads her towards a table at the corner of the cafeteria, away from the rich kids who have been turning their noses up at her and towards two kids that she hasn’t actually had a good chance to meet yet. Seen them in passing a couple times, thought they looked decently nice enough, but hasn’t actually said a word to. That type of people.

The girl waves excitedly when they get close enough to see. She’s blonde, bright blue eyes, the type of kid that would fit right in at the Zeus cabin. In terms of looks anyway, she can already tell from her personality that she’s closer to something like an Apollo kid. Blond hair fits in there too… She shouldn’t think like that, though. The camp counselor in her is still talking. Turning that off is always so difficult… 

(And maybe she’s a teensy tiny bit homesick.)

The boy next to her is more subdued but waves all the same. He has dark brown skin, black hair, and dark brown eyes. Interestingly, his soul vibe is… off? Listening in more closely, she finds that his heartbeat is just a bit quicker than it ought to be and he almost seems to be leaking power. Huh. Meta. She’s not a tattle tale, though, so she keeps the information to herself. What Batman doesn’t know won’t hurt any of the poor meta’s residing in Gotham. 

“Hello!” The girl exclaims the moment Charlie sits down at the table. “I’m Stephanie, but you have to call me Steph. We’ve squeezed tons of information about you out of Tim!” Isn’t the saying ‘Tim’s told us all about you’? Although considering his personality, that’s probably a more accurate sentence. Getting him to tell her his birthday was like pulling teeth. 

“Uh, I’m Charlie. Nice to meet you,” She offers back somewhat hesitantly. 

“I’m Duke,” The boy introduces next, smiling kindly at her. Nice, too. She’s definitely helping him keep his secret so he doesn’t get run out by the big bad Bat. 

“So, Charlie,” Steph says with exactly no social graces. She fully leans across the table to do so, much to the clear annoyance of Tim. “Tell me all about yourself. What’s your favorite color? Favorite vigilante? Favorite video game? Getting information out of Tim is like pulling teeth.” 

She snorts. “Yeah, I’d bet it is,” She agrees. Then, she pauses to think for a moment about her answers. “Uh, favorite color’s probably blue. Favorite vigilante’s probably Robin. Uh, and I don’t really play video games.” Can’t, really. Camp Half-Blood may be pretty protected from monsters, but risking it over a video game console was not something anybody was willing to do. They just got a DVD player that doesn’t attract monsters courtesy of cabin nine. Just in time, too. Cal was just about ready to say ‘fuck it’ and start watching contraband Star Trek regardless of monster-attracting capabilities. 

“Which Robin?” Tim asks. His voice is oddly small. Right, he was super into vigilante’s back in the day. They used to chase Batman and Robin around together whenever they got the chance, snapping pictures and theorizing. 

“Number two, probably.” All three across from her wince. She tilts her head in confusion. That’s… not a reaction she was expecting. Most people either agree or argue for the first Robin. “Did… something happen to him?” 

Tim’s eyes widen in horrifying dawning realization. The kind of realization someone goes through when they realize what it means when they end up at Camp Half-Blood despite having two loving parents. Not a great metaphor to pull from, actually. “You’ve… you’ve been cut off for the last six years, haven’t you?” He states softly. She nods, because duh . 

Duke chimes in, saving the clearly shell-shocked Tim. “Uh, well, the second Robin died,” He explains haltingly. 

She frowns. Hm. She should’ve looked closer at her uncle’s Gotham reports whenever she visited him. Not that he’d be labeled ‘Robin’ in the reports, she guesses. Finding a ‘Jason Todd’ wouldn’t have been too difficult, though… “That sucks, I guess. Does that mean I need a new favorite? Cause I don’t want to make my favorite Batman.” 

Steph snorts. “No one’s favorite is Batman,” she dutifully ignores Tim’s squawk of rage, “But if you need a new favorite, why not Spoiler? She’s pretty awesome.” 

Okay. So there’s a new vigilante called Spoiler? That’s… certainly on brand for Gotham. “Uh, what does she do?” She asks hesitantly. Three people stare at her in complete stillness. “I mean, I’ve been out of Gotham for the last six years and I’ve been pretty cut off from everything. I don’t actually know any of the new ones.” 

“I’m explaining all of them, now,” Tim decides firmly. She doesn’t so much as get a word in before he’s pulling a notebook from his bag and flipping open to a page with a news clipping, showing off a Robin that’s clearly not the first or second. Look at him, he even has pants. What a guy. Must’ve won that internal battle or something. “Starting with the third Robin. Buckle up.” 

The explanations take most of the lunch period. By the end, she’s feeling slightly dizzy with how much has changed in the last six years. How does Gotham get this many new vigilantes in such a short amount of time? Who authorized this? The Justice League? Bruce ‘I adopt any sad-looking child with black hair and blue eyes’ Wayne? 

“Who’s your favorite now?” Tim prods. Either ignoring or oblivious to her growing migraine over the influx of information and complete disregard for things like reasonableness over how many vigilante’s should exist in one area.

“Orphan,” She replies easily. All three people around her squawk in rage, instantly trying to defend their own favorites (Tim’s is still the second Robin despite Steph and Duke’s looks about it, stronger than just him being dead so definitely a story there, Steph’s is Spoiler, and Duke’s is Nightwing even though he’s a Bludhaven vigilante and thus shouldn’t be included in the count up). 

“You fucking would,” Tim bites out, voice filled with venom. Steph and Duke whip around to look at him, looking shell-shocked for some reason. 

“Come on, she’s basically Artemis but in vigilante form. Would you rather I choose the baby Robin who runs around with a sword ?” She prods, jabbing her finger at the only picture of Orphan in Tim’s little notebook. It’s a fairly blurry picture and clearly caught on someone’s phone camera. 

“But loyalty!” Tim cries, flipping back to the second Robin’s page. “You have to stick to the OG’s! The second Robin was the best one, can’t you remember?” Steph and Duke do that weird complicated face thing again where they look both like they’re in pain and like they want to shout at Tim. It’s interesting to watch. 

“I only liked the second Robin before because my other options were Batman and a Bludhaven vigilante!” She returns, grinning at Tim. It feels good to talk with him like this again, after so long apart. Slipping so easily back into conversation… it feels good . 

“You’re impossible,” He groans. Loudly. She smirks. 

“But if we’re talking superheroes, not vigilantes, then it’s Wonder Woman, no question,” She continues. Anyone that can beat Ares in a fistfight (technically a sword fight but who’s counting) and thoroughly destroy him to the point that he has to take a couple of decade-long nap to heal is number fucking one in her books. Even if the consequence of that was him acting out during the whole lightning thief incident and all that. It was solved in the end, so no harm no foul. 

“Hell yeah!” Steph cries, raising her hand for a high five. It takes Charlie probably a second too long to realize it is actually a high five and not a challenge for a duel or something, so she’s a little late on the return, but it’s fine. 

“Superboy for me,” Tim adds on, voice firm. Duke sends him a look , and that’s more than enough information for her. 

“I’ve always thought Aquaman was neat,” Duke offers. Charlie hums, considering. 

“I know a guy who used to really like Aquaman.” The effect was apparently ruined when he found out he was the literal child of the sea god and that he could potentially boss Aquaman around. Since then it was Wonder Woman, apparently. Wonder Woman’s number one for most people at camp thanks to the Ares thing (except for the Ares cabin who pretend to hate her and secretly love her). 

“Find a better hero?” Duke questions softly. A lot more prodding than he probably was going for, but she won’t fault him for it. They’re probably curious about her. 

“Wonder Woman. Anyone that can throw down with-” She pauses. Was that public knowledge? Probably not, actually. “Wonder Woman all the way.” Duke eyes her. 

“That’s it,” Tim decides, slamming his notebook shut. She turns to him, taking in his twisted expression. “Your opinions are factually incorrect and I’m fixing them. Come over this afternoon, I’m educating you.” 

She’d love to. Really, she would. If it were up to her, she’d come over to his house (Wayne's house? Batman’s house?) and hang out with him until she’s inevitably kicked out by Brucie Wayne himself. She’d love to sneak out with him and take photos again, track down vigilante patrol routes, connect dots they have no right to try and figure out. But… 

“Sorry. I have work this afternoon.” Unfortunately, now she’s older and has things like bills to pay. At least she got a halfway decent job instead of something shady like she’d been expecting. “Maybe another time?” 

Tim frowns. “Yeah. Yeah, maybe another time.” 

-|-

After a day of work, Charlie is thoroughly exhausted. She hardly has the energy to stumble her way home, burn a bit of the pastry Dr. Ivy shoved into her hands (while glaring, it was a mixed message), and tell her dad about her day. She finishes off the pastry as best she can, waters her poppies, and then passes out midair over her mattress, long before she hits her pillow. 

Her eyes open in a grassy field. Poppies litter the ground, along with daisies, grass in beautiful green shades, and dandelions. There’s a forest in the distance, one that she can see various wispy animals wind through- animals that look strikingly similar to the stuffed animals stacked high in cabin fifteen. The sky overhead is a soft baby blue, clouds shaped intentionally, and everything smells like lavender. Everything feels intentionally peaceful, intentionally soft, intentionally and overwhelmingly welcoming. She could lay down and never leave. 

She turns, and she sees her siblings. This is Clovis’ dreamscape; he’s the best at conjuring such peaceful scenes for all of them to meet up in. Clovis himself is seated in the center of the meadow space, using daisies and dandelions to make a crown, a poppy as a centerpiece for it. June sits at his side, Apple’s dream form draped across her lap, purring as she scratches along its scales. Cal sits on his other side, mimicking Clovis’ motions with the flower crown in an attempt to make his own. It’s not as skillfully made, but it’s just as shiny and meaningful in this space. 

Charlie smiles fondly at the scene. They all look well. All of them have leaves and flowers tangled into their hair (and feathers in the twin’s case). Everything feels sort of fuzzy and happy in this space, a willful design by Clovis’ hand. She strolls up to them, taking a seat across from Clovis carefully. It feels good to stretch out her wings like this, even if this is just a dream. 

“Hello,” She greets softly. 

June and Cal’s gazes lift from their prospective tasks. They brighten up like fireworks, jumping up and tackling her into a hug. She falls back against the soft grass, giggling, clutching her siblings close to her chest. “I take it you’ve been missing me?” 

“Charlie! Charlie! I convinced Chiron to let us get a bird! It’s white just like our wings and sings with us during campfire!” June exclaims. The young girl is burying her head in Charlie’s shoulder, so she rests her hand on the back of her head, holding her close. 

“The birdies named Janeway,” Cal adds helpfully, face also firmly pressed to her shoulder. She smiles softly; June must’ve picked the bird, leaving Cal to pick the name for it. She wonders how many ‘pets’ are going to be named after captains by the end of Cal’s reign. She knows there’s already a campaign to name the incoming pegasus baby Sisko.

“That’s a great name,” She says. She sits up, Cal and June carefully cradled in her lap by her arms and wings. “I can’t believe you managed to convince Chiron and Clovis. Did you make a presentation?” 

“Yeah!” June cries, flinging her arms into the air. She tips back dangerously, and it’s only Charlie’s hand on her back that keeps her from tumbling into the grass. “With lots of paper and glitter and stuff! Cal did a bunch of research, and I decorated it!” 

Cal’s always been interested in researching birds. Birds and sci-fi for him, whereas June’s a whole lot more interested in things like battle strategy and figuring out if she can hypnotize people like their dad can. She smiles at them both. It feels so good to be able to catch up with her siblings. 

“What about you?” Cal prods softly. His hand is fisted in her pajama shirt, looking meek and curious all at the same time. 

“I got to meet Dr. Ivy,” She whispers conspiratorially. There’s no one else here, just the four of them, but whispering makes the twins giggle and that’s all that matters. “Would you like to see?” 

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” June shouts, clapping her hands together. 

“Jake’s gonna be so jealous,” Cal breathes, not looking up from the crown in his lap. Jake, the Demeter kid that gave them John-Luke. 

Charlie grins. With a wave of her hand, the scenery changes from the soft meadow and to the park where she met Dr. Ivy in the first place. Clovis harrumphs at the loss of additional flowers to finish up his flower crowns, but then his eyes light up when he sees the new collection outside of Triple I. 

Like this, this is perfect. With her siblings, sharing memories, chatting about things together. This is better than strange nightmares, than whatever weird nonsense Gotham throws at her, than whatever it is that makes the Mist feels strange, than gods awful prophecies that she wants nothing to do with. This is where Charlie belongs.

Chapter Text

Bat-Chat

Red Hood: Ok so

Like

Some kid moved into my apartment a couple days ago

Total runaway, beat to hell and back, covered in scars, tattoos, the works

I was just gonna leave it because ‘yeah whatever that happens all the time in Crime Alley’

Nightwing: That’s not normal, little wing

Red Hood: But then

Since she got here

My nightmares have just stopped

Red Robin: Coincidence? 

Red Hood: No I get nightmares like EVERY night

But since she got here they’re GONE

I just dream about baking with Alfred like EVERY night now

She has to be a meta, right? 

Oracle: Runaway meta’s are unfortunately common. People tend to kick out children who develop powers at an exceedingly high rate or abuse them and force them to leave. 

Red Hood: I’m going to adopt her

Spoiler: lol

Batman vibes

Red Hood: Don’t you fucking dare

Nightwing: You kind of walked into that one

Red Hood: Shut the fuck up

How do I make her comfortable? 

I need to help her

She’s all sad and pathetic like a puppy

Oracle: Don’t push her. Or question her about her powers. Try to make yourself a safe space for her to turn to if she needs it, but don’t put any kind of pressure on her. Kids like that tend to be flighty and will leave if they feel any kind of need. 

Nightwing: Feed her? 

That gets most strays

Red Robin: Kidnap her and tell her that you’re adopting her now

Spoiler: This is the funniest thing to happen since finding out that Tim actually has friends

Red Robin: Steph, I swear to the gods

god* 

That was weird

Spoiler: Getting too invested in that Greek mythology class? 

-|-

It’s been about a week or so since crash-landing in Tim’s school and sort of expecting the best from it like any good demigod who thinks exactly nothing through. Charlie’s starting to get used to the feeling of being hungry; she doesn’t usually eat breakfast, overloads on lunch, and eats whatever Dr. Ivy shoves into her hands for dinner. During lunch period, she’s broken up between stuffing as much as she possibly can into her mouth and slowly teaching Tim MythoMagic cards, because that worked for Grover twice in a row so it’ll probably work here. 

Maybe. It sort of worked for him before. Two out of three kids is probably a good enough record in terms of survival. 

Subtly (not-so-subtly really) she’s been scanning his reactions to certain cards to see if there’s a strong reaction to anything. Hints on his godly parent. So far she’s pretty sure he’s not a big three kid (although she’s pretty sure there’d be a bigger issue if he was) and he’s definitely not an Athena kid. That didn’t come from the cards though- that came from him killing a spider that got on their lunch table with his bare hands like a heathen. (Even non-Athena kids aren’t that insane.)

Dr. Ivy’s also been a great boss overall. Other than shoving various pastries in her hands after each shift she’s given, she’s also been nice about not making her go near the lemon balm. It might have to do with the glowing recommendations from all the soporific plants, but she thinks Dr. Ivy actually likes her. From what she knows about the rogue Dr. Ivy who killed anyone who even looked at her funny, it’s practically glowing praise. 

Her mission in Gotham is going surprisingly well. Sure, her neighbor keeps giving her weird looks and offering her food that may or may not be poisoned. She refuses each time just in case. And, sure, her shoulders have been getting pretty stiff from not being able to fly around as much as she’d like to. But everything’s been going surprisingly decently for a demigod on a quest with a prophecy. Or just a demigod in general, they’re not usually given any kind of break. 

Which just means everything needs to fall apart. Obviously . 

Charlie’s walking home when she first senses it. The space between the bus stop and her apartment is only about a twenty-minute walk, which should be nothing to sneeze at, but then she literally sneezes. Sneezes so hard that a couple of feathers actually pop out of her back and get caught under her shirt, super duper uncomfortable. 

Right here, in this random sidewalk spot in the middle of Crime Alley, the Mist is really weird. The kind of weirdness that has her skin crawling, her lungs itching, and apparently her sneezing. A frown tugs at her lips. The Mist is weird everywhere in Gotham, that’s half the reason why she wasn’t all that surprised by the prophecy. But… 

This, right here, is extra weird. The cherry on top of a sundae type of weird. The kind of weird that makes her want to draw her weapon here and now without consideration for who might be around to see her do it. The Mist definitely wouldn’t be able to cover it up right now, that’s for sure. It’s too weird, too thin, too sickly in a way that she didn’t even think was possible.

Well, like any good demigod, time to poke the sleeping bear. She shucks her jacket, carefully shoving it into her backpack on top of her school supplies and uniform. Her tank top leaves the window for her wings open and her weapon bracelets on full display, ready to be used. It’s definitely too chilly to be walking around without sleeves, but right now she couldn’t care less. And it gives her an easier time picking the feathers out of her shirt, even with goosebumps running up and down her arms from the chill. 

Following the weird patch of mist is easier than it ought to be. It feels almost like a winding path, a trail of breadcrumbs that feels almost purposefully left behind. She follows it, fingers twitching for her weapons and a frown marring her face. Is she about to be confronted by monsters? Some kind of godly force? Something even older (genuinely fuck her sort of cousin Kronos and her sort of aunt Gaea)? 

It leads her through Crime Alley. It grows thicker and thinner as she goes- the weirdness growing to the point of being oppressive but the Mist thinning to the point that she’d have a hard time pulling it around herself if she needed to. Even the Hecate kids would probably struggle with it as it is right now.  It feels staticy, chaotic, like- like a black pit, voices layered over each other, the butterfly flapping frantically trying to get away- and suddenly she feels sick to her stomach. 

Very strongly, she considers giving up on this. She wants to throw up the last bits of food she has left in her stomach from lunch and her skin is crawling so bad she’s ready to scratch it right off. This isn’t the kind of thing that she should be involved in, that much is clear. She considers it, far more seriously than she probably ought to, but- 

Then she stumbles out of an alleyway and into a rogue attack. Because somehow the mist being weird wasn’t enough to finish off her kind of shitty day. A rubber band of weirdness stretching impossibly tight almost seems to snap- this is the eye of the storm for the Mist’s sickly nature, and suddenly she’s getting a sinking feeling about the relationship between Gotham’s villains and the quest she’s on. 

(Gotham’s always been the exception. Weird rogues that seem to be wacked out and crazy, everything turned up to a hundred, something so intense and focused that it never made sense. Some people theorized it was the pollution in the water. She’s starting to worry that it’s magical pollution in the air instead.)

The muzzle of a gun gets pressed up against her head (because of course ) and like a good little hostage, she joins the crowd of people in the middle of the street, mind still whirling. The Riddler, she thinks. There’s a camera set up pointed at the hostages, which is just fucking great. Plus her hands get tied together behind her, and she ends up shoved to the ground, skinning her knees, so she’s just not having a great day. 

Magic was weird. It led her to a rogue attack. She’s in Gotham to fix something chaotic. She has a really bad feeling about all of this. 

Distantly, she thinks that the Riddler is talking to the camera about hostages and Batman solving his across-the-city riddle or something. She couldn’t care less. If one of the guns goes off she’ll just use the limited Mist in the area to mess up the camera and her magic to mess up the memories of everyone here after she deals with everything. Guns on humans don’t tend to pose as much of a threat to demigods, especially two-time war vet demigods. She’s not as nervous about this situation as any normal person ought to be, to say the least of it. 

Instead, she sorts through the prophecy in her head. 

“In the city with chaotic claw's grip

The wandering half-blood, the guide's trip

He will lead to the awakening one

The slumber of Hypnos must arise

Oh lonely, vicious, world-destroyer lies

Put the wretched down before dawn.”

Everything is a fairly typical prophecy, but the first line is really important to her right now. ‘In the city with chaotic claw’s grip’ sounds suspiciously like something has its grip on Gotham and is messing it up. Something that might cause Gotham to have wacked-out villains, even in comparison to the most messed up cities. Gotham is by far the worst, and everyone has always made jokes about it being ‘something in the water’. 

More accurately, however, Charlie’s starting to suspect that it’s something in the Mist. Something to do with the ‘wretched’ thingy she’s supposed to deal with. The wretched being she’s supposed to put down is probably the one messing with Gotham and causing all of these big bad villains if her theory is correct. Which is… 

Incredibly strange to think about as a native Gothamite. She’s sort of been raised on the belief that this is just kind of how things are. But the idea that she could potentially fix whatever is causing all of these wacked-out villains? It’s insane, to her. And too much to think about at once. She’s definitely getting a bit of a headache. Could things like the Joker be fixable ?

It’s just a theory for right now, she reasons. A theory based on a bit of weird Mist leading to a rouge attack, technically something that could just be a coincidence. Scientific process and all that. 

But… well. Coincidences aren’t super common when it comes to demigods. 

And something tells her she’s right on the money. 

“It seems Batman is taking too long to solve my riddle!” The Riddler exclaims. He’s stepping a little too close to the fearful group of civilians for her tastes, so it’s enough to draw her out of her thoughts of what sort of creature could cause an entire city to be this messed up. The rouge swings his cane around like he’s on some kind of musical, grinning widely at the camera. “To add additional motivation , ” okay so the riddle definitely has to do with math, she pitties Batman, “how about we suspend one of my hostages here above a vat of acid?” 

The Riddler spreads his arms wide, flourishing, gesturing to a large above-ground pool that his henchmen pull tarps away from. It bubbles and fizzles, definitely not something one wants on their skin. There’s a suspension system above it, one of those dunking things you might see at a carnival. She’s starting to get the feeling she knows where this afternoon is heading. It’s not a fun idea, but whoever said that this quest was going to be easy? 

She did. Internally. But apparently, that was enough to jinx her, so here she fucking is. 

“Any volunteers?” The Riddler asks, turning back to the group of hostages with a wide Cheshire grin. Yup, she knew where this was heading. 

Thing is, Charlie’s not going to die if she’s dropped. Absolute worst-case scenario, she busts out her wings, uses the Mist for the camera (praying to Hecate that it works), and uses her magic for all the witnesses. Everyone else here, however, are perfectly ordinary civilians with no powers of any kind and no experience when it comes to fighting dangerous sociopaths. Granted, usually, she can cut her dangerous sociopaths in half, but she can work with what she has. 

“I volunteer!” She shouts before she can talk herself out of it. She raises one of her shoulders as best she can, not really able to raise her hands what with them being tied behind her back. Predictably people shuffle away from her like she’s insane; mixed between relieved and concerned. It’s an unspoken rule in Gotham at this point; rogue attacks, keep your head down. Don’t volunteer as tribute .

The Riddler eyes her closely. Studying, curious, and not wholly sane. Gods, where did her survival instinct end up? She probably left it behind the first time she willingly participated in war games . “Perfect! A volunteer! Things get so messy when I’m forced to just grab someone,” The Riddler cheers. She tries very hard not to roll her eyes. “Come, come, let's get moving!” 

One of the henchmen (goons?) roughly grabs her by the arms and yanks her to her feet. She stumbles a little, frowning when her bag gets shaken up too. With her arms tied like this, at the very least, it’ll be hard for her backpack to go anywhere. It would really suck to lose her homework; she spent like three hours on that essay. 

She doesn’t have much of a reaction to give when she’s tied to the chair suspended above the pool of acid. She’s pretty sure Riddler’s getting a bit annoyed at her being completely unfazed, but there’s not much she can give him. After facing down the literal primordial goddess of the earth, a kiddy pool of acid isn’t going to make her so much as flinch. 

“May I ask your name, my lady?” The Riddler asks. Like he’s on some kind of game show and not threatening to murder her if Batman doesn’t figure this out quickly enough. 

“Karlie,” She responds blandly. 

“Well, Ms. Karlie, while we wait for Batman to finish solving my riddles, why won’t we play a game?” He chirps, swinging his cane wide. “If you manage to solve three of my riddles, then I’ll set you free! If you don’t, then I’ll drop you in and pick someone else to threaten!” Ah, this must be her punishment for not looking properly fearful enough. 

Well. Damnit. She sucks at riddles. She’s been bullied relentlessly by the Athena kids for it (all in good fun after accidentally crashing through their window one unfortunate day). Riddles are just a complicated series of words where the answer could be literally anything but only one is acceptable for some reason and it annoys the tar out of her. 

The Riddler was always one of her least favorite rogues. 

“Hit me,” Is all she responds with, however. Offering up fear now won’t do any good, especially if it’s disingenuous. Right now she’s feeling more annoyed, and she’s not sure the Riddler would take too kindly to that emotion. 

His smile twitches. She tries not to grin with triumph. “Well then, I’ll start with this, my lady. Riddle me this! The more you take, the more you leave behind. What am I?” He asks with another flourish of his cane. 

Charlie squints at him. Trying to figure out if she misheard him. Because… “Uh, footsteps?” Isn’t that the exact riddle that Sphinx used on her the other month? How come he’s using that on her? She only got out of that mess because she was with another camper who’s actually good at riddles. Freaky coincidence, this is making her skin crawl. The urge to throw up is returning. Bad prospects for her lunch, unfortunately. 

“Very good Ms. Karlie!” The Riddler chirps, grinning widely. “Riddle me this; a man has to get a fox, a chicken, and a sack of corn across the river. He has a boat, and it can only carry him and one other thing. If the fox and chicken are left together, the fox will eat the chicken. If the chicken and the corn are left together, the chicken will eat the corn. How does he do it?” 

Again, she squints. That… can’t be right. Right? This is wrong. This is definitely wrong. Once is a coincidence, twice is just freaky . How has he gotten two of the Sphinx’s riddles? This is definitely way too weird for her comfort. And… and does the Riddler kind of smell like the Sphinx? That’s way too fucking weird, she is not feeling this. Not after the weird patch of mist leading her here and a prophecy to back it up, no siree. 

“Uh, he takes the chicken first ‘cause the fox and the corn are good together. Then he takes the fox, picks up the chicken to take back with him, drops off the chicken, picks up the corn, takes it across, then goes back for the chicken,” She answers hesitantly. The Riddler’s smile twitches again. 

Facts; the Riddler was at the end of a weird magic trail, likely to do with the prophecy. The Riddler is spouting off Sphinx riddles. The Riddler has Sphinx residue on him. Charlie is not feeling up for this right now. 

“Final riddle, Ms. Karlie!” The Riddler looks like a cross between delighted and frustrated. She’s not sure which is more likely to get her dropped into a pool of acid. “Riddle me this; as I was going to St. Ives, I met a man with seven wives, each wife had seven sacks, each sack had seven cats, each cat had seven kits: kits, cats, sacks, and wives, how many are going to St. Ives?” 

As she expected. Interestingly, this is the one that tripped up the camper she’d been with. He’d spent a solid five minutes trying to work the math out in his head before she’d abruptly realized the answer on her own. It’s a riddle that’s meant to trip up overthinkers, people who are used to riddles. And she’d been the one to get it right last time, actually contributing something. 

“One. It’s just me going to St. Ives,” She responds, smiling a little, strained as it is. The Riddler’s eyes shine. Gods, she feels sick .

“Very good Ms. Karlie!” He cheers, clapping his hands together. “Unfortunately, Batman hasn’t managed to show up yet and I’m getting rather frustrated. What say you we drop you in the acid to see if he shows up just in the nick of time?” 

“Actually, I’d rather no-” Her sentence is cut off by the chair jerking out from under her. She falls through the air, towards the bubbling and popping pool of acid. She has a solid moment of shit flying through her mind at rapid speeds. Another moment of preparing to bust out her wings, and just when her skin is about to hit the acid and her wings are about to burst forth from her shoulders- 

An arm wraps around her and jerks her away from the pool. She swings through the air, firmly caught in the grip of whoever saved her, flying away from the scene. She spots Batman battling with the Riddler, what looks like Robin helping the hostages, and all of the henchmen appear to be unconscious. Thank the gods . You know what- no, thank Sam who was with her the other month when she came across that Sphinx and answered most of those riddles for her. 

The person carrying her is Red Robin, she barely manages to note. Strangled observation and all that. The one Tim seemed pretty hesitant to explain and brushed over pretty quickly in their lesson. Might be a bit of an asshole or might be secretive enough that Tim doesn’t have a whole lot of information on him. She blinks blearily, trying to get her bearings once Red Robin sets her down on a nearby roof. The weird Mist is still fucking with her senses and she’s still panicking a bit about the whole Sphinx-Riddler thing, so she’s a little out of it. 

“Ch- uh, civilian, Karlie,” Red Robin greets quickly. She raises her head from the ground. She’d sort of doubled over the moment she landed due to way too many emotions and nausea from the Mist, and he’s looking awfully concerned for her. “Are you alright? That was a pretty close one- why is your back glowing?” 

Huh. She feels a little rattled, a little insane right now. She pats her shoulder blades, willing her wings to go back to tattoo form and frowning. She’d wrapped herself pretty tightly in the Mist while preparing to launch out her wings, even with how sickly it is in this area… is Red Robin clear-sighted? Is he a demigod too? 

“Uh,” She responds dumbly. She squints at him. He looks relatively familiar… and now he’s fidgeting in a very familiar way… Instead of looking at him , she scans his soul closely, going over the information that she can get through soul scanning. And- huh. Okay. Yup, that’s just Tim. Red Robin is Tim. 

Tim the vigilante. Tim who lives with Batman. Which makes a lot of sense in hindsight. That would make him the third Robin too, right? Okay, that’s too much to think about, locking it tight in the box. Deal with it later once she’s not on a roof, trying not to throw up from the Mist around her, and dealing with nearly needing to bust out her wings in front of an entire audience. 

“You know. The vibes,” She responds before her brain can catch up with her mouth. Red Robin reasonably raises an eyebrow at her in a very ‘ really ’? Kind of motion. Entirely valid. It’s not like she has a better explanation for him, though. ‘Oh, yeah, I was getting ready to bust out my wings to fly away from the acid before you caught me. Where’d I get wings you ask? My dad. Funny story, my dad’s actually a god. He wasn’t technically supposed to gift me these wings, but he kind of does what he wants since most of the gods are pretty scared of him.’ Yeah, not gonna blow over well. Would he throw her in Arkham or a more reasonable insane asylum with fewer rouges in it? 

“Thanks for the save,” She says instead of dwelling on her lackluster explanation. Or any of the information she’s being assaulted with today, actually. “Wasn’t entirely sure how I was gonna get out of that situation.” She was sure, but she wasn’t sure how she was gonna explain any of it later. 

“Yeah. Just- uh, just glad you’re safe,” He responds awkwardly. Red Robin (Tim? Whatever) makes an aborted motion to try and hug her, but then seems to remember the whole secret identity thing and instead scratches at the back of his neck. “Uh. So shoulder thing? Are you- do you have powers?” 

Batman hates metas. Red Robin works with Batman , she realizes belatedly. 

“No,” She responds unconvincingly. It’s not her fault that she can’t explain that she’s not a meta, just something that’s arguably more dangerous to keep in Gotham. Gods, this is a mess. “Uh. Just. You know. Trade secret?” She winces. “I’m a magician.” Digging herself a deeper hole here, maybe it’s time to shut up. “Glitter and stuff. Figured I could dazzle the Riddler into not murdering me.” Yeah, this isn’t working. She needs to seal her mouth shut before she says something so stupid she needs to throw herself off the nearest building. 

“Magician,” Red Robin echoes flatly. He looks amused. Good, her suffering is amusing her best friend slash brother slash a vigilante that could potentially want to hunt her down. She has not had enough sleep for this. A solid forty-eight hours and she could potentially tackle a situation like this. Potentially being the keyword here, this type of situation could need upwards of a week-long coma to even begin to deal with. 

“Yup, a magi-” 

Her voice gets cut off. Instead of the end of her sentence, a gag falls out of her mouth. She whips away from Red Robin at the last second, jolting forward enough to lean her head away from her body. She throws up over the cement rooftop, spilling all of her lunch out. And then a bit of stomach acid, because a wave of nasty Mist decides to pass by her right when she thinks she’s done. 

Her throat burns. She scalded it with the stomach acid, and she’s sure her voice is going to sound terrible tomorrow. Tears stream down her face without permission, she’s got spit dripping from her chin, and surprisingly none of it ended up in her hair. Oh- oh, it’s because hands are holding her hair away from her head. 

(She’s trembling rather horribly, she notes.) 

“Are you alright?” Red Robin asks hesitantly. He sounds genuinely scared, genuinely concerned, and for a moment she can forget just who he works for. 

Shoulders shaking, throat burning, still nauseous and feeling distinctly ready to just sleep for a week straight, she gives him a weak thumbs up. “Delayed shock reaction, I’m sure,” She rasps. Her voice, as predicted, is terrible from the stomach acid burn at the back of her throat. She gags again when the taste hits her tongue, but nothing comes up. Perks of nothing in her stomach, she supposes. “You got some water?” 

Red Robin- Tim scrambles with his belt, producing some wet wipes and a small water bottle. She swishes some water in her mouth and spits it out, grimacing at the sickly-sweet taste left on her tongue that makes her want to throw up all over again. He hands her the wet wipes too, and she uses them to scrub her face clean. 

“Thanks,” She rasps again. Better with the water soothing her throat, at the very least. 

“Of course,” Tim says easily. Nervously. “Let’s go get you checked out by the paramedics, yeah? It didn’t look like you got hurt from the video we saw, but we should get you checked over and treated for shock.” He gestures towards the paramedics on the ground currently checking over the other victims. Damn, she must’ve really been out of it if she missed the arrival of several ambulances . 

Except… 

Hm. 

Legally speaking, Karlie Greens doesn’t exist. Neither does Charlie Greens. And legally speaking, Charlie Graves is either dead or a missing persons case, she still needs to check on that. Getting roped up with medical personnel who are gonna look her up and do things like hand her over to CPS and then Bryan - Not something she’s particularly interested in right now. 

“Uh, no thanks.” She takes a shaky step back from the ledge as if that’ll do anything. “I’ve got a neighbor I can ask to watch over me or something. I’m not hurt, just a little rattled.” Not that she’ll be asking Jason for anything beyond maybe finally accepting his food tonight after losing so much just now. Risk the poison at this point. “I really should just be going.” 

“But Ch- Karlie, you could be hurt,” Tim tries, reaching a hand out to her. 

The Mist is still an oppressive force. There’s still a stone settled into the bottom of her stomach from all the realizations of what’s been going on today. There’s still too much of everything and for the first time since she met Tim- she flinches away from his hand. He looks like he’s been struck. 

“Sorry, but I need to be going.” She turns on her heel, marching towards the fire escape without glancing back. He doesn’t move, still shocked, still looking so hurt that she can’t help but want to reach out and wrap him up in a hug. But she can’t, so she marches down the fire escape and towards her home. 

-|-

Dr. Ivy’s blueberry muffin sits half-eaten on her fold-out table. The food Jason offered her this afternoon, as he has been for the last several days she just finally accepted today, sits in front of her as she digs through it. Will and Nico sit across from her, sitting in the Hades cabin it appears, surrounded by the shimmering rainbow illusion that’s characteristic of an IM. They look serious, concerned, and overall displeased with the information she’s given them. 

“So, we’re not going to brush over you getting kidnapped and held hostage,” Will finally says. He’s glaring at her through the shimmering rainbow screen-like surface, jabbing his finger forward. “You tried to brush over it, but we’re not going to. Because that’s insane. There was a gun up against your head and you were nearly dropped in a pool of acid. Which is not normal or okay .” 

Charlie shrugs, chewing through the pasta. Jason’s actually a decent cook. With his whole ‘I’m trying to look like a badass please don’t notice that I have a copy of Pride and Prejudice sticking out of my bag’ persona, she wouldn’t have expected it. “I mean, it’s Gotham.” She sets her fork down, frowning a little bit, considering. “Guns are pretty typical. Even without the demigod stuff that wouldn’t faze me. My wings helped with the acid, though- I could just fly away if he dropped me.” 

“Gotham sounds insane,” Will bemoans. 

“It sounds cool ,” Nico corrects as if that’ll do anything. “But beyond that, this is definitely concerning. Magic being so intrinsically tied to the mortal world is incredibly atypical. If it was just the Mist leading to the rouge attack, that would already be incredibly concerning. The Sphinx riddles just make it ten times worse.” 

She nods, frowning. “I’m guessing that whatever ‘wretched’ thing I’m supposed to be putting to sleep is stirring up chaos in Gotham and has been for a while. I think it’s in the process of waking up? Based on my dream, I think it’s using its magic to cause chaos. Things bleed over like monsters and stuff. And once I put it back to sleep, that might fix some things.” A guess, anyways. It’s nice to think about; a Gotham without rouges destroying everything nice in the world. 

She shoves another bite of pasta into her mouth. 

“It’s definitely a possibility,” Nico agrees. 

“For now, keep on guard,” Will adds on. “This is concerning. Try not to follow weird Mist spots so willy-nilly. Next time, go stealth mode. Hide in the Mist if you have to. Don’t take any unnecessary risks.” 

Charlie tries very hard not to roll her eyes. “Yes, yes, I’ll be careful. Now that I know what they’re leading to, I won’t just waltz in like that.” She might, but she’ll be a bit more careful next time. She’s lucky it was the Riddler this time- if she stumbles on the Joker or something that’s a whole other ballpark to deal with. 

“Anyways, I figured I’m supposed to check in about this sort of thing with you guys. That’s the end of my report,” She finishes. “Good luck with the infirmary, Will. And, Boss, good luck with your expedition to Camp Jupiter coming up.” 

Nico wrinkles his nose. “If you’d stop calling me that I think we’d all be happier.” 

She smirks at him. “If I have to deal with anything even related to Mint trying to murder me every time I come across it, you get to deal with my jokes,” She fires back. It’s only a fair trade-off, after all. 

Nico predictably groans. He’s been trying to get her to stop calling him ‘boss’ for years now, but she refuses. Despite being just about the same age (minus Casino years) and not actually having a power difference, she still enjoys her antics. 

-|-

Bat-Chat

Red Robin: Okay, so she’s DEFINITELY a meta

She had this weird glowing thing on her back when I caught her

It faded afterward when I asked her about it, went into a weird wing pattern on her back

I bet she can fly with them, that might be why she was so unconcerned about the acid

Oracle: That’ll make some of my findings make sense. Six years ago she was reported as missing by her uncle, Bryan Graves. Then she was later pronounced dead after some deals were shuffled around by her uncle. It looks like he was trying to get access to the money her mother left behind, a decent amount that he’d reportedly been looking into. It’s still frozen, however, due to Charlie’s absence. Until she either signs it over or she theoretically reaches the age of twenty, it’s completely inaccessible. Even then, if she isn’t there to retrieve it at that point, it’ll be donated to a charity fund. Really knocked the wind out of this guy. 

Red Robin: That’ll explain why she ran away

Plus the meta thing

Think the cult did that to her or think that the cult picked her up because of it? 

Coincidences aren’t a thing in cases like this

Oracle: I still can’t find any information on the group that picked her up or this ‘Diev’ figure. Given her accent changes in the last few years I can place it in New York, but that doesn’t narrow it down by a whole lot. Keep prodding for information. 

Red Robin: Yes ma’am

Chapter Text

Things start to fall apart due to Charlie’s Greek half to the surprise of exactly no one. Technically the set of events that landed her where she ends up is a piling up of bad circumstances, but she’s going to blame magic first and foremost because she can. She loves her father and her uncle, she really does, but every other Greek god (except for like, three) can bite it. (Please note that Iris is not included in the bad gods list, please ma’am, don’t hate her before she builds up the courage to ask the Iris camper out.) 

Spending several hours a night searching for strange patches of Mist, marking them down on notebook and map, and figuring out what they lead to may not be a terribly smart idea in hindsight. Especially for a child of Hypnos who traditionally needs a solid ten hours of sleep a night to be even remotely functional. Five hours isn’t recommended for anyone , let alone someone who needs more sleep than the average Joe. 

It’s exhausting work. Exhausting, but very technically necessary. Even with sore shoulders from going so long without using her wings, even with exhaustion weighing down every single one of her bones, even with her stomach rumbling angrily at her, she makes her way through town each night with determined steps out of necessity. Why can’t demigods have a peaceful retirement lined up after war number two? 

Unfortunately, the fates don’t have pity on her and she doesn’t get to just stop doing her job because she’s tired .

Tonight, she’s making her way through the docks. She’s following a strange patch of Mist; nothing as severe as the patch that led her to the rouge attack (or the patch that led her to Joker’s hideout the other day, man was that an experience), but it’s still strange enough to note down. She has her notebook out in front of her, her pen careful taking note of each street and section that’s been contaminated. Once she gets home she’ll mark it out on her oversized map spread out across her floor. 

The night air is cool on her skin. It raises goose bumps on her bare arms. This weather is far too cold to be out and about without a jacket, (especially a tank top), but easy access to her weapons is more important than comfort. Her teeth chatter together with each step she takes, and even with three different pairs of pants on and arm warmers up above her elbows the rest of her is frigid . 

The scent of saltwater, cigarette smoke, and chemicals wafts through the air. She vaguely recognizes one of the chemicals as one of the cleanup chemicals for the Fear Toxin. She furrows her eyebrows. Now that she thinks about it, there was an attack here a couple of days ago where Scarecrow managed to dose a couple of people before he was arrested. Following the pattern of the Mist, it follows his trail exactly. 

Not only that, but the muted nature of the weird Mist speaks of the pattern fading instead of just being weird. She spreads her senses closely, letting her eyes slip shut as she thinks. So the Mist takes a bit to clean up after making things weird? That’s interesting. Also, she should be able to tell the difference between fading and growing weird Mist easier now that she’s up close and personal with it. She’ll have to start looking into rouge attacks when she sees them on the news and note them on her map. 

This is starting to get complicated… Not that demigod quests are ever very simple. She jinxed herself by thinking this was just gonna be a simple retrieval mission. Why on earth did she have to get a prophecy? This is just one big complicated mess after another. 

-|-

Charlie shows up to work with designer eyebags deeper than the Grand Canyon, less energy than she thought was physically possible, and less patience for the lemon balm attempting to murder her. Dr. Ivy does the usual ‘I don’t care about you but I secretly do’ song and dance- giving her concerned glances whenever she thinks she isn’t looking at her shoving another muffin vaguely in her direction. 

She ties her apron around her neck and tries not to sway where she stands. She’s getting about half as much sleep as she needs, less than half the food she’s used to, and is in a sort of war with her neighbor in which he tries to feed her and she tries to figure out if he’s trying to murder her. She’s still not entirely sure if he’s a serial killer looking to eat her brains because he’s a zombie yet or not. She’ll get around to figuring out how to get him asleep around her to fix his weird silly putty soul eventually, once she’s not dead on her feet… 

“Why don’t you organize the back today?” Dr. Ivy says. Her voice is flat, like usual, but the way the plants around her sway toward her portrays her nervousness. Which, fair. Charlie probably looks like the walking dead right now. Probably not the best idea to be lugging around breakable plant pots and checking things that are actually important for research. Sleep deprivation and highly sensitive research don’t tend to mix well (as learned from experience in Cabin Nine with a lot of fire). 

“Aye aye, captain,” She says before her brain can catch up with her mouth. She tries very hard not to feel embarrassed about the childish response, slipping into the back instead. 

Rows of fertilizer, homemade and store-bought, various watering cans, testing tubes, science-looking vials, notebooks, textbooks, boxes of various junk, gardening tools- all sorts of things that are in a perpetual state of mess. All things that are always needing a good organization because keeping it tidy is just about impossible. 

It takes more effort than it usually does to lug around giant bags of dirt and fertilizer. She’s stronger than humans ought to be, what with being a demigod and all, but she picks up a bag of dirt, sways on her feet, and nearly stumbles head-first into a glass case full of seedlings. Her stomach growls its protest despite having lunch only a few hours ago. She glares at it. 

“If you wanted more food, you would’ve stopped protesting when I tried to keep eating during lunch today,” She grumbles at it. She sets the bag of dirt down in the corner, where the dirt is technically supposed to go but somehow never ends up. Her shoulders scream in protest when she straightens out, letting her know that she’s one too long without taking a breezy flight around. She’s about ready to say ‘fuck it’ and risk being shot down by a Bat to just get out there and stretch her wings a little. 

Instead of risking her life over some stiff shoulders, however, she turns back to the shelves and starts organizing test tubes. Her vision is probably a little too blurry to be normal, but she can smell the differences enough to organize them. She hardly reads the labels anyway, what with her dyslexia pairing up with Dr. Ivy’s atrocious handwriting. Dr. Ivy’s not a medical doctor, but she might as well be for all that her handwriting is legible. 

A Peace Lily, apparently a flower Dr. Ivy’s looking after for a friend, leans over to her invitingly when she brushes past. She pets its leaves for a moment, giving it some attention before she returns to her work. Lugging boxes, organizing random bottles, and putting plants in their proper spots is easy work. Perfectly easy, and not at all difficult. Compared to scooping out the pegasus stables, this is basically a vacation. 

Of course, between stiff shoulders, lack of sleep, and lack of food, it’s miserable. She’s trying not to cry the whole time. Gods, this sucks. Why couldn’t the stupid prophecy make her out to be someone benevolent so she could risk having a buddy on this mission? 

She complains to the Peace Lily while she works just so she has someone to talk to. It doesn’t seem to mind, so she gives it a piece of her leftover lunch meat on her way out, burying it in the dirt for it. Dr. Ivy might not appreciate the smell before the flower manages to eat it, but ah well. Can’t smell worse than that time they got a shipment from the cow farm to make their own fertilizer. 

-|-

Homework is another source of stress. As a demigod attempting to stop a potentially world-ending threat, Charlie really thinks she ought to have a free pass on homework while she’s in school. Unfortunately for her, explaining any of that to one of her teachers is a one-way ticket to Arkham Asylum and out of Gotham Prep. And she can’t just not turn in homework- she’ll get kicked out that way too. 

So she’s stuck hunched over her foldout table, glaring at her homework and the letters floating off the page, trying to figure out what the fuck her English teacher is asking her to do. It’s been an hour of the same assignment that was supposed to take her fifteen minutes, according to the teacher. But this teacher blatantly ignored her request for an audio file instead and now she’s stuck trying to figure out what she’s even supposed to be writing about . 

Homework sucks. She wants to bang her head into the wall until she can pass out from the force. It doesn’t help that she’s struggling to keep her eyes open, that the pastry Dr. Ivy shoved into her hands didn’t so much as take the edge off her hunger, that she still has a long night ahead of her filled with running around Gotham like a headless chicken. 

She squints at the words on the page in front of her. Is it asking for an essay on ‘Personhood’? That can’t be right. A poem? That also feels weird considering the lecture was on identity. Should she just write an essay on identity and pray that it’s the right thing to turn in? Maybe she can text Tim and beg for help? But she’s trying pretty hard to closen up their friendship and teach him about the mythology world by treating it like an interest. Relying on him won’t do any good right now. 

Independent by nature. Crime Alley kid through and through. 

She groans, slamming her forehead against her table. She’s not going to be doing well in this class, is she? Let’s hope her Greek Mythology grade and Psychology grade are enough to carry her GPA through the semester. Who thought she’d be dealing with school again? Certainly not her. 

-|-

It’s lunchtime, now. Charlie’s stuffing her face with chicken and bread and anything that she could fit on her plate with one hand, using the other hand to muddle through a Psychology paper. She understands psychology really well. The lecture was easy for her. The essay writing? Not so much. She’s pretty sure she’s spelling every other word incorrectly, but she can’t fix it at this point because she has psychology next period and that's when this essay is supposed to be due. 

“Uh, you good?” Duke asks hesitantly. She looks up at him. 

What a sight she must make. Eyebags, bloodshot eyes, messy hair, stuffing her face like she hasn’t eaten in days, glaring at her paper like it killed her family, and trying to pretend that she hasn’t connected the dots on who the rest of the people at the table’s alternate identities are. “Dandy,” She replies flatly. 

She turns back to her essay. “Dyslexia just sucks. I’ve been trying to tell my teachers that I need audio recordings and prefer video essays, but they hate me. Hey, Tim, think any of them might be a Fury?” Prodding to see if he remembers the Mythomagic card, mostly. She doesn’t genuinely believe any of her teachers are Greek monsters- they’re regular old American-branded monsters. 

Tim, unfortunately, doesn’t rise to the bait. He also just looks concerned for her. “You know if you requested accommodations and they aren’t giving them to you, that’s illegal. They can get into a lot of trouble for that.” 

She waves her hand in dismissal, stuffing a roll of bread in her mouth instead of answering him. Technically, he’s right. Also technically, she shouldn’t be a student. Trying to crack down on them would mean people might call Mr. Wayne and if he realizes that he’s paying for a student in a scholarship section that definitely didn’t exist a couple of weeks ago, he’s going to flip out. And she’ll get kicked out. Maybe arrested for being a meta, what with him being Batman and all. (And the fraud, but she’s used to being wanted for fraud at this point so that hardly matters.) 

Whatever. Homework sucks, everything sucks, that’s just how it is. People don’t tend to take people like her into account anyway, she’s used to it by now. This isn’t any worse than her old schools. 

-|-

Very technically, Charlie could ask for help. Ask for cash from camp so she can quit her job and get some more sleep. Ask for Nico and Will to come up as official partners on this quest, get their help with work and homework and tracking down the weird Mist at night. Ask for anything but let herself crumble more and more under the stress of everything she needs to uphold. But- well. That’s not feasible for someone like her. 

Asking for help isn’t something she can do. Not like this. Not when the prophecy itself basically called her a monster. She doesn’t want people to be afraid of her, she doesn’t want to be seen as different - she doesn’t want to lose everything that she managed to gain at camp, that she’s held so closely to her chest all this time. 

Movie nights. Helping some of the other campers fall asleep when their insomnia gets to them. Gardening with the Demeter kids. Staying up late with the Dionysus kids, drinking diet coke and laughing about leopard print shirts. Painting with the Iris kids, trying to not stare at a particular other camper. Archery with the Apollo kids where she misses almost every shot but she can laugh because it doesn’t matter. 

Everything . Everything would be gone if people thought she was a monster, realized just how easily she could flatten a city or murder thousands of people. She sees the way people look at the big three kids, she sees the fear and the avoidance. And it would be so much worse because it’s a prophecy calling her a monster, something so definitive instead of just the potential . 

So lost in thought about how awful she feels, she isn’t fully aware of her surroundings. Not something that anyone in Crime Alley can usually afford, but she’s always been a bit of a special case. She’s too tired, too hungry, too everything to realize that she’s being cornered in an alleyway until it’s too late. 

A gun is pointed at her head. One guy pointing the gun, two to the sides. The two off to the sides have knives held loosely in their grips, clearly not expecting any kind of resistance considering the whole gun situation. She stares tiredly up at the gunman, trying not to fall asleep on her feet. That would… probably make the muggers feel bad about their whole setup, at the very least. 

“Hand over your backpack. Empty it out on the ground, quickly now,” The mugger orders, grinning confidently. Not their first rodeo, but also his safety on the gun is still on. She really ought to listen to what he says, still. Exhausted like this, the fight is definitely not gonna turn out pretty. 

“Look, dude, I’m exhausted. I stayed out too late and I have about three hours of sleep to look forward to before I have to go to sleep. The only thing I have in my backpack is homework I’d really rather not get dirty and a half-eaten bagel. I don’t carry cash on me because I’m not stupid. Can we just move along?” She tries. She doesn’t expect much. 

She doesn’t get much. 

“Take those fancy bracelets off, then. Backpack too, since I don’t believe a word out of your mouth, shitstain,” The man orders gruffly. Glaring. Not impressed at all by her clear exhaustion and the fact that she doesn’t, in fact, carry any of her money around like an idiot. Nobody born and raised in the Alley is that stupid. The bracelets are also very much not worth anything. Any pawn shop would tell them that they’re fake, even if they’re worth more than gold or jewels. 

“These were a gift from my uncle.” She brings a hand up to twist at one of her bracelets, looking down at it blankly. Stalling because she sees a figure on the roof that looks suspiciously like Red Hood? Yes, yes she is. “I’m pretty sure it’s painted iron and a marble. He doesn’t have a whole lot of money.” Sorry Uncle Thanatos. “And, again, I really don’t want to dump my backpack. It’s got my homework in it. Shit took me like four hours. And I still haven’t finished it all.” 

Crack!

Her head snaps to the side with the force of the blow. The man had grown impatient with her words, swinging his hand down and hitting her across the face with his gun. Hard. Not hard enough to crack bone, but definitely hard enough that she’s going to have a nasty bruise within the hour. She lets out a sharp hiss of pain, clenching her teeth together. 

“Bitch, if you don’t-” 

His words are cut off by a yelp of fear. Red Hood lands in the alley, taking out the man with the gun with a swift kick to the head, sending the gun flying down the alley. She takes several steps back, trying to keep out of his way. Unfortunately, in the half a moment it takes him to deal with one of the guys with a knife, the other guy manages to grab the gun, gets the safety off, and starts firing. 

Most of the bullets miss anything. He’s clearly not used to a gun, and clearly not having a fun time shooting. One skids off Red Hood- a bulletproof vest? And then another fires against the dumpster to the man's left and- 

Burning . Racing up her side, pouring through her veins like lava, forcing a choked gasp out of her throat, she pins a hand to her side and leans against the wall- that motherfucker shot her!  

Fuck this. Fuck those muggers, fuck her lack of sleep and food, and fuck Crime Alley. She does not have the energy for this. 

Red Hood deals with him swiftly. She can’t bother paying attention to him, what with the graze on her side. Definitely not the worst injury she’s had, not even worse than some of the ones she gets from capture the flag, but it still hurts . A lot . She hisses, pressing her hand solidly against the injury to stop the blood flow as much as she can and wincing when it sends spikes of pain up through her body. 

Shit. This is definitely going to need stitches if she wants it to actually heal overnight. 

“Are you okay?” Red Hood asks, voice robotic and warbled from his mask. He stalks over to her quickly, hands outstretched as if to check on her. She shrinks back a little, protecting her injured side from his outstretched hands. Grabby hands and a grimy alley never tend to end very well. 

“Dandy,” She responds harshly. She’s been doing that a lot lately. Maybe she’s not actually doing so good. Maybe she’ll get Tim to start buying her dinner on Batman’s credit card or something- she hates Batman enough to not feel guilty about it. 

Despite hiding her injury, Red Hood spots it because he’s not an idiot and she’s bleeding all over the ground. “Damnit. Alright, that doesn’t look too deep, but we’re going to need to go to the hospital.” He grabs a phone from one of his pants pockets, already tapping at it to presumably call an ambulance or something. She, intelligently, slaps his phone away. 

“Uh.” He turns to her. Okay, that’s fine, she just slapped the phone out of Red Hood’s hands. AKA the sort of crime lord sort of vigilante that watches over Crime Alley. This is still salvageable. Maybe. Didn’t he cut people's heads off and put them in a duffel bag? Don’t think about that. “No self-respecting Crime Alley kid goes to the hospital over an injury this itty bitty. It’s just a graze. I have a first aid kit at home, I’ll be fine,” She bites out. Okay, not the best move, but whatever. 

Red Hood stares at her for a good long while. Debating murdering her? Last she heard he doesn’t kill kids, but maybe slapping his phone out of his hand was the final straw for him. Certainly not a move that she’s proud of in hindsight, but between sleep deprivation and now blood loss, she’s pretty sure she’s never making a smart decision again. 

“...Alright,” He finally says. She almost passes out from relief. “But I’m taking you. And patching you up with your first aid kit. Come on, kid.” He extends his arms- not too quickly, and not too close, but inviting her to lean her weight up against him. 

She squints. Okay. If he’s trying to murder her or kidnap her, there’s not a whole lot she can do in this situation. She’s bleeding a whole lot, she’s exhausted, and she’s trying to figure out if Jason’ll be gone at work yet so she can accept his food for the second time and risk being poisoned. Whatever. She leans into him, letting him wrap one of her arms around his shoulders to support her weight. 

“Come on, kid,” He says. He starts leading her out of the alleyway, letting her keep her hand pressed over the injury. 

She glares at the trail of blood she’s leaving behind. Hopefully, nobody gets their hands on that. Demigod blood tends to do weird under tests after they realize they’re a demigod and the Mist stops helping them cover it up. “Name’s Karlie,” She lies to Red Hood. 

“Karlie,” He echoes, nodding his head. 

They start the awkward shuffle towards her apartment. Luckily they’re not far, so she doesn’t just risk it and start patching herself up in the middle of one of the grimy alleys. She points out which building is hers, and he all but carries her up the stairs. It takes a bit of shuffling to get her key out of her pocket and into the socket, and at some point she realizes her fingers are too slick with blood to turn it, so Red Hood takes over for her. 

Okay. Just letting some random crime lord slash vigilante into her home. That’s totally cool and not at all a decision influenced by the fact that she’s seeing triple right now, which is an increase from the usual double she sees. 

She jerks her thumb towards her bathroom, and he drags her over. He sets her on her toilet seat, digs around under her sink until he finds her first aid kit, and then sets it on the counter. “Why are you trusting me into your apartment?” He asks as he pops the lid open. A certifiable Will-approved first aid kit. 

“Red Hood doesn’t hurt kids,” She responds. Hopes. She thinks that’s what he said, and she hopes that being rude isn’t enough to tip the scales on that front. She squints at him when he rifles through, looking for supplies for patching something like this up. 

His soul… 

Okay. Okay, that’s fine. Whatever. This is fine. Her neighbor is apparently Red Hood. Jason, the weird next-door neighbor who keeps offering her maybe-poisoned food, is the crime lord vigilante of Crime Alley. That’s fine. Isn’t any worse than finding out about Tim’s secret identity. She can live with this. Whatever. Probably not going to eat her brains, at least. Maybe. 

Deliberately going to ignore that, she rolls her shirt up and tucks it into her bra to reveal the injury. Really just a graze, but big enough to definitely need stitches. She frowns at it leaking blood all over her pants and shirt. She’s definitely going to have a field day scrubbing the blood out of both articles of clothing. Then repairing the rip in her tank top. 

Red Hood holds up cleaning supplies, stitches supplies, topical antibiotics, and bandages. The little white eyes of his mask narrow at the extensive collection. “You get shot frequently?” He asks, setting all the items out on the counter and starting the process of cleaning the wound. She hisses when the alcohol wipe hits, but stays perfectly still. 

“Not shot,” She denies. She squeezes her eyes shut and holds perfectly still- she’s gotten good at it after being the test guinea pig one too many times for new Apollo kids learning how to do stitches. “I get stabbed pretty frequently though. A summer camp I work at likes to have sword lessons sometimes, and some of the kids don’t take the safety rules very seriously.” 

She twitches a little when the needle enters her skin, but she manages to stay perfectly still otherwise. Red Hood lets out a surprised little huff. “Sounds like a dangerous summer camp. Why do they give kids real swords?” He asks conversationally. Clearly attempting to distract her. She doesn’t need it, but it’s nice not to focus on the feeling of thread winding through her skin. 

“The camp director, Mr. D, believes in learning on your feet,” She explains softly. She lets out a quiet hiss when he accidentally tugs on the wound, and he gives a soft apology. “Something about always being prepared. Works, too. After getting stabbed one too many times by the kids I’m looking after, I’ve gotten good at avoiding regular criminals.” 

Red Hood hums, shifts a little, nodding maybe. “Gothams weird, I imagine even Gotham summer camps are weird.” She doesn’t mention that it’s in New York- let him believe what he wants to. “Didn’t help you much today, though.” 

“Tired,” She explains. “Haven’t been sleeping well. Busy.” Red Hood ties off the knot of the stitches, so she cracks an eye open and inspects his work. Not as neat as Will’s stitches, but definitely neater than any of the kids she’s allowed to take a needle to her skin. “Thanks.” She continues sitting still while he presses the gauze to her side and tapes it in place, nodding a little. 

“Anytime. It was the end of my patrol anyways,” He says easily. Probably lying, but she won’t call him out on it. He cleans up, throwing the garbage away and setting the other stuff back into the bin. She rolls down her shut and gently rests her hand against her side. She’ll dig her ambrosia out later and hopefully sleep as much of this injury off as she can. It won’t be totally gone tomorrow with how little time she has to sleep but-

“What’s this?” She looks up at the sharp tone of Red Hood’s voice, almost flinching at just how serious he suddenly is. In his hands is- a Ziploc baggie of ambrosia. Fuck she forgot that was in there. How does one explain that? Magical cubes that taste like store-bought cookie dough with curry powder on it? Healing shit? 

‘Magic’ never goes over well when she brings it into the conversation. Is she panicking? She feels like she’s panicking. She’s exhausted, shot, dealing with the discovery that her weird serial killer zombie neighbor is apparently also a crime lord, and debating if she cares enough to not accept food from him. She does not have the brain power to come up with an excuse that makes any kind of sense without adding ‘magic’. 

“Drugs,” Comes out of her mouth. She blinks. Red Hood blinks. Well. That was… an explanation that she can technically use. “I mean, it’s Crime Alley. It’s just edibles, nothing hard.” Doubling down isn’t helping her much, but she’s already committed so it’s too late to back out now. 

“You… admitted that easily,” He says slowly. 

She shrugs, then instantly regrets the motion when it tugs at her stitches. “I mean, it’s nothing hard and I don’t use them too often. And you’re a sorta-kinda crime lord. Figured you’d understand.” Can’t be worse than the heads and duffel bag thing, if she’s remembering it right. 

Red Hood chuckles . “Alright, kid, sure. Whatever.” He sets the baggy back into her first aid box, clearly somewhat reluctantly. “Get a lot of sleep, alright? Red meat, too.” She doesn’t have the courage to tell him she’s lucky if she eats more than a meal and a half a day. 

“Yes sir,” She responds, giving a mock salute. Not the strangest interaction of the week, but definitely up there. 

-|-

A very stressed-out Jason Todd squints at his computer. “How to help the teenager you’re trying to adopt stop being addicted to drugs” stares back at him from the search bar. 

-|-

Charlie, unintelligently, makes a lot of bad decisions after Red Hood leaves for the night. Too exhausted to care about unburying her first aid kit and digging through it to find the ambrosia, she just opts for dragging herself to her mattress and passing out. She gets three hours of sleep, which is enough to make it so she’s unlikely to pull open her bullet wound but that’s about it. 

Not enough sleep, not enough food, and then running late so she doesn’t have time to grab some ambrosia for the road, and she’s dealing with most of a bullet injury. Not ideal for school or things like being friends with vigilante detectives. Not great detectives, but detectives nonetheless. 

She squints a little bit too long at Jason the next morning when they pass each other in the hall of their apartment. Tries not to cry when the bus drives over six potholes in a row and tugs at each individual stitch. Thanks the gods that she has gym ‘next semester’. Ignores Tim’s burning gaze when she slumps into Greek Mythology and tries not to pass out on her desk. 

Making it through the day is difficult. She’s only about half aware of everything happening around her, stuck between a spot that’s zoned out and so zoned in she can intimately feel each thread rubbing against her skin. It hurts, is what she’s trying to say. And it sucks. 

Charlie eats lunch. Probably. Her stomach isn’t rumbling anymore, which usually means she’s eaten, but she can’t really remember actually eating. She probably attends her other classes because her backpack is heavier in a way that promises she’s going to cry over her homework tonight. She doesn’t take the bus home, for some reason. 

She’s in a car? The thought should make her more panicky because she doesn’t recognize the car, but Tim’s sat next to her so it’s fine. She doesn’t fall asleep on the drive to… wherever they’re going. Did he convince her into the car? How did that happen? When did that happen? She’s a little too tired to care right now. 

“It’s okay,” Tim’s voice says. It sounds a little far away like she’s underwater or something. She stops struggling with the door handle, which appears to be child-locked. Huh, when did she start doing that? 

There’s a hand on hers. It’s cool, cool like her sibling’s hands are cool. It reminds her of the cool hands of Dad, or of her Uncle, instead of the warm hands of someone like Bryan who tends to hurt her. She squints at the hand, trying to figure out if it’s a sibling or a god. It’s pale, so not the twins or her dad. Could it be Nico? Or Clovis? (Or her uncle if she’s hallucinating too?)

She’s not fully awake. She’s in that weird middle ground that sometimes happens when she’s injured enough or tired enough. She thinks she’s both this time. She doesn’t fully register that she’s speaking until the words are already out of her mouth. “Uncle?” Her voice mumbles without permission from her brain. 

For some reason, the hand stiffens. She frowns. Not Uncle Thanatos, then. Clovis? That feels weird, for some reason. What’s he doing here? Where is here? Things are still sort of fuzzy and far away, like she’s not totally aware of everything. It feels strange for him to be here, but also… also so warm and welcomed that she doesn’t want to let go of the idea. 

At some point, she gets out of the car. She’s on a couch? There’s a plate of food in front of her. Her stomach was growling, wasn’t it? She eats, even if it might be Jason’s-maybe-poison food. She’s too hungry to care, between weeks without proper food and an injury to heal in her side. The plate disappears at some point, to the gods know where, and she ends up with a blanket over her shoulders and a pillow under her head. 

She hasn’t been this comfortable and warm since leaving camp. Her apartment doesn’t have any heat, so she’s always a little bit cold there. This must be camp, then. And if she’s allowed to sleep without being mocked, it’s definitely her cabin. There’s no rambunctious kids running around, so the twins must be gone. And the soft scent of lemon-poppyseed muffins that follows her father is absent, so it must just be her and Clovis. 

Clovis’ hand brushes through her hair, gently cupping her face while avoiding her scar. She nuzzles forward- it’s not often that the older boy is willing to show affection outside of the dream world, and she’ll take what she can get. 

“G’night, Clovis,” She mumbles sleepily. 

-|-

Charlie bolts upright. This is not cabin fifteen. This is not cabin fifteen because this is a living room. A very expensive-looking living room. One that she’s never seen in her life, and one she definitely shouldn’t have fallen asleep in so easily. 

The window tells her that it’s at least a couple of hours after school. Gods, she’s so late for her shift. She’s in a stranger's house, maybe kidnapped, maybe here willingly she cannot remember, and she’s so late for her shift. This is awful . Gods awful. Is there a god she can blame for this? When in doubt, blame Zeus. Internally of course, out loud tends to end in things like being horribly murdered and sent to Tartarus for eternity. 

But the aching injury in her side is just that- aching. Not stinging, not crying, not sobbing- just aching. Half-healed. It’ll be gone by tomorrow if she remembers to eat some ambrosia tonight. The nap really did help, as did the food she ate at some point which might’ve been from Jason might’ve been from some other magical source that she doesn’t remember. This really is a comfortable place to nap. Too bad this house is clearly too nice for a street rat like her. 

She swings her legs off the side of the couch. She’s still wearing her shoes, which makes her soul leave her body for a moment. Shoes on the couch ? Who let her do this!? She’s going to kill Tim, or whoever kidnapped her. She thinks Duke and Steph were there too? And Clovis and Uncle Thanatos, but that was probably just her hallucinating. 

“Ms. Graves,” A voice calls out. She whips her head around, coming face to face with- an old man. A British butler. Who looks very stereotypical, and if she wasn’t so attuned to her dreaming state, she might question if she was still asleep. 

“Uh, it’s Greens now. And you can just call me Charlie,” She replies hesitantly. Is this a vivid hallucination brought on by blood loss and sleep deprivation? Definitely not. She’s too aware for that. Plus, Hypnos kids tend to cause hallucinations, not the other way around. 

“Ms. Charlie,” The butler agrees, nodding his head. She’d like to ask him to drop the ‘Ms.’ bit too, but she’s pretty sure that’s not going to happen. “I’m Alfred Pennyworth, the butler here. I take it you had a good nap?” 

A good nap. Her hair is completely tussled to one side, there’s drool leaking down one side of her mouth, she has sheet indents all over the side of her face, and she’s not sure she’s slept that well in weeks . “Fine. Uh, thanks.” Gingerly, she stands up and tries not to sway too much on her feet. “Can I ask where I am? I was- uh, pretty out of it.” 

Alfred nods, smiling pleasantly. “This is the Wayne manor. Master Tim brought you here out of concern for your health. Would you like to stay for dinner?” Well, that makes sense. She probably looked half dead when he dragged her here, so Mr. Wayna AKA Batman was probably willing to look past her street rat appearance to give her mercy. (That tune would change very quickly if she started doing fun things like healing injuries overnight in front of him or releasing her wings for a good stretch.) 

“Sorry, but I have work,” She replies, somewhat hesitantly. She grabs her bag, luckily next to the couch, and offers Alfred a smile. “Thanks for the nap. And the food, I think. Could you tell Tim that I had to go?” 

“Of course. He’ll be sad he missed you.” Good, she’s not being held hostage. Which was only slightly a concern, but enough of one that she had that worry in the back of her mind. She wouldn’t put it past Tim ‘I stalked Batman for several years after finding out his identity’ Drake. 

“Thanks again, Mr. Alfred.” 

“Just Alfred,” He responds. Which she’s not going to do. “Why don’t you take these for the road? I’m sure it’ll make Master Tim feel better.” 

A tin of food, cookies maybe, gets shoved into her hands before she can respond or pull her hands away. Forcefully polite, alright. “Cool,” She manages. 

This was definitely one of the weirder afternoons she’s had.

At least Dr. Ivy isn’t mad about her being late. Even offers to let her nap at work sometimes if she’s tired enough after hearing the story- something she will not be doing, thank you very much. 

-|-

Bat-Chat

Red Robin: I think her uncle’s definitely someone we should investigate

Also I got a name

‘Clovis’, I think from the cult

Oracle: On it. But there isn’t much I can do with just a first name.

Chapter Text

Charlie remembers more in memories written in blood and aches in her bones the battles she’s been forced to fight since coming to Camp Half-Blood than anything tangible within her head. Battles against monsters, against mighty and ancient creatures, against titans and primordials that teenagers should’ve never been in charge of in the first place. More than a lot of things in this world she’s grateful that June and Cal came so late- came at the end of the battle against Gaea, came before they had to experience war. 

When June and Cal first arrived at camp, they were just as shut off as she had been. She remembers seeing that sign appear above them the moment she flew up to the two who’d stumbled into the camp, half-dead with only a map clutched in their hands with directions on where to go. Covered in dirt and grime, blood and soaked to the bone, shivering from both the cold and fear. A poppy flower cupped in pure white wings, carefully floating above both of them. 

She remembers reaching for a hug. No, that’s not quite right- she’d hit the ground, suddenly unable to keep herself in the air, and she remembers stumbling forward. Her only sibling was Clovis at that point. She’d lived through two wars, too much for a teenager to go through, and had seen two new younger siblings with his symbol in so much pain that it just broke her heart - 

But when she reached out, to bring them closer, to hug them, to treat their injuries- June and Cal had flinched away. Cal had cowered, hunched in on himself, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes and looking so small that she’d nearly started crying too. June had covered him with her body, almost as if she’d been expecting a blow. (Achingly familiar. The way they cowered, the way they braced for her hands to hurt , the haunted look in their eyes. Familiar .)

Half-bloods never have an easy life. They always have to deal with the trauma of one of their parents being absent, they always have to deal with monsters, and they fairly rarely make it past the age of eighteen. But sometimes- sometimes monsters aren’t just monsters you find in story books, fanciful drawings with wings and scales and teeth. Sometimes monsters look like friends, are supposed to take care of you, are supposed to be your parent . 

When she has too much time to think, her brain supplies images of their first encounter without much prompting. Of how June covering Cal and glaring with the might of someone who’s been protecting for a very long time had looked so familiar . It made her think of her, young and scared, ushering Tim out the window of her house while Bryan stomped home after a bad day of work. It made her think of cowering on the floor of the kitchen in her apartment, clutching a stinging cheek and bearing shouted words. It made her think of so many with stories so familiar . 

It made her think of just how small she was at that age. Just how small those two were. 

June and Cal took ages to trust her and Clovis. So long, in fact, that she’d started to worry that it would never happen. She’d shared her own dreams, her darkest secrets, kept her distance, let them have any space or comfort they needed- and slowly, ever so slowly, it worked. They trusted in her, in her own brokenness, and her own understanding. 

Right now, Apple stares at her from its spot on the windowsill. A little old, a little ratty, and covered in patches and rough sewing jobs to fix it. A little bit of blood that she’d gotten on its leg from her bullet injury and had attempted to scrub out and had been mostly successful. A symbol, as shabby and ordinary as can be. 

Tim deserves a family just like the one she managed to build at Camp Half-Blood. He deserves siblings, he deserves love, he deserves everything - not just whatever weird family dynamic comes from Bruce ‘I adopt anyone with black hair and blue eyes’ Wayne. She’s sure it can’t be a good one, not with the way Tim is still hiding bruises under his sleeves and still wandering the halls of their school with eyebags like he still goes out at night. 

The Red Robin thing isn’t earning old Brucie any points. Who lets a child become a vigilante? 

(In fairness, all the adults she regularly has in her life let her run into an honest-to-the-gods war as a teenager. They have the excuse of being assholes though. Mr. D especially.) 

She sighs. The only way to get Tim back to his family is to get clues on what exactly is happening and slowly introduce him to the idea of the magical world. She can’t just drop him into the deep end. That means no dwelling on memories, that means no moping over how hard homework is, that means no nothing . She needs to get up off her ass and get to work, no matter how exhausted she is. 

Cabin Nine approved phone shoved into the pocket of her jeans, three layers of pants to combat the cold, tank top because she has no self-preservation, and her backpack with her emergency kit. After the last incident, she’s not taking any chances this time. The chances of getting caught up in a rouge attack are far too high for her tastes. The native Gothamite in her shudders at the idea of willingly walking towards one of those freaks. 

(The demigod in her laughs and argues; what does the Joker have over Kronos ? ) 

Charlie leaves her apartment later than she’d intended after getting so thoroughly distracted in memories of old. An unfortunately common occurrence for those in Cabin Fifteen. She starts her usual walk, notebook held open in front of her and pencil perched. 

Following where the Mist takes her usually leads to an uneventful night, except for the few she actually manages to find something. 

Tonight, the Mist leads her down winding alleys and trashed streets, further and further from Crime Alley. She ends up in the Boweries; still not a great part of town, but technically she could run across vigilantes other than Red Hood tonight. Or at least see them from a distance and go ‘huh neat’. The Mist is feeling particularly weird tonight, so she can only hope that the others are out. It’s shaping up to feel like a rogue attack (again). 

While she follows, she notes the streets it covers and idly thinks over who might be Tim’s godly parent. Considering the whole Red Robin thing, maybe Nike? Goddess of victory and all that. He’s pretty into tech, though, so Hephaestus is on the list. Once they leave Gotham, it’ll take a bit for the weird Mist in Gotham to fall off him so that his godly parents can notice him, realize he exists, realize how late they are, and fix everything by claiming him. 

Her dad didn’t even know she existed until a while after she arrived at camp, after all. And he’s usually pretty involved in his kid's lives. A real shock to poor Clovis who’d been waiting on baby twins to eventually show up, not a whole nine-year-old who cursed like a sailor and threatened him with a pocket knife the moment they got shoved into the same corner of the Hermes Cabin on air mattresses. 

Drawn out of her thoughts, the patch of weird Mist seems to crescendo around her. She stops for a moment, sniffing the air. Is that… the distinct scent of wafting Fear Toxin? Hm. Scarecrow? That would explain not only the sickly feeling but the paranoia creeping up her spine too. Is this a situation she wants to run into? Probably not. Is this a situation she’s going to run into anyway? Yeah, probably. Unfortunately. Any self-preservation instincts she could pretend she had before coming to Camp Half-Blood were officially dashed the first time she climbed onto the lava rock wall. 

Should make for interesting notes, at the very least. 

-|-

Predictably, Charlie gets taken hostage. The other hostages are acting a whole lot more normal about this situation and freaking out a little bit. Probably something to do with the long-lasting effects of getting dosed with Fear Toxin (ie. going crazy), but she honestly couldn’t care less. Her nose is firmly buried in her notebook. 

More interesting than a rogue she can hardly remember anything about, this is basically confirmation that the weird Mist is tied to the weird rogues and villains in Gotham! Hurrah for that. It’s always been sort of an oddity for why this city has just so many weirdo villains. If something is happening in terms of strange magic, that would actually make a lot of sense for why everything got so weird some years ago. 

(Have always been a little weird, but they got really bad a bit ago. Like, sure, tap water hasn’t been drinkable in, like, two hundred years, but there wasn’t a bat-themed vigilante that people liked because he was considered the sanest night crawler.) 

Tying back to the prophecy, ‘ In the city with chaotic claw’s grip,’ that would imply that the ‘wretched’ thing’s grip that’s causing this is… chaotic? Chaotic results? It seems almost like odd word choice. Considering the whole slumbering thing, plus ‘wretched’ and ‘chaotic’ it’s got to be a big bad. Titans and Gea’s kind of already off the list of suspects, so who else could it be? 

…No. No, it’s not allowed to be another Primordial, because this mission was supposed to be simple and she can’t have jinxed herself that badly. That would be astronomical levels of bad jinxing. 

But- but Chaos being at fault here would make a terrifying amount of sense that she really doesn’t want to think about. 

If it were Chaos slowly waking up underneath Gotham and messing around as he wakes up, it would be… really fucking bad . 

And it would make sense . All the rogues are chaotic and insane, the prophecy lines up with the whole ‘chaotic’ and ‘wretched’ shtick, he should be asleep but with Primordials waking up recently it doesn’t seem to really be a thing that sticks, but- 

But it can’t be. Gaea waking up was a huge deal. Seven-person prophecy kind of big deal with a bunch of other helpers and like a million children of the big three. If this is another Primordial and she’s alone out here- 

No. No, it’s not Chaos. It can’t be. It can’t, because that would be insane, and that would not be something she can deal with. Chaos is a whole primordial god . One of the big guys , like the beginning of time big guys. Way outside her pay grade. Outside her skillset. Outside of something she could ever conceivably deal with. 

So it’s not Chaos, and that’s the end of that. 

(…She still marks it down in her notebook just in case. Begrudgingly.)

In her focus on her notebook, however, she’s missed a lot of information on whatever Scarecrow’s far less important goal is for the day. He has a big old barrel of Fear Toxin that’s open on the top, not conducive for anyone’s health, and all of the hostages around her are freaking out. It’s probably not helping that the fumes are starting to make there way over here and even just the fumes are enough to make people freak out. 

Can’t she have her internal freak-out about how Gotham is definitely not housing an asleep primordial god slowly waking up beneath it in peace, please? 

Anxiety rises all around her. Someone starts having a panic attack, someone else tries to calm them down, but it’s ineffective when they start having a panic attack too. Just the fumes aren’t enough to make someone go crazy or anything, but it’s more than enough to cause general chaos. 

Or- general mayhem. She’s just… just gonna avoid that word for now. 

And, unfortunately for her, being a demigod doesn’t make her immune to chemicals. It should, or at least she often talks about how it should, but all the soap opera drama she deals with doesn’t come with that perk. 

Fear claws up her throat in a way she knows is chemically induced but can’t talk herself down from regardless. She shoves her notebook into her bag, fists her hands around the straps, and forces breaths into her rattling lungs. She’s squeezing the straps of her backpack so hard her knuckles are starting to creak. Sweat beads down her forehead, her chest feels like it’s caving in on itself, scared-scared-scared-

Charlie is scared. Charlie is terrified . Her shoulders ache and groan with the urge to rip her wings from her back and take flight, get anywhere away from here . At camp when she’s scared, when she’s so sick with anxiety that she feels like she’s dying , she can fly away. She can fly as far as she can go, hide away at the top of a tree, and stay there until everything feels right again . 

( Fly away little birdy. )

If I fly away, Batman will capture me. He’ll lock me up in a cage and throw me out of Gotham and I’ll never be able to help Tim find his family. The thought, unbidden, strikes through her head. Instead of her backpack straws, her hands wind around her arms, digging into her skin. 

She has to get Tim to his family, that’s her only goal here. She can’t fail because of- because of some measly Fear Toxin . 

What is this? Some random chemical made by a rouge in Gotham. She’s a Gothamite, born and raised, Crime Alley no less. The thought doesn’t help, not even a little bit, but it’s enough for her to bury her head in her knees instead of letting her wings loose on her back. She has too much to lose here, too much that could fall apart if she showed any hint of being different . (Of being Meta, a part of her mind whispers, of being someone Batman hates .) 

Shouting. Hits. She can’t tell if it’s the start of the hallucinations or if it’s real. She can’t get herself to look up from her knees, so maybe it doesn’t matter anyway. This feels like hell. This feels like that time she was forced into armor and told that they’d be fighting against armies of monsters in a matter of hours. This feels like everything is falling down around her, but there’s not a thing in the world she can do to stop it. 

At least then, she had a spear in her grip. At least then, she had Clovis at her side and wings sprawling out her back. At least then, she could lift her chin, look forward, and announce to the world that “I am a child of Hypnos and I will fight this battle!”  

Here, now, she is nothing. She is Charlie, but only at school and work. Half the time she’s Karlie, and she’s never Charlie Graves anymore. She’s never Charlie Graves, child of Hypnos. She’s never Charlie, Clovis’ sister. She’s never Charlie, June and Cal’s older sister. She’s never assistant head to the Hypnos Cabin or one of the best at finding the runaway pegasus’ or one of their fastest messengers or- 

She is alone and she can’t do a thing about it because of a stupid damned by the gods furry . 

Her nails dig into her arms. It grounds her. The celestial bronze of her bracelets, the gems she doesn’t know the name of but look just like the eyes of her and her siblings, the intricate cloud designs carved into the metal. It stops her from breaking the skin of her arm, stops her from bleeding everywhere. Something she’s done, something she used to do, something she doesn’t do now. 

Everything feels rattly. Everything feels like too much. Her chest feels like there are a thousand weights atop it and every breath feels like an uphill battle. She feels like Sisyphus, where each breath promises to calm her down but the effort it takes is just too much and she’s falling back into the arms of panic before she can make it. Him and his rock, all alone. 

Her and her fear, all alone. 

Is this what facing Phobos feels like? But the overwhelming anxiety has no source, no name, no images backing it. It’s purely chemical, and knowing that should help but it doesn’t . Nothing comes to mind, nothing in her head that should be causing this and yet- 

June and Cal, hunched over each other, staring at her with so much fear in their eyes that for a moment all she wants to do is cry. 

Ah. Hallucinations. Recognized by the blood running through her veins, telling her that the information she’s seeing is past and mind-locked. Memories forced forth, shallowing her breaths, turning everything up to a hundred. She has so many awful memories to choose from, what will be chosen next? What kind of torture will she go through? There’s so much there that this could go on for hours , for days . 

Clovis shouting in pain, a claw buried deep in his shoulder. Blood spills across the road, splattering, and she’s too far away to do anything. He’s going to die, and she’s going to have to watch. He’s going to die and she’s going to have to watch . 

That didn’t happen. She was close enough to save him, she saved him, and he’s fine now. He can’t move that shoulder all the way anymore, but he’s alive and that’s all that matters. Everything is okay now- 

Bryan’s hand coming down onto her head, fingers tangling into her hair. He jerks her head forward, away from the door, forcing her body further into the apartment. He’s shouting something, but she can’t hear it over the ringing in her ears and the stinging on her scalp. Is he going to start hitting her soon? If she shows up with bruises at their next meet up Tim is going to start getting suspicious- 

-a glint of metal catches her eye and now she’s screaming even harder, struggling even more in his oppressive grip-

Her eyes are burning. Have they been burning? She can’t tell if they’ve been burning for a while or not. Is she crying? Her cheeks feel wet but she can’t tell if it’s because of her tears or because of her blood. Blood? No, that’s not right, she’s not bleeding, she’s perfectly fine. She’s just scared. Because everything is falling apart around her. 

Because Bryan is upset with her, because Clovis is dying, because June and Cal are scared of her, because there’s a war raging on outside, because Diev is worried and she’s not getting better from the infection, because she kicked the counter too hard and it clattered to the ground and now- 

A weight presses down around her shoulders. A shock blanket , her mind supplies. Her fingers curl into the crinkly fabric instead of her arms, clutching it tight around her shoulders. Clovis wrapped a shock blanket around her, all those years ago when she arrived at camp half-dead and in the arms of her satyr. Is she at camp? 

No, she’s in a rogue attack. 

“Hey, Ch- I mean, Karlie, you with me? It should be wearing off soon, you just got hit with some fumes, alright?” 

She knows that voice. Soft and warm and worried . It’s the voice of her brother. Brother? Not Clovis, it’s the one that’s not related to her but she couldn’t care less because he’s her brother . She’s known him forever. He’s a vigilante, isn’t he? He must’ve gotten involved somehow. And now he’s helping her, and the hallucinations are fading, and… 

Slowly, frightened, she lifts her gaze from her knees. Red Robin- Tim is crouched in front of her, looking so overwhelmingly concerned that she almost starts crying again. He’s the one who wrapped the shock blanket around her, and he’s likely the one who’s stopped the nearby paramedics from carting her off to a hospital. 

“I-” Before she knows what she’s doing, her hand reaches out and clutches onto one of Tim’s outstretched ones. He startles- at the strength of her grip or at her willingness to cling to him, she can’t be sure. And she couldn’t care. All she cares about is the warmth in her grip and the fact that he doesn’t force her to let go. “Sorry. I- sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” He soothes. Tim squeezes her hand back, not quite the bruising grip she has on him but still reassuringly tight. “You’re not a fan of hospitals, right?” Did Red Hood tell him that? How closely does Red Hood work with the Bats again? “Why don’t I help you home, then?” 

If it were Red Robin, just Red Robin, she’d refuse. A stranger when she’s so rattled, so scared is a recipe for accidentally punching their lights out. But- Tim . A selfish part of her wants him close, wants him to comfort her like he used to when they were kids. It doesn’t matter if he knows where she lives, if he follows her home, if he’s with her when she’s like this because- because she trusts him . More than anything.

“Okay,” She says aloud. Her thoughts are too complex to form into words. Thoughts of trust and family, of Tim and Red Robin, of home but not her apartment. Of soft sheets and mounds of pillows and individually named stuffed animals and the soft scent of lavender. Of home that she desperately wants to share . 

Tim helps Charlie to her feet. She’s still shaking violently. Her knees are so weak that she stumbles and Tim has to catch her. She’d feel embarrassed if she had any room between insurmountable fear and anxiety clawing its way up her throat. He wraps an arm around her shoulders and keeps his other one in her hand, carefully holding her upright. 

“Come on, here we go, Ch- Karlie,” He mumbles, leading her down the road. She points him in the vague direction of her apartment, trying to remember how far she ended up walking before getting caught up in that attack. 

(Karlie Greens, Crime Alley kid. Charlie Greens, Triple I employee and student at Gotham Prep.) 

(She hasn’t been able to say ‘Charlie Graves, child of Hypnos’ in so long it makes her chest ache with homesickness.) 

“N-not Karlie,” She mumbles. “I lied back- back with The Riddler. Name’s- Name’s Charlie.” She can almost feel his sigh of relief- he likely doesn’t like this charade either. 

“Smart idea, Charlie,” He says. (She doesn’t comment on how the name feels more familiar on his tongue than ‘Karlie’ did.) She points him down another street. Reading the street sign is a lot harder than it was on the way here- anxiety always makes her ability to concentrate on the English language harder. 

“Sorry for freaking out,” She mumbles before she can stop herself. “Didn’t think I’d be affected that bad.” Extra trauma probably didn’t help the whole situation. She’s heard that the more PTSD people have, the more affected they get by Scarecrow’s hallucinogenic effects. Could be a load of bull, but she’s willing to bet there’s at least a little bit of truth considering just how bad that just was despite just being fumes. 

“People are affected differently,” Tim offers her. His voice is so kind . Treating a civilian, but not quite- treating his friend that he can’t call his friend. If it were up to him, she imagines he’d be ripping his mask off right here and now and making her eat their cookie dough-curry spice abomination and watch old animated movies together. 

She nods weakly instead. Her apartment comes up, so she directs Tim up the set of stairs that are more ductape than actual wood. He’s looking awfully confused for some reason, mumbling something about ‘She’s Jason’s weird dream neighbor?’ that she’s definitely not supposed to be able to hear with normal human ears so she pretends she doesn’t. She doesn’t understand what he’s talking about, anyway, so it’s best to ignore it. Instead, she fights with her lock for a little bit too long before she’s able to shove her way into her apartment. 

Tim helps her into the small studio apartment. Her homework is still out on her foldout table, she has some bread and peanut butter Jason gave her on the counter, and her mattress is in the corner. There’s not a whole lot otherwise. He takes in everything regardless, scanning every single thing she owns with an intensity that ought to be reserved for crime scenes. 

“This way,” She mumbles. He helps her to her mattress, on which she promptly collapses. She manages to have the thought to grab Apple and wrap her blankets around her shoulders, seeking any kind of comfort she can. 

“You a fan of dragons?” Tim asks. Surprisingly not teasing. Genuinely curious, and so she’s willing to oblige him. 

“A gift from a friend at my camp boarding school thing. Told me to keep the dragon safe.” For some reason, Tim’s expression sours a little when she mentions camp. She doesn’t have the energy nor willpower to figure out why , so, again, she ignores it. “I’ll be alright now. Thanks for getting me home.” She makes a ‘shoo’ sort of motion to try and convince him out of her apartment. 

Honestly, Charlie’s still pretty shaky. If it were up to her she’d have a cuddle buddy for the next several hours to nap with. Cuddle buddy being a member of her family. And in terms of cuddle buddy, she’d actually rather do the ‘bear pile’ that Cabin Fifteen occasionally does whenever one of them is feeling particularly sad. Without her Cabin Fifteen siblings here, she would settle for just Tim and movies and shitty snacks they came up with when they were six and all too young to be wandering the streets of the Alley alone. 

Unfortunately, she needs to shoot off a call to Nico and Will about how the prophecy may or may not be about a Primordial god. Even if it isn’t , she still… ugh , it’s still technically a possibility, which means she technically needs to bring it up. And potentially jinx this mission. 

“I don’t know if it’s the best idea for you to be al-” Tim gets cut off almost immediately by a small ringing noise from the comm in his ear. He sighs, tapping on it. Scowling. Unimpressed by being interrupted in the middle of his argument, she imagines. “I’m a bit busy right now, Oracle.” Huh. She’s got an oracle she’s not too happy with right now too. Maybe this is like secret twin powers or something, except they’re not twins and she’s pretty sure the tech vigilante Oracle and Rachel the literal Oracle are two very different types of problems. 

(Tim is annoyed with his Oracle for interrupting him. Charlie is annoyed with her Oracle for unwillingly giving her a massive prophecy, sending her on a life-threatening quest, and overall screwing up what was supposed to be a vacation from demigod craziness.) 

A moment of silence occurs in her apartment while Oracle speaks with Tim. Mostly silence- she can make out near silently spoken words through the comm that she probably shouldn’t be able to hear at all, but enhanced senses and all that. Tim’s frown worsens, so she imagines that Oracle the vigilante is calling him out for some kind of mission. Good, she’s going to need the freedom to call Nico and Will as soon as possible. 

For the maybe-Chaos problem. Maybe . 

“But-” Tim cuts off. Glares at her wall. “I understand. I’ll be there soon,” He grits out. He glances back at her, looking so genuinely sorry she almost feels bad for internally cheering at whatever called him away. “I’m sorry, but I have to get going now. Will you be alright on your own?” 

Not alright, but unfortunately saving the world. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, I’ll be cool.” Not her best performance, but ah well. 

-|-

Bat-Chat

Red Robin: She’s living in this itty bitty apartment

Studio

No food in the cupboards, basically no furniture 

She’s all alone, Babs

What do I do???

Oracle: I’m trying my best, but research is being difficult. Not only does this cult she’s a part of have no internet presence, any research I do into her or any of the people she might be associated with turns up with nothing. It almost feels like everything’s being erased as I look for it. 

Nightwing: Another hacker?

Oracle: I’d be able to tell if it was being covered up digitally. I’m starting to suspect this is the work of a meta with technology-related powers. Considering her situation, I imagine that the cult likely managed to get their hands on a techno-path as well. 

That or magic. 

Red Hood: Don’t you dare fucking jinx us

-|-

Will and Nico look grim. Which, fair. Charlie’s pretty much finished explaining that there’s a fairly solid chance that the prophecy is about her needing to put a Primordial back to sleep because he’s been waking up and messing with things. That’s not exactly information anyone wants to hear. 

And she’s still sort of half refusing to hear. She’ll sort out her feelings on it eventually, but for right now she’s still in the… strong maybe category. Denial is a river in Egypt and all that nonsense. 

“We’re coming down to help you,” Nico decides. He looks proper grim about the situation; all serious, hands folded over the lower half of his face, shoulders hunched like he’s marching into war and not her . 

She buries her fingers in the folds of the blanket in her lap instead of throwing something at the IM out of frustration. (Maybe a little teenage rebellion even though he’s really only a few years older than her, minus hotel years.) 

“No, you’re not, boss.” Nico twitches at her words. She doesn’t smile at the twitch, but it’s a very near thing. “I’m pretty sure- I’m pretty sure that this quest is supposed to just be me and Tim. The prophecy talks about him being my guide and leading me to Chaos, if you two come down here it could mess things up.” It could mean that word gets back to camp about how much of a monster I am, she doesn’t say. 

Doesn’t think about. Pushes to the back of her mind, buries in a tight little box, and refuses to continue thinking about because she’s had her fill of moping over her own drama lately. 

“That’s not the point,” Will juts in, halfway to an anxiety attack about the whole situation and all the way mother henning. “You can’t take on a Primordial alone! Even if there’s another demigod there, that’s two people against a primordial ! We barely won against Gaea, and that was seven plus two camps . Can you even put a Primordial to sleep like that-!?” 

“Yes,” She responds firmly, cutting him off. Will flinches back from the sheen of the IM, looking startled by her complete faith in herself. She doesn’t dare react to the shock, doesn’t dare let her dwell on what it might mean if he thinks too hard about any of it. “I can put him back to sleep. I don’t have any doubt.” 

(And, terrifyingly, she doesn’t. There isn’t a doubt in her head that if she were to find Chaos, half-awake and only just rising, that she would be able to put him back to sleep. World-destroyer. )

Nico meets her eyes. He looks serious, contemplative, more than he has any right to be. “You can,” He agrees. Will gives him a look which Nico dutifully ignores. “You need to talk to Tim as soon as you can. If Chaos is waking up, the sooner you find him the better.” 

She sighs. Runs a hand through her hair. “I’m trying to work through that. I’m struggling to figure out which one, though, and I worry about telling him before I know which godly parent is his. Not only is there the issue of his parent not being able to claim him until the weird Mist wears off on him, he’s sort of the kind of guy who relies on facts, and if I just say ‘trust me, let's go to a random camp to figure it out’ I’m pretty sure he’s going to send me to Arkham.” 

“Arkham?” Will echoes. 

“Gotham’s insane asylum,” She waves off. Will jolts, she ignores him. “I think I need to figure out which cabin he’ll be in first, you know?”

“Figure it out, then,” Nico orders (really asks, but she won’t call him on it). He meets her gaze through the soft rainbow shimmer of the IM, dark eyes shining dangerously. “We don’t have a lot of time. This is a lot more dangerous than we predicted. Figure it out, report back, do whatever you need to, alright?” 

“Roger,” She nods.

Chapter Text

It is officially time to figure out not only which one of Tim’s parents wasn’t exactly faithful in their marriage and which god they managed to attract in the process. Charlie’s got this. Totally. It’s not like finding out that one of your parents is a Greek god is the kind of earth-shattering thing that usually takes months of prep work from satyrs to dump on demigods. 

She has what, a month and a half of groundwork to work off of? 

Gods, this is going terribly. Prayers to her father, her uncle, and her grandma aren’t going to be enough to help her conquer her current obstacle. Figuring out which god sired her best friend… Well, there’s a pamphlet, isn’t there? A pamphlet questionnaire, apparently made by the satyrs, designed to narrow down things like interests, preferences, outright avoidances, and that sort of thing to put certain demigods under ‘maybe’ categories. Never definitive, but somewhat useful in terms of figuring out what to expect. 

Very technically, to avoid things like suspicion, the questionnaire is supposed to be introduced slowly over the course of several months, interspersed in conversation. Considering her… very limited time frame she’s just going to have to wing it to have any kind of vague idea of who might’ve shacked up with one of Tim’s parents. That’s probably fine. Most demigods wing their plans and they have a pretty good track record of staying alive. 

Please note the sarcasm. 

She trudges into school with a roll of notebook paper stapled together and shoved into her pockets, exhaustion sinking into her very core, and a strong desire to curl up in the middle of a dark cave and take a quick light coma for a week. Unfortunately for her, the end of the world is slightly more important. 

(If she were to sit down and list the reasons why she’s tired, she likes to think she has solid reasoning for exhaustion whittling down to her bones. Getting about half the sleep she needs to is a solid point. Eating less than half of what she needs is another one. Stress from attempting to stop the end of the world virtually on her own is certainly notable. 

Oh, yeah, and being dosed with fear toxin last night, resulting in a very long panic attack, vivid hallucinations, horrible nightmares afterward, and no ability to keep food down in the last twenty-four hours.) 

Staying awake until Greek Mythology is a challenge, but she manages. And then through the class because the teacher decided to have a very interactive lesson plan that made it impossible to get a single word into Tim beyond concerned glances shot her way. By the time they’re sitting down for lunch, he’s clearly bursting at the seams to start talking. She’s not much better, although her exhaustion hides most of her energy for her. 

“Are you okay?” Tim asks the moment she’s set her tray down. “I heard that you got caught up in a Scarecrow attack last night. Did you make it home okay? Did you call someone to take care of you?” She didn’t, not after Red Robin left. 

However, Charlie is working on about an hour of nightmare-plagued sleep and no breakfast, so what comes out of her mouth isn’t an appropriate response to his question. An appropriate response might be ‘oh, I’m fine, and I had a good long chat with some old friends until I fell asleep’. It would even be halfway true! 

No, instead what comes out of her mouth is, “Do you like Skittles?” 

Tim blinks several times. Steph blinks several times from her spot at the table. Duke blinks several times from next to her. 

“...Uh, I guess?” Tim answers hesitantly. 

“But like, are they your favorite candy? Is it the flavor or the colors that you like?” She presses. Maybe a little bit too much. But she’s exhausted, hungry, stressed, and there’s a bit more to worry about than social niceties. Or not sounding genuinely insane to her friends, but at this point she’s owning the ‘so tired she might literally just be hallucinating’ look. 

“I think she has a concussion,” Duke not so successfully whispers to Steph. Charlie dutifully ignores his very incorrect opinion. She is not concussed, she is perfectly aware of what is happening, she’s just too tired to sugarcoat her questions. 

Besides, she didn’t hit her head last night. She got drugged. Big difference. 

“I don’t know. I guess I don’t eat a lot of candy,” Tim returns weakly. “Are you alright? Do you know what day it is?” 

No. No, she doesn’t. Not for a concussion, though, mainly because she never knows what day it is and calendars are for weaklings. “February, what is your favorite color?” 

Tim scooches back from her intensity. Is she leaning forward? Oops, she should probably lean back and fix that. She promptly does, which doesn’t seem to ease the tenseness in Tim’s shoulders. “I like red, I guess. Are you sure you’re okay? How many fingers am I holding up?” 

Now probably isn’t the best time to mention that she usually sees double of everything on a good day after the whole situation with her eye and mainly navigates which one’s the real one based on sound and smell. She blames the harpy that got that shot in on her eye. 

She squints at his fingers. Between her normal eyes being funky, leftover effects from being drugged last night, and sheer exhaustion, she’s seeing thirteen fingers right now. Tim doesn’t have thirteen fingers. “Four,” Tim twitches, she must’ve gotten it wrong then, “What time do you typically wake up in the morning? And do you consider yourself to be a morning or night person?” 

“Definitely concussed, but this is funny to watch so let’s let it play out,” Steph whispers back to Duke. 

“You’re seeing- I don’t know what you’re seeing to think I’m putting up four fingers, but it can’t be good. Why didn’t you tell Red Robin that you hit your head last night?” Tim asks, blatant concern bleeding into his tone. Part of her wants to point out that it’s not public knowledge that it was Red Robin that took care of her last night, the other part of her is more focused on the mission at hand. (...and maybe how many fingers he’s holding up. She’s not sure how she got thirteen out of that mess, but his blatant concern at ‘four’ speaks volumes as to how bad her guess was.) 

“I didn’t hit my head, I just have messy vision cause of y’know,” she gestures at the large scar raking across her face and her eye that can never seem to focus because it can’t see properly, and Tim winces, “Now, what time do you wake up and do you consider yourself to be a morning or night person?” She repeats herself. 

Tim grabs the sides of her head and looks closely at her pupils. One of them is always the wrong size because it can’t absorb light properly while the other should be fit as a fiddle. She lets him anyway because it’ll probably get him to lay off about this whole ‘concussion’ nonsense. “I guess I wake up as late as I can, if I don’t have school or anything. Definitely a night person.” He rocks her head side to side, eyebrows pinched together. She’s pretty sure he isn’t supposed to do that if he thinks she has a concussion. “Would you like to come to my house after school? Alfred’s trained in first aid.” Tim sure isn’t, because he’s still tilting her head around like that’s not potentially detrimental to her health. 

Charlie hums, considering. It would lose her a night of searching the Mist, but she’s not sure how much more progress she’s going to make without the ‘guide’ for the quest. Besides, Dr. Ivy gave her the night off after finding out about the Scarecrow attack. So it’s probably fine. 

(And maybe eating dinner without worrying about it being filled with poison as a murder attempt from her neighbor sounds way too appealing right now.) 

“If that’ll make you feel better,” She offers, shrugging a little. “If you could choose anywhere to sleep, where would it be?” 

Tim squints at her. “I’d never sleep if I could, too busy. But if I had to, somewhere cozy and dark. I don’t know.” He turns away for a moment, tapping at his phone. “Alfred will check you for a concussion or-” He freezes, suddenly going pale. “Or… drugs. Is that fine?” 

What’s he so worried about? Getting drugged overnight would be impressive, even for her. She’s not exactly known for hanging out with people who tend to drug their companions. Other than the Scarecrow drug, theoretically her system should be squeaky clean (minus the fact that half her DNA doesn’t tend to show up on scans). Is he- oh. Hm. 

Red Robin interacts pretty frequently with Red Hood from what she knows. Red Hood, who thinks that her ambrosia are edibles but she’s terrible at making up a cover story on the spot. Red Robin is Tim. That’s… certainly not going to give him a great impression of her until she can explain the whole situation to him. Whatever, anyone that eats cookie dough and curry mix with her can’t pretend to judge her for imaginary drugs. 

“Yeah, that’s fine.” Mentally, she goes through the questions that she’d been memorizing, trying to remember the next down the list. “Would you consider yourself someone with a green thumb or a brown thumb?” 

Tim stares at her, long and hard. What he’s looking for, she can’t be sure. More signs of a concussion? Signs of drugs because of that hole she accidentally dug for herself? After effects from Scarecrow’s Fear Toxin? 

“...How about we get going early? I can get Bruce to sign us both out of school,” He asks hesitantly. Still holding her head like it’s going to fall right off her neck if he lets go. Highly unlikely. 

“You guys can take the car, me and Steph can take the bus,” Duke offers, raising his hand a little. Steph elbows him in the side, angrily muttering about offering up the car without permission. Which is fair. 

“I’ll go home with you early if you answer my questions. It’s important. For- uh.” She blinks, suddenly at a loss. She’s not very good at the ‘coming up with excuses’ part. Case in point; panicking and saying ‘drugs’ in answer to her medical supplies. “Study. I’m doing a study.” 

“...Right,” Tim replies disbelievingly. 

-|-

They get an impressive thirty minutes into the drive to Wayne Manor before Tim finally snaps at all of her questions. She’s gotten about eighty percent way through the questionnaire; so far it’s saying Hades which can’t be right. She’d know; Hades kids' souls have a… ‘boss’ sort of vibe to them. The questionnaire isn’t one hundred percent, though, so she supposes that everything has its limits. 

Regardless, half an hour into the drive and a few minutes outside of Gotham’s borders, Tim lets out a wordless growl of frustration and pulls the car over. “God, Charlie!” He shouts, whipping his head around to her, face twisted with rage. “I don’t know if you’re- you’re concussed or high or something right now, but you need to stop it! I’m genuinely worried about you and you’re not answering any of my questions! These stupid nonsense questions aren’t going to get you out of this!” 

Automatically, instinctually, stupidly , her fingers twitch for her weapons. Tim isn’t going to hurt her, he won’t ever , but ever since the battle of the labyrinth loud noises have her automatically reaching. Guilt pools in her gut. 

(Maybe being so guarded, so hesitant to reach out for help, so paranoid about revealing any kind of information about herself since coming back is… backfiring. …Maybe.) 

“I- I’m not brushing past it. I just- I’m not injured, I’m not- not high or whatever, I’m fine. I promise,” She awkwardly fumbles. Brushing him off again, regrettably, stupidly . 

Tim doesn’t believe her. Even before he continues, even before he opens his mouth, she can tell by his expression that he doesn’t believe her. 

He used to. Unconditionally, he used to believe every word out of her mouth, regardless of how insane it sounded. She could’ve said that the sky was green and he would’ve nodded his head and followed her lead. Stupidly- foolishly , maybe that’s why she’s pushing so hard. Because she knows that right now if she tried to tell him about his heritage, he wouldn’t believe her . 

“Charlie you’re not okay!” Tim shouts. He’s heaving, panting, red in the face and so angry but so much more scared at the same time. “Your uncle- Bryan , I never knew how much of a shit stain he was back then, but I know now and I know you’re on your own. You’re all alone and you won’t ask for help . You can’t keep going like this, Charlie.” 

(Her hands are shaking.) 

(It’s about him worrying about her having a concussion, but it’s also about her living alone, it’s about her driving herself into the ground going to work and school and quest stuff, it’s about not talking to him. ) 

“I can, and I will,” She bites back, more venom than she thought she could give behind her words. “I’ve been on my own for years . I’m fine, you don’t need to worry about me. Why are you so angry ?” 

“Because you left.” She flinches away from him. The guilt pooling in her gut feels heavy, feels nauseating, and suddenly the lunch she forced down is churning against her stomach. 

Because you left. So simple, and yet so biting . Bitter, poisonous, biting words.  

“You know I didn’t have a choice,” She tries to bite back, but there’s no poison behind her words. Her voice is wet with emotion, and horrifyingly she realizes her eyes are starting to burn. “I didn’t have a choice, I had to leave, you don’t get to hold that against me!” 

“I’m not holding it against you!” Tim cries. He whirls on her and he’s- he’s crying, tears leaking down his cheeks, shoulders shaking and expression screwed up. “I don’t blame you for leaving! You can’t- I fucking hate this!” He turns back around and slams his head against the wheel, shoulders hunching forward. “You were taken and I was sitting here thinking you left me ! Taken to some- some cult and I was so angry for so long while you were just stuck there- ” 

“How fucking dare you,” She grits out. Tim lifts his head from the steering wheel, face slack like he’s been struck. She glares furiously, baring her teeth at him, feeling so much rage that for a moment she can’t contain it. “How fucking dare you talk about my family like they- like they kidnapped me and were hurting me .” 

For the first time in a long time, genuine anger at Tim pools in her gut. She hasn’t been truly angry with him- not since he tried to call CPS on Bryan when they were both still young and foolish. Right now, right here, him accusing her family of- of what, kidnapping her? Hurting her? The people that took her in when she was alone and dying . 

Her family. Her everything . 

“You don’t think any of this is strange?” Tim returns, voice desperate. Desperate for her to believe him, desperate for her to understand his side of the story, and she wants to never look at that expression again. “When you’re at your lowest, some guy just happens to show up-” 

“Diev is my friend- ” 

“And he takes you to a place that nobody can seem to find where you can’t contact any of your old friends or family? You don’t think that’s weird at all?” Tim pushes. He’s leaning forward, reaching for her, face so kind and understanding that it makes her sick.  

This is her family that he’s talking about. Diev, who found her when she was breaking and told her that she had a family out there, who brought her to that family, who rescued her and stuck by her side through infection and injury. Clovis, June, Cal, her siblings who she loves more than anything, who she’s fought tooth and nail to protect. Chiron and Mr. D, who may not be very good but at least they try . 

But she can’t fucking explain any of it . 

The moment Charlie starts talking about Greek gods and satyrs Tim’s going to call her insane. He’s going to say she needs help, he’s going to ship her off to Arkham, and- and doesn’t that hurt more than anything else? They’ve been apart for so long that everything’s changed. They can’t go back to the way they were before, she can’t explain and have him believe her . 

Maybe that’s the hardest part of all of this. 

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” She spits. She starts grappling with her seatbelt, suddenly feeling a need to be out so deeply ingrained in her bones that she can’t just sit still anymore (trapped in a bird cage, flutter away). Tim reaches out his hands, but she slaps them away. It burns. “They weren’t- they aren’t! They’re my family! ” 

“Charlie!” 

She flings her seatbelt off of her, shoves the door open, and stumbles from the car. Her chest heaves, her brain is scrambling, everything feels like too much . She feels sick, she feels scared, she feels angry and there’s nothing she can do about it. She’s so nauseous she could throw her lunch up, right here on the side of the road. 

Tim scrambles out of the car, calling out her name again and reaching out after her. “Charlie, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean- we don’t have to talk about it, we just-” 

“But you think it, don’t you?” She whirls around, jabbing her finger into his chest. He stumbles back, eyes blown wide. “Poor pathetic girl, taken in by some cult and taken advantage of. That’s what you think, right? That they- that my family have been hurting me all this time?” He flinches. 

“That’s not-” 

Charlie’s not the one feeling sick.  

It hits her so quickly she jolts back from Tim, head tilted towards the sky. It’s not nausea pooling in her gut, it’s not her sickness that she’s feeling. Too caught up in her emotions she hadn’t been able to sense it. This isn’t her sickness, this is the Mist. The Mist, which feels weird in a way that it hasn’t felt weird since she arrived here. 

“Charlie? Are you okay?” 

“Shut up for a second,” She orders harshly. 

The Mist- it almost feels like it’s noticing her. Like it’s pulling its eyes towards her, like it’s parting a pathway towards her. It shouldn’t feel this weird this far from Gotham’s center, but she’s overcome with a sense of vertigo. Like eyelids peeling back, like glassy half-asleep eyes pointing in her direction, like attention falling on her shoulders that feels dark and dangerous . 

Fuck.

A roaring erupts from the forest next to them. Tim stumbles away from it, surprised and startled and nervous . He’s a vigilante, but he doesn’t know that roar . Fought criminals, fought rouges, fought all sorts of terrible threats- and she knows that his fear is rooted in not knowing . 

But she does. She knows that roar, just as she knows that it shouldn’t be anywhere near here . Not near Gotham, not near the blackout city, not near the sickly Mist that should chase all magical creatures away. Never Gotham. 

“Charlie, we need to go-” Tim tries. Reaches out a hand to try and tug her away. 

It’s too late, though. From the forest erupts the monster, huge and hulking,  barreling towards them with a speed no mortal creature could possess, eyes glowing red with fury, steam billowing from its nose, sharp and strong and towering and- A minotaur. 

“ Fuck, ” She hisses empathetically. With the field between them, she has less than a minute until this thing is on top of them, ripping them to shreds for reasons she can’t identify. How on earth did Percy Jackson defeat one of these at twelve ? (She is decidedly going to avoid fighting him one-on-one in the next capture the flag game like the plague .) 

Tim tries to move in front of her, already in a fighting pose, but she shoves him back in one smooth motion. He stumbles when she exerts her demigod strength, looking bewildered at her. At her strength or at her shoving him behind her, the theoretically regular old civilian, she can’t be certain. She glares at the approaching minotaur, exhaustion disappearing into an adrenaline-fueled haze. 

“Isn’t that thing from the card game you showed me!?” Tim cries, stumbling back a pace, away from her hand holding him back. “Is he wearing underpants? ” 

Never hurts to be prepared, huh? 

Charlie shucks her blazer and button-up shirt in one smooth motion, leaving her in just the backless and sleeveless turtleneck that she wears under her uniform. Tim makes a shout of protest, but she ignores him in favor of digging her fingers underneath the bracelet on her left upper arm. She squeezes her fist tight, unlatching the bracelet and tugging it from her arm. It unfolds from a bracelet, metal growing in length until it’s not a bracelet in her hand but a spear. 

“What the fuck ?” 

May as well go all out. The minotaur and the spear are already kind of out there, there’s no reason to be holding back any more secrets. It’s already kind of in the open, there’s no way to soften the blow now. Or prepare anymore. Or figure literally anything out before needing to explain, apparently. 

Breathing a sigh of relief, her wings unfold from her back. It feels like finally letting go of a clenched fist after weeks and weeks, it feels like relief so real and solid she wants to relish in the feelings a moment longer. But the monster is here, and she has to protect her brother. 

“Stay down,” She orders Tim. She doesn’t look back, but she can hear the weak noise of agreement from him. She flaps her wings hard, lifting from the ground in a flurry of feathers and a rushing of air. 

It feels good to fly. 

The minotaur is clearly targeting both of them, not just Tim or just her. When she takes to the skies, it decides that it’s not going to get a shot in at her and starts towards Tim, who’s currently pressed up against the car. She dives for the beast, spear tucked carefully at her side. The moment she’s in range, she thrusts the spear forward, catching the minotaur in the shoulder. 

It lets out a mighty roar, halting in its tracks. It reaches for the spear thoroughly embedded in its shoulder, so she pulls back, ripping the spear clean out, spurting blood across the grassy grounds beneath them. It makes a swipe for her, trying to clip her wings, but it’s slow and she’s used to fighting far more monsters. 

She easily ducks out of the way, kicking its arm from reach and slashing at its side instead. When her foot connects, it feels more like kicking a brick wall than a typical monster's shoulders. But when her spear connects, it tumbles to the ground, clutching at the new gaping wound it’s sporting. Finally, she raises her spear above her head and thrusts it down, crunching into the Minotaur's head. 

It bursts apart in a flurry of golden dust, leaving nothing behind. 

Charlie lands on the ground slowly, wings folding up behind her. She’s panting from the exertion of the fight. Her spear is still out at her side, still clutched tight in her fingers. Tim is behind her, she knows, but for a moment she can’t bear to face him. 

How is she going to explain any of this without sounding insane ? She was supposed to have more prep time! Time to figure out which godly parent his genetics came from! More time to lay groundwork! Virtually no time in the grand scheme of things, but more than- more than she has now ! 

She turns slowly. Unwilling. 

For a moment all she can take in is Tim, cowering against the car, looking startled and shocked and just completely out of his element. Her heart clenches. But that moment passes, and instead, her gaze is drawn upwards to a partly see-through sign glowing just above his head. Shining, shimmering, glowing in the soft afternoon lighting. 

His claiming. 

(Outside of Gotham enough for his godly parent to sense him, in front of a demigod who will know what it means, the weird Mist parting so viciously all around them that she nearly threw up and ripping the veil off of him, and he’s finally been claimed.)

The symbol so innocently floating above his head is a black and blue butterfly, spread out and surrounded by a wreath of poppies. 

Her grip falls slack and her spear falls to the ground. 

-|-

“I still don’t get it,” Charlie half-pouts. Her arms are crossed over her chest, her mouth is in a firm frown, and Diev, the satyr in charge of her, is holding open a book in front of her. He’s been explaining for over an hour, and it still isn’t sticking. 

It’s been so nice to read something in a language that works , and yet- and yet she’s still tired . And in pain . He says she has to stay awake and that this will help, but all it’s doing is boring her to sleep! Her eye hurts so bad , all she wants to do is fall asleep forever . 

Not lessons . 

“Each symbol means a different godly parent,” Diev repeats himself, patient and understanding. His finger traces the page, across each of the symbols displayed and the Ancient Greek telling of their godly counterpart. “This one is the symbol of Iris, this one is the symbol of Hecate, this one is the symbol of Hypnos,” He finishes off by pointing to a drawn image of a poppy flower cradled in pure white wings. Her eyes catch on it, and for some reason she finds her interest peaked. 

Just underneath that drawing is another one, a spread black and blue butterfly surrounded by a wreath made of poppies. She hums, attention officially caught again, and points to that symbol. “And that one? What does that one mean?” Her eyes are almost instantly drawn to it, for some reason. Just like the white wings, just like the poppies. 

Diev frowns, following her finger to the symbol. “That would… that would technically be Thanatos. But he doesn’t have any children," He explains. 

“How come?” She asks. 

Diev sighs, shoulders sagging. “Some say it’s because he’s too busy. Some say it’s because the god of death can’t produce life of his own. It depends.” He sounds… tired. Like the subject makes him uncomfortable. Usually, this would be where Charlie backs off from this conversation and stops bugging him to avoid angering him. 

But-

“Can’t I ask him?” 

He hasn’t even shouted at her yet. Not even when she threw up on his shirt. And if he’s willing to answer all of her questions, she’d be the happiest she could possibly be without her brother here with her. 

Diev laughs a little, eyes twinkling. “He’s a very busy man. I doubt that you’d be able to get much of a conversation out of him, I’m afraid. ” 

Well. That’s unfortunate. Curiosity left unanswered, questions hanging in the air. She doesn’t even know who her godly parent is yet! Why is this all so confusing ? 

She frowns. “I still don’t get it, how does this claiming thing work again? How do they just know who their kids are?” Diev groans, loudly. 

-|-

“Charlie, what is going on-” 

“Tim, shut up,” Charlie grinds out. A migraine is pulsing behind her eyes, she’s exhausted, she’s hungry, she can’t remember the last time she just had a chance to stop and rest and now her world is shattering in front of her eyes again . She doesn’t even have time to process any of this! She has to explain everything to Tim first and now he thinks she’s a psychopath or crazy and- 

And there’s no time for that right now because they’re still in the middle of nowhere and this isn’t the place to have this conversation. Not even remotely. Not if she wants this not to be a complete shitshow, anyway. 

She slaps her spear against her arm, causing it to shrink down back into its bracelet form. Tim flinches when it does, glaring at it like it personally offended him or something. 

“Charlie, you need to explain right now -” 

“I don’t need to do anything, actually,” She hisses. She steps up to Tim, probably too close to him, getting right up in his face and baring her teeth. “I am, out of the goodness in my heart, going to drag your ass back to your fancy home and explain everything to you, but not because I have to . You are going to shut the fuck up , alright?” 

Tim reels back, momentary shock being replaced with rage. “You expect me to be quiet after that ? You just- you just killed that thing! That thing that looks an awful lot like that stupid card game you kept trying to show me! What is going on? ” 

“You want to do this out here!?” She shouts, flinging her arms out to her sides. “Because I’m cold, I’m tired, and I don’t have the energy to hide if someone tries to eavesdrop. You either get your butt in the driver’s seat of that car or I will.” 

“You had wings ! Wings and a spear ! Have you been carrying that around at school ?” Tim continues, hissing and frantic and disbelieving . 

(Unfair. Foolish. Stupid .) 

Damnit. Why can’t anything ever be easy? Sure, she reacted just as badly when she found out about everything until that harpy popped up out of nowhere. But this isn’t the time! At least back then they weren’t dealing with a world-ending crisis and potential eavesdroppers ! 

“Fine!” 

She rips the passenger car door open and shoves Tim inside. He stumbles, clearly not expecting her to have the strength of a demigod backing her. Without it, with the height he has on her, she shouldn’t be able to shove him around so easily. She slams the door shut behind him, probably roughly enough to cause some damage, then rounds the car to the driver's side. Tim is messing with the handle on the inside, but she did in fact cause some damage and now it won’t open. 

She slides into the driver’s side and doesn’t buckle herself in. “Congratulations, Tim. You’re a demigod. Your mom had an affair with a god, the Greek kind, like Wonder Woman kind, and now you’re magic.” She turns the keys in the ignition, probably too roughly, and pulls onto the road without a turn signal. 

Tim is gaping like a fish next to her. He looks like he wants to ask questions, but his voice is quickly ripped into a scream when she has to swerve out of the way of an oncoming truck. She curses, driving back into the right lane. 

“Fucking- do you even know how to drive!?” Tim shouts. He’s hanging onto the overhead handle for dear life and looks paler than a ghost right now. Probably pretty severely regretting not buckling his seat belt now that she’s barrelling down the road, barely in her lane, a good twenty miles above the speed limit. 

“Yeah, I know how to drive.” She squints. Is that a car or a road sign? “I just learned in Crime Alley when I was, like, seven. And I’ve only got one and a half working eyes between both of mine.” She swerves again and Tim hits the window, screaming out a little. 

(Very technically it’s about one working eye between the both of them. One and a half gets her in less trouble for stunts like driving without a license, however, so she gets to say whatever she damn well pleases.) 

“You can’t- pull over! I’ll drive us home!” 

“Too late, princess,” She bites out. “Now you’re either going to process what I said in silence or ask me questions and distract me from my driving. Your choice.” 

He makes a very strangled noise of protest. It’s not much of a choice; she knows how she drives. Anyone who learned in Crime Alley is already a recipe for disaster, her barely being able to see is just sugar on top of the cake that is breaking every traffic law she actually knows. Which is strikingly few. 

“Deer! Deer!” 

She swerves again. This is taking too long. Twenty miles above the speed limit was standard back in the Alley, and that was on populated roads with things like turns and street lights. In the middle of nowhere with very few obstacles? She can probably safely get away with a solid thirty or forty above the speed limit. 

“Why are you speeding up!?”  

Charlie dutifully ignores Tim. She’s on a mission to get to his home, finish off this conversation a lot sooner than she’d been planning, and figure out how to calm down poor Uncle Thanatos who’s probably panicking right now. And she has to break the news to her cabin mates. Gods, this is more than she wants to deal with today. 

“You’re going to miss my road!” Tim shouts, flinging his finger at what could either be a bird or a street sign. “Turn! Turn!” 

Well, today’s a good a day as any to die. She turns as hard as the wheel will take her, maybe turning the car up a little, skidding into the world’s longest driveway. Tim’s not screaming anymore but she’s pretty sure he’s denting the handle in his grip so she’s not sure which is better. She skids forward, up to the iron gate with various bushes and trees surrounding it. 

Parked, sort of, she rips the keys out of the car and faces the panting and near-tears Tim. “Was that so difficult?” 

“Yes!” He cries. 

“Crybaby,” She mutters. She slides out of the car, then helps unbreak Tim’s car door so he can get out too. He nearly falls over with jelly legs. 

Maybe she shouldn’t have taken her frustrations out on the car and traumatized him via her driving skills. In retrospect, not the best way to start this conversation. 

“Look-” She sighs, running a hand through her hair. “This is a lot. Who your godly parent is- that symbol above your head, you were being claimed, and who your godly parent is is kind of making me freak out. So I’m snippy. So sorry, alright?” 

Tim squints at her. “I’m not sold on this Greek god thing,” He finally says, straightening out a little. His voice is still remarkably wobbly, but she doesn’t comment on it for the sake of his dignity. “Why don’t-” He sighs, rolls his eyes, shakes out his shoulders a little, “Why don’t you explain in my room? It’s soundproof and there’s no monitoring devices, we’ll be good.” Reassuring more for her than for him, she imagines, but she’ll take what she can get. 

“That makes sense with the whole Red Robin thing,” She responds, nodding, starting the march through the gate and towards the house. 

Unfortunately, this doesn’t go over as easily with Tim. He sputters, grabbing her hand and forcing her to turn around. “You know- you know ?” He demands. His hand is squeezing her wrist so tightly she’s starting to lose feeling in it. 

“I can sense souls.” She frowns a little. “Roughly. It’s an inexact science. But you’re soul and Red Robin’s souls were exactly the same, which doesn’t happen, so I put two and two together.” 

“Soul sensing,” He mumbles. She starts tugging him towards the manor while he’s in the middle of crisis mode. Crisis mode can easily leave him catatonic for way longer than she’s willing to stand out here in the cold. “You’re- what, so you’re a god’s child too?” He finally manages. 

“We’re called demigods or half-bloods,” She supplies him. She hops the gate without too much thought, he gives her a strong look and punches in a code to get it to swing open. Ah, that would’ve probably been smarter. “And, yeah, I’m one too. I- look, it’s a long explanation.” 

“And it’s better to do it inside,” Tim sighs. “Alright, but you better explain exactly what you mean.” He jabs a finger at her for extra measure, as if the threat of finger jabbing will force her not to avoid this conversation like she so loves to do. 

They enter the mansion and shove past a curious Alfred, she waves hi because she can, and a disgruntled Jason who’s here for some reason. Jason gives her an odd look, but they’re gone before he can say anything. Maybe Jason wants to eat the Wayne’s brains? Not her problem right now. 

Tim shoves her into his room as quickly as he can, then starts pacing the length of it. Anxiety, it appears. 

His room is decorated exactly as she’d been expecting it to be. Wall-to-wall bookshelves covered in books on every non-fiction topic under the sun, with one in particular covered in every kind of Robin merch he could get his hands on when he was younger. Posters of various other heroes, Titans and Justice League members alike, line the walls. There are also hundreds of photos pinned to the walls; everything from pictures of Gotham to pictures of his family around the manor. He’s pacing by his desk, covered in cases that she’s pretty sure she shouldn’t be looking at and several empty mugs, so she takes a seat on his bed. 

“Explain. Now,” Tim orders less than gracefully. 

Charlie folds her legs up on the bed, crisscross, and lets out a bone-weary sigh. “When I said that I ran away and got picked up by a do-gooder who helps kids in need like me all those years ago, I happened to omit a couple of details.” His eyes snap to hers, intense and unwavering. “The details I happened to omit were that he was a satyr, like the ones from Greek mythology, and that he took me to Camp Half-Blood, a place for demigods to go and train to keep safe.” She points to the scar raking across her face, large and oh so noticeable, “I got this on the way from a stray harpy that wanted to eat me. Monsters tend to attack demigods like us by smelling our blood to track us. They can’t get into Gotham for whatever reason, so that’s why you went unnoticed for so long.” 

Tim takes a deep shuddering breath. His head is in his hands, his shoulders hunched, and he looks relatively put together all things considered. His working with Wonder Woman probably helps with this transition. 

“Wonder Woman said that the gods faded out years ago. So, what, you’re saying they’re still around?” He prods, glaring. “You’re saying she’s lying?” 

“I’m saying she can’t find them.” She meets his gaze, returning his glare instead of backing down. “They’re not in Greece or Rome or what have you anymore. They move with the West, something that Wonder Woman likely doesn’t know. They’ve also changed as people have changed, so the gods as she knew them are different.” 

“You can’t expect me to believe this,” Tim grits out. He whirls on her, finally standing still, glaring with an intensity she doesn’t feel like she deserves. “This- this cult, they take in meta’s and they’ve somehow convinced you that you’re a demigod. This isn’t how any of this works!” 

“ADHD.” Tim flinches back at the firmness in her voice. “ADHD, because our brains are primed for battle and we’re always flighty and ready for enemies. Dyslexia, because our brains are hardwired to read Ancient Greek and not English.” Tim is growing more and more pale. “And more individually- I’m sure that mint tea has always tasted like dirt to you. You’ve always been able to fade into the shadows almost like you can turn invisible. You’ve always had this feeling like you just know someone is about to die but you don’t know why you know-” 

“Shut up!” He covers his ears with his hands, panting, eyes wide and fearful. “You don’t- you can’t just come in here and start spouting off nonsense! That- that’s all coincidence ! I’m not- I’m not- ” 

“My father is Hypnos.” Tim’s gaze snaps up to her. “He gifted me pure white wings, just like his. Poppies have always loved me and mint plants have always hated me. I can tell you exactly what you dream about and I can put you to sleep with a wave of my hand. Demigods get certain powers from their parents, certain features. Tim, look at me, do you think I’m lying ?” 

He stares at her, long and hard. Long enough that she’s half worried he’s fallen back into a pit of doubt and worry. “But…” He pauses, breathes deeply and rattly. “Who am I supposed to be, then? You said my mom’s the one who cheated? Who’s my dad supposed to be?” 

It’s her turn to take a deep and rattly breath. She smooths her hands over her legs, frowning severely. “He- your father is Thanatos.” Tim gives her a somewhat blank look. “The god of death. Sort of like the Greek Grim Reaper. He’s my uncle. My real uncle who actually likes me, not Bryan. We’re- we’re cousins by blood.”

“Thanatos,” Tim repeats, sounding out the syllables. 

“At some point soon, we can go to camp and get you a weapon that’ll actually work on monsters. Most weapons don’t, except for Celestial Bronze and some gold stuff that the Romans found.” Actually, it might be a bad idea to talk about other pantheons right now. She’s still wrapping her head around that nonsense. “While we’re there, you can meet Thanatos and my dad too. He might give you your own wings. And-” Her breath hitches. 

“And I need to explain what I’m doing here, beyond coming to get you.” 

“You said that you finally got a chance to come visit.” Tim’s eyes narrow, accusing. “But that’s not true. How much have you been lying about?” 

“It’s not-” She hesitates. “I didn’t want to lie. And it’s not a complete lie. Things at camp have been incredibly hectic. Every year after I arrived there was a prophecy which, like, never happens. There was the whole battle of the labyrinth, that whole monster thing, both the wars-” 

“The what ?” 

“And then I finally got a chance to rest and I remembered-” Her breath hitches and she almost starts to cry. Instead, she squeezes her fists into her jeans and hunches her shoulders. “I remembered how you always knew that I had gray streaks in my hair.” 

Tim stares at her like she’s grown a second head. She might as well have, for all the nonsense she must be talking to him right now. “What does that have to do with anything? They’re not that hidden, everyone knows you have gray streaks in your hair.” 

“ Now , yes, but not back then.” She takes a breath, trying to find the words. “It’s- before a demigod knows who they are, the Mist helps them hide certain features about themselves. The Mist is a magical veil that separates our world from the mortal world. So- no, no one knew I had gray hair back then. No one but you .” 

He twitches. 

“And then I thought about it some more, and I realized that- I realized that there were a lot of signs. ADHD, dyslexia, how you learned Ancient Greek so easily, all the things that I thought made us special back then, but now I knew were signs- ” She pauses. Tim is shaking, staring, probably still in disbelief. “I was going to come here and investigate. Just to see, originally. But then-”

World-destroyer . 

“But then there was a prophecy.” Charlie ignores the bitter part of herself that whispers about how destructive her powers could be, about how evil the prophecy called her. “Those don’t happen very often, and when they do, they’re always a really big deal. It meant- it meant that you were definitely a demigod, and in this prophecy, it meant that I needed to find you, and then you’d lead me to some magical thing that I need to put back to sleep.” 

She takes a deep breath. Squares her shoulders. 

“In the city with chaotic claw's grip

The wandering half-blood, the guide's trip

He will lead to the awakening one

The slumber of Hypnos must arise

Oh lonely, moonlit, daydreamer cries

Put the wretched down before dawn.”

Once she’s done reciting the altered prophecy, Tim is finally sitting. Not on the bed, he looks too stressed to be near her right now, but he’s sitting on the seat at the desk with his hands folded over his mouth. 

“I’ve been researching since I got here, and I’m pretty sure I know what we’re dealing with. All we need is to train up your powers and have you lead us to Chaos, what we’re facing,” She finishes. 

There’s more to explain. A lot more. They still have to go to camp, he still needs to meet his father, she still needs to introduce him to the rest of her family which she’s actually excited about, but- but, well, that needs to wait. Right now, Tim needs to process. Right now, he needs to take a moment to simply mull over the information presented to him and simply believe . 

They sit in silence for a long time. Tim is thinking, trying to understand, and she’s willing to let him take his time. Even if the silence is killing her, even if sitting still is killing her, she forces her way through. If not for her sake, for Tim’s. For her brothers- and how insane is it that his dad is Thanatos her uncle ? The one that actually likes her ? 

“I don’t have magic,” He finally says. Quiet, almost pleading. 

“A lot of people don’t,” She offers. “A lot of people don’t realize they have powers until they know what to look for. Others don’t have any powers at all. But-” She pauses for a moment. Thinks. Breathes. “But I know you do. You can practically melt into shadows, you’ve always been more agile than you should be able to be, you have more strength than someone your size should have, and the shadows will learn to bend to your will.” 

Tim looks at her. His expression is- lost, confused. This is a lot to take in, she’s sure. More than he should have to, but this sort of came out a lot quicker than she’d been hoping it would. She’d been hoping for more time to ease him in, more time to mull it over herself, not… not being thrust into this. 

“We can go to camp soon. I’ll answer every question you have if you’d like,” She offers. 

He nods, slow and jerky. “I think- I think that’ll be best. As soon as possible. And… I don’t think I should tell my family just yet.” 

“A lot of people don’t tell their family. It’s hard for demigods to understand, mortals are basically impossible to convince.” Her words don’t seem to soothe Tim’s turmoil, however. “I… Look, I know this is a lot. I mean, I had to deal with all of this when I was nine . I get it. You don’t…” This is a lot harder than Diev made it look. “You don’t have to do it alone, alright?” 

Tim breathes for a moment. Not quite looking at her, not quite looking away. “...Alright.” It’s enough for now. 

-|-

Bat-Chat

Red Hood: Oi, replacement, what’re you doing with my neighbor? And why does she look so pissed?

Chapter Text

“Don’t bring your camera,” Charlie orders. Tim glares at her, but stops actively trying to shove one of his smaller digital cameras into the backpack he’s making for a quick trip to camp. He waits patiently for an explanation, camera held loosely in his grip. 

“Technology attracts monsters. It’s fine in Gotham because Gotham is freaky, but the moment we’re outside of the city, if we don’t want every monster within range to hunt us down to try and eat us, don't even pack your phone. We’ll keep in contact using my phone, cabin nine made it and it doesn’t attract monsters,” She explains. 

“Cabin nine?” Tim questions. He sets his camera down on his desk and instead starts shoving pajamas and such into his backpack. 

“Hephaestus cabin. Leo, one of the Hephaestus kids, just got back from a war-” Tim twitches, “-and so he’s been kind of fidgety. He’s been making a ton of different electronics that won’t attract monsters and stuff. Just finished this phone model that lasts a whole hour before it starts attracting monsters.” 

The DVD player had been the big one, though. Sibling bonding time with Cal over Star Trek is probably her favorite part of the day. His favorite is still Next Gen, though, which is absolutely sacrilegious. Everyone knows that Voyager is the best one, Next Gen doesn’t come anywhere close to the character complexity, compelling plot, genuine high-stress situations that are believable, and-

And that’s wholly irrelevant so she ought to focus on the conversation at hand. 

“Yeah, can you circle back there for a minute, a war ?” Tim stresses. Ah, right, that’s probably not something she can mention as casually as she does in camp. In camp, people are kind of like ‘oh, yeah, the war, totally’. She’ll have to edit her language a bit for her brand-new camper. 

“Sorry, it’s been a hectic few years,” She apologizes without any inflection in her voice. “The two wars I refer to would be the war against Kronos, titan god of time and sort of our uncle? And then the second war would be against Geia, who’s kind of like our great aunt. Leo was one of the seven involved in the second war, the main guys in charge of stopping it, so he’s pretty scarred up about it.” 

Died, too, so he’s got extra reasons to be broken up about it. He’s better now, at the very least, so there’s nothing to worry about there. 

“You’ve fought Kronos and Gaia ? Like the ones we learned about in Greek Mythology class?” Tim hisses. 

She scrunches up her nose. “Well, I never directly fought them. Just their armies.” She brightens up a bit, offering up her arm to Tim and pointing at a large burn scar over her left elbow. “Got this bad boy during the battle of Manhattan. It was so deep you could see the bone at the time. I got healed by a newer Apollo kid, they’re designated medics, and he freaked and passed out when he saw it.” 

Tim looks distinctly green. “Right. Cool. And this is… normal for demigods?” He asks slowly and carefully. 

Well… in a manner of speaking. Should she mention that not a lot of demigods make it past eighteen? Probably not, right? Yeah, that would just freak him out. Maybe later, when he’s at camp and gets to see all the cool things, not just the bad things. “Uh. I mean, what are a few scars in the grand scheme of things?” She tries for a grin but he doesn’t look convinced. “You should see the other guy. Poof, big pile of dust.” 

Tim sighs, long and hard. He slings his backpack over his shoulder, now packed for a night away, and gives her a look that screams ‘I am both disappointed and concerned for you’ . “Look, before you keep failing this sales pitch and scare me off for good, why don’t we get going?” 

“Right,” She responds, nodding. He has a valid point there, she’s really dropping the ball on convincing him how cool camp actually is. 

She throws her shirt and blazer into her school bag then follows Tim out of his room and through the manor. They manage to make it most of the way out before they’re stopped at the door. 

“Tim, where are you going?” Calls a deep, scratchy sort of voice. Charlie turns to greet the man, half expecting some sort of former smoker gardener, only to be met with Brucie fucking Wayne . 

She freezes, still halfway leaning towards the door, rapidly paling. 

Can he see that she has blue eyes from here? No, right? Rachel didn’t jinx her all those weeks ago back at camp, right? She’s in the clear in terms of getting mixed up with Bruce ‘I adopt every black-haired blue-eyed orphan’ Wayne, right? Right ? 

She hardly has blue eyes! They’re more of a gray-blue! And her hair’s only, like, half black. She’s in the clear, she has to be. 

“Hey, B,” Tim greets, oblivious to her inner panic attack. “I’m going to Charlie’s house for a school project. Greek Mythology class. I’ll be staying overnight, see you tomorrow.” Tim turns on his heel, clearly done with this conversation despite the lost look in Bruce’s eyes, and reaches for the door handle. 

“You- to Charlie’s house?” Okay, what’s with the tone here? What’s wrong with her house? That’s just rude. 

“Yeah, to Charlie’s house. Now shoo,” Tim says. He shoulders his way through the door without really finishing the conversation properly, and she follows him weakly. Is that… really okay? Like, sure, she could totally do that with her godly family because they’re chill and nice, but can he really just do that with his mortal family? Bryan would beat her to a pulp for being that rude.

But Wayne doesn’t follow them with fists raised and screams falling from his mouth. They start down the path to the gate, nobody on their tale, nobody yelling at them, and no… nothing. Just… completely okay. After that blatant display of disrespect. 

…okay. Whatever. Fine. She can deal with this. 

“So how are we getting to camp? How far is it?” Tim asks conversationally like he didn’t just potentially piss off his adoptive father bad enough to deserve being locked out of the house for who knows how long. 

“Long Island, New York,” She responds somewhat faintly. 

He turns to her, squinting. She shakes her head, trying to get rid of lingering anxiety about Bruce Wayne slapping Tim around for brushing him off like that. Okay, right, that’s a fair look for him to give her. Gotham to New York is a pretty hefty distance to travel for a ‘quick trip over to camp’ that she’s been describing. “Don’t worry, I know a fast way to camp.” She hums, considering, tilting her head. “Uh, you haven’t eaten since lunch, right?” 

“...yeah?” Tim responds slowly. 

“Good,” She says. She starts digging around in her bag, leading him out the gate and to a shaded part that shouldn’t have too many security cameras pointed at it. She doesn’t feel the buzz of attention at the very least, so she can hazard a guess. “If you have any kind of nausea medicine in your bag, take it now.” She produces a coin from her bag- a hefty gold one with Zuess stamped on one side and the Empire State Building on the other. A drachma, which Tim studies as close as he can from his spot standing a few feet away. Just in case, she additionally pulls as much of the thin sickly Mist around the both of them as she can muster. 

“Let’s hope they’re willing to pick us up out this far…” She mumbles to herself. Then, louder, she shouts, “ Stêthi, ô hárma diabolês! ” Tim blinks in surprise, either at the Ancient Greek or at his understanding of the language she can’t be sure. Stop, chariot of damnation! She throws the drachma away from the sidewalk and onto the gravel road. 

It clatters and flips before landing heads-side up on the gravel road. For a frightening moment she’s worried that they’re too far out of range and she’s going to have to figure out another way to camp, maybe call in a favor from ‘boss’, but then the drachma sinks into the ground and her anxiety ebbs away. 

“Don’t scream,” She orders Tim. 

“That’s not reassuring,” He responds, voice slightly squeaky. 

For a moment nothing happens, just the ground swallowing up her coin. Then a patch of the gravel road darkens, about the size of a car or a parking lot, and it bubbles threateningly. Tim scooches a little bit closer to her, which she can’t fault him for. It almost looks like blood. This is… definitely one of the more threatening ways of quickly traveling around, but it’s fast and that’s all that really matters. 

A gray taxi erupts from the shadowed part of the gravel road. Smoky gray, made of smoke maybe, with lettering on the side and three drivers instead of the traditional, and more practical actually, one. Tim flinches at its appearance but doesn’t scream thankfully enough. 

A woman with greasy string hair covering her eyes pokes her head out the passenger window. “Passage?” She crows, voice softer than it ought to be. 

“Two to Camp Half-Blood,” She requests. That’s the right way to do this, right? She doesn’t really do this often, with not leaving camp all that often and all. But it should work. She swings the back door open and slips into the back, beckoning Tim forward. He follows a lot more hesitantly. “Uh, an extra drachma once we get there for the extra distance. That alright?” 

“Done!” The woman screeches. 

Tim stares wide-eyed at all three drivers who look like they belong in some kind of Greek play instead of going around driving taxis. He goes for a seatbelt, but when his fingers meet a large black chain he recoils and seems to think better. Fair. She’s not particularly in the mood to figure out what they do just yet. She’ll take her chances getting thrown around the back of this taxi for now. 

“Long Island! Ha!” The woman closest to the steering wheel shouts. And then stomps her foot down on the accelerator so hard it makes Charlie’s driving look sane and normal . 

Tim hits the back of his seat from the force of it and nearly starts shouting in surprise. Charlie, on the other hand, just sighs and keeps a hand on his backpack so it won’t go flying or anything. Sure, their driving is insane, but at the end of the day, it’s not like it’s that much worse than hers. 

The prerecorded message starts playing, and Tim looks close to throwing up. The car swerves out of the manor’s driveway, onto the street, nearly taking out a truck with it. They skid down the road, easily going fifty miles above the speed limit. 

“Deer! Don’t hit the deer!” Tim shouts. Screams in a high-pitched voice, more like it. 

“Well if Wasp would give me the eye I could see where I’m going !” The woman driving the car shouts. Just in case, Charlie grips the sides of the car a bit more tightly. 

“The what ?” Tim nearly sobs . 

“Tempest, you don’t get the eye and the tooth! One or the other!” One of the other women, the one holding the drachma, shouts. 

“I want the tooth! I want to bite the coin!” 

“No!” both of the others cry. They swerve out of the way of oncoming traffic with a jerk of the wheel from one of the women, presumably Wasp. 

“Charlie, what the fuck ?” Tim begs. He looks pretty close to throwing up, which is fair. And also a bit perturbed by the whole interaction about one tooth and one eye. 

“They’ve only got one eye and one tooth between the three of them. They tend to fight over it,” She offers, shrugging a little. And then regrets the motion when she’s slammed into Tim when the taxi is turned so sharply the car nearly rolls. “Gray Sisters Taxi is the quickest way to camp. Other than Boss, but if I get him to travel us on a non-emergency then Will might kill us.” 

“We’ve served many great heroes! Like Percy Jackson!” One of them shouts, Tempest she thinks. 

“Turn!” Wasp shouts. Charlie hits the opposite wall now with the force of the turn. 

“Like Perseus from our class?” Tim gasps between sharp turns. He looks a little messed up. A lot messed up. Honestly, pretty good for his first taxi ride with these three. 

“No, another guy. He’s at college these days, though, so you won’t meet him. He’s saved the world, like, six times? Seven? I can’t remember. If you look him up on my phone, you’ll find him wanted for domestic terrorism in a couple of states though,” She explains. 

“He what ?” 

“Give me the tooth now! ” 

“No!” 

The taxi screeches to a halt, skidding against grassy hills and nearly hitting several trees in the process. Tim tumbles out of the car the moment it’s not moving, not even remembering his backpack, stumbling to his hands and knees and gagging. She grabs his backpack and slides out too, making sure to toss an extra drachma to the gray sisters on her way out. 

“Tim? Buddy?” She asks. The taxi disappears the way it came, a lot louder this time with more arguing, and so Charlie walks over to Tim’s hunched-over form. He shoots her a glare so fierce that it would be more deserving of if she’d stabbed him or something, not a slightly distressing taxi ride. 

“They drive worse than you ,” He spits, more poison in his voice than she thinks is strictly necessary. 

“They’ve only got one working eye. I’ve got one and a half total,” She lies, shrugging. He glares harder. “Come on, you big baby. Let’s see if Peleus is napping so we can sneak some pats in.” She picks him up by the back of his shirt, plopping him back down on shaking knees. He takes another moment of jelly legs before he can start moving. 

“Peleus?” He questions once he’s righted and walking. She starts them towards the pine tree, and she watches with amusement as he squints at the gold fleece and the vaguely human-shaped tree. 

Thalia’s pretty cool. She hasn’t had much chance to ever really speak with her, what with the whole ‘Huntress of Artemis’ thing, but the stories she’s heard are really awesome. Honestly, if it weren’t for her siblings, she’d probably be signing up for Artemis’ little group too. 

“Dragon. He guards the golden fleece there,” She explains, pointing at the tree. “We hung the fleece up on that tree because it marks the borders for camp. No monsters can get past it. It used to be a girl named Thalia, but she got better and now she’s a Huntress of Artemis.” 

“I- what?” He turns to her, brows drawn together. “You know what, no. No, you don’t get to keep talking nonsense and making me confused. I’m not asking, we’re just walking.” 

“Your loss,” She returns. It’s an interesting story, unfortunate for him if he doesn’t want to hear it. 

They come up on the hill, but before she can reach down to pet Peleus he lifts his head sleepily from the crook of his body and squints angrily at her. “Right, sorry,” She mumbles, retreating her hand. Frowns a little. Nearly got to pet the sweet little dragon, why couldn’t her dad keep his attention for a little longer? 

Tim stares at the dragon. All the way through walking through the border, he stares at the dragon. Until his attention is firmly snatched by the rest of camp; the ring of cabins, which is more a small village of cabins now. To forest nymphs and satyrs running between trees, to campers running around with weapons in their grips, to pegasus’ flying through the air, to magic everywhere . 

A punched-out gasp is ripped from Tim. If he still had his backpack she imagines he would’ve dropped it by now. She can hardly manage to corral him into continuing walking instead of getting caught staring at the entrance. It’s all she can do to force a hand between his shoulder blades and shove with demigod strength, making him stumble over his own feet. She leads him down the hill and further into the forest. 

Some of the other stable hands wave to her, which she returns. A group of Apollo kids wave at her, one of them gives her a pointed look and mouths ‘Will’ at her, and she ignores them dutifully. Some of the younger kids, the ones she helped most frequently with their nightmares before she left, look almost starry-eyed at her. She leads Tim through to the cabins regardless, waving at Hestia as they go. 

“You should wave to her too. She’s nice,” Charlie orders not unkindly. 

Tim follows her line of sight to Hestia. Right now she looks nine or so, soot-covered and tending to the hearth. She grins at Tim, and waves with a maturity that nine-year-olds don’t possess. Kind-hearted and one of Charlie’s favorite goddesses. Purely because she’s one of the only reasonable and nice ones, but in terms of gods, it’s a relatively low bar to clear. 

Tim awkwardly waves back. “Who’s she?” 

“Hestia. She likes to hang around. Be nice to her,” She explains. Tim trips in surprise. 

“Hestia the goddess ?” He hisses. 

“There are only two gods regularly at camp. Hestia and Mr. D,” She continues, ignoring him. “Hestia’s the nicest and she’ll tell you stories if you sit with her. Mr. D is…” She winces, “Mr. D tries. Sort of. He’s Dionysus, but we all call him Mr. D. He’s watching over camp as a punishment from Zuess, Hestia’s usually in charge of us.” 

“Right. Totally normal. Just Greek gods hanging around a camp full of children,” Tim says faintly. She claps him on his back, maybe a bit too hard because he stumbles forward. 

Maybe this is a little bit of payback for all of the suffering he’s put her through. Finding out that not only is he Red Robin, but his entire family is vigilantes? And that’s only recently! Back when they were children and he gushed about Batman’s identity (after nearly a year of knowing each other) it had shell-shocked her for nearly a month. This is only fair payback. 

“In my cabin, where you’ll probably be staying, there are three other kids. Clovis the head counselor, he’s older than me, and the twins, they’re eight. They’ll spot us soon and probably-” Her sentence gets cut off by a high-pitched screeching noise that sounds awfully similar to the screech of a harpy. Automatically defensive, she reaches for her knife. Only to realize the origin of the screech and relax. Not a harpy, just someone ever so slightly less likely to stab her. Well, someones . 

Two bundles of fluffy white wings and vaguely child-shaped forms barrel into her chest. She falls flat on her butt, hard against the stone pathway, giggling as she goes. She can hardly feel the pain of stone and gravel cutting through her shorts- all she cares about are the two pressed firmly against her torso and holding her in a death grip right now. “Hey, you two. None of that, we have a new camper. Come on, up you go,” She laughs, pushing June and Cal to their feet. 

Both of them have tears in their eyes. They look wobbly, grateful, and so happy to see her home that for a moment all she wants to do is re-bundle them in her arms and take a big long nap with them. But they push their tears to the side in favor of hopping to their feet, just as she asked. “Charlie, Charlie, Uncle Thanatos is here! And dad! They said you’d be coming home to visit!” June cries, flapping her wings behind her back and grinning. 

Charlie carefully pushes herself back to her feet, wincing a little in pain from landing so hard. In an instant, the twins are wrapping themselves around her again, holding her so tightly she starts to fear for the safety of her bones. She laughs a little and settles her hands atop their heads. 

Cal buries his head in her side. He likely won’t be looking to let go for a while, so she just ruffles his hair a little and lets him rest there. “That’s good, we won’t have to figure out how to call them up,” She says. She turns away from the twins and back to the somewhat startled boy standing next to them. “Tim, you ready to meet your dad?” 

“What?” He squeaks. “No! What? Not yet! I’m not ready to meet my dad yet!” 

She frowns. “He’ll be sad to hear that. Uncle Thanatos is a big softy.” She turns to June and Cal instead, taking in their curious expressions. “Can you two go distract him with one of your TV shows? I’m gonna get Tim here a weapon and give him some time to relax. He just learned about everything like, an hour ago, so I don’t think he’s ready to meet Uncle Thanatos yet.” 

Cal frowns and squeezes her waist tighter. “No leaving without saying goodbye,” He orders quietly. 

“No leaving without saying goodbye,” She promises in turn, patting his head for extra assurance. 

It takes both Charlie and June to pry Cal off and get them fluttering off toward cabin fifteen. Tim is still in the process of clearly trying to sort through his emotional feelings surrounding his biological father who he learned about roughly an hour ago, so she just pushes him toward the nearest weapons shed. She imagines that her dad will be gifting him a more magical one, but he should at least have a traditional dagger for now. Just in case. 

(A traditional dagger is important. You never know when you won’t be able to grab at the weapon on your arm. What if there’s a magic prevention field or whatever hanging around? Weird things happen, it’s always important. Not paranoid.) 

“I can’t meet him yet. I can’t have three dads. Sure, one of them is dead and was kind of an asshole, but I can’t have three . Am I supposed to start calling him Dad? I don’t even call B Dad! Why didn’t he see me all this time? Is this the neglect thing that gods in Greek myths do? Charlie, what do I do?” He rambles, pleadingly, turning to her with desperation in his eyes. He looks both sleep-deprived and distinctly lacking in any common sense right now. She sighs. 

“Look, usually gods aren’t supposed to interact with their children like, at all. They can say hi every so often and occasionally give gifts, but it’s supposed to be super limited.” Tim’s face does something complicated at her words. “Dad and uncle Thanatos, on the other hand, kind of do whatever the fuck they want. Zuess, the one in charge of those rules, is kind of scared of them. Dad often naps in our cabin, Uncle Thanatos drops by whenever he’s in the area, that sort of thing. But, the reason he didn’t see you until now…” 

She sighs, shoulders sagging. “Gotham’s kind of a dark zone. For some reason, the mist is weird there. Monsters can’t get in, satyrs avoid it like the plague, and when you’re in Gotham the gods can’t see you . Even if you leave, it sticks to you like gum. It would take years to wash off. What happened today was the Mist being weird .” Popping up at camp in the Hermes cabin, getting found after like a year by Hypnos, and him realizing he had another kid had certainly been an experience . 

(One filled with many tears, promises to be a better father, hugs that she barely begrudgingly sat through, and naps that she actually didn’t mind all that much.) 

“So, what, he doesn’t know I exist?” Tim asks. Harsh. Disbelieving. 

“Probably not,” She responds blandly. He twitches. “My dad didn’t know I existed until I got to camp and got the Gotham Mist off of me. He probably didn’t know about you until the Mist parted for you. That’s why he’s freaking out, and that’s why I sent the others to help him calm down.” 

“He’s a god , isn’t he?” 

A funny feeling grows in her chest. That expression her dad wore when she was getting ready for the battle of Manhattan, knowing he couldn’t help her even if he desperately didn’t want to send her there alone. The fear she’d been shown by her dad and uncle when they knew just how much danger she was in during the battle against Geia. The feelings they had- how they couldn’t intervene but how much they wanted to. 

“That doesn’t mean a whole lot, y’know.” She frowns. Not as much as it should. Even the gods have limited freedom, especially gods who don’t hold the kind of power that the big guys do. Even Poseidon bowed his head for his child all those years ago, and he’s one of the big three. 

But they’re at the weapons shed, now, so there’s no time to dwell. Instead, she pulls it open and gestures at the rows of thrown-aside weapons stacked on top of each other. Experiments from Cabin Nine, old weapons from years long passed, weapons from fallen comrades, or those that simply outgrew their old ones. A shed full of history. A shed that has ladybugs painted on its side because of a younger Apollo kid who’d gotten their hands on paint and enough free time. 

“Pick one you’d like. I’m betting my dad’ll give you something fancy, but you should have something simple at the very least. I always have at least a normal dagger on me just in case.” 

Tim stares at her, long and hard. She can’t be sure what he’s searching for. Finally, he tears his gaze away and looks at the weapons instead. “For fighting monsters, right?” He questions softly. Something complicated rests in his expression and his eyes glare holes through each of the weapons laying before him. 

“Yeah. This’ll be the only thing you can fight them with,” She responds, tapping at one of the swords. “Celestial Bronze. There’s a couple of other materials, but I’ll save that explanation for when we get into the other pantheons of gods.” 

“The what ?” 

“Pick,” She orders. Best not to get sidetracked by things like learning about Roman gods and Norse gods. Not to mention the Egyptian gods who follow none of the same rules. 

(Again, still wrapping her own head around all of those ones. She’s still making Clovis do any ambassador missions for Hypnos’ Roman counterpart simply out of half-refusal to fully believe in Camp Jupiter. She’ll get around to it eventually. Somewhere between fighting against Roman invaders and going to college in Camp Jupiter.)

Tim doesn’t stop glaring at her in short intervals while he searches through the stacks of items. Already embracing his role as asshole family member. He’s likely looking for something similar to his bo staff, but he doesn’t find anything similar so he sighs. Instead, he grabs a simple dagger and turns it over in his hands. “This good enough for now? Can I get something custom ordered or something?” 

“If my dad doesn’t gift you something you like then yeah, sure,” She returns, shrugging. “It’s sort of tradition in our cabin, though. My dad gave me my wings and Uncle Thanatos gave me my spear and dagger bracelets. It’ll be the same setup for you, but swapped.” 

“I’m seriously getting wings? I thought you were joking.” Tim doesn’t even look surprised anymore. Just… tired. Which, fair. She’s kind of dumped a lot of information on him for such a short time period. Screw that damn minotaur for sneaking up and severely shortening her explanation time frame. And making it so she had to confront Tim apparently being related to her, which she still hasn’t fully processed yet. 

“Yeah, he’ll probably give you wings. If you suck enough at them, though, he’ll take them away.” She shrugs, shutting the doors of the weapon shed and showing him how to sheath his new dagger on his belt. “Clovis kept falling asleep midair and crashing so Dad took his wings away. The twins on the other hand, June and Cal, are pretty good with their wings so they’ve kept them so far. Speaking of which…” 

Her shoulders are stiff and sore from so long keeping her wings folded up in their dormant form. They’ve never liked being stationary for so long, and it’s led to loads of aches and pains from them. Even the short break from the minotaur wasn’t enough to get rid of the pins and needles running up her spine and condensing all around her shoulders. Being back at camp, though, means that she gets to let them out again. 

She unfolds her wings carefully, letting them fall out behind her like a cape, fluttering for a moment before folding up carefully so they aren’t in danger of hitting someone. Feathers float to the ground, accompanying feathers already at home amongst the leaves of Camp Half-Bloods grounds. “There we go, that’s better.” 

“Huh. Neat,” Tim mumbles. “White wings might stick out in Gotham, though. Think I can dye them?” 

“You’ll probably get black wings, like Uncle Thanatos’.” She gestures for him to follow her away from the shed and towards cabin fifteen. “Come on, we can’t keep them waiting any longer.” Not without Uncle Thanatos potentially starting to search for them out of fear of them being grievously injured or something. Crybaby of all crybabies, that one. 

-|-

Cabin fifteen looks like a warm and comfortable prairie house. Less imposing and dramatic than the other cabins, more welcoming than any of the others, and so comfortable that you could fall asleep on even the porch. She has, before. Mud walls, a rush roof, poppies growing in the grass directly outside, and a general warmth even from outside that just calls invitingly for you to come inside and take a nap. Some campers dealing with particularly bad insomnia and willing to brave the chance of falling asleep for far too long will take a quick nap on one of the hammocks on the porch or be especially brave and sleep inside. 

Charlie leads Tim up the slightly creaky steps onto the porch, waves hi to the few potted plants out there, and then pushes open the door. The poplar branch sits on the mantel above the hearth, a warm ever-present crackling fire that’s more magic than real. Cozy beds, stuffed animals, pillows, and blankets piled high. Bookshelves lined with books on curing insomnia, various herbal teas, and just cozy books to read before bed line the walls. Everything feels so warm and inviting, that if Tim weren’t so anxious she’s sure he’d be curling up on one of the beds to take a quick nap. 

Everything about this cabin was designed to be comfortable. Plush rugs, comfortable curtains, glow-in-the-dark stars dotting the ceiling, beanbags, the constant vague smell of poppies and lavender, and spare mattresses- everything is warm, everything is comfortable, and everything is inviting. 

As it stands, there’s too much tension in the room for a quick nap. Rather than the relaxed atmosphere that cabin fifteen is used to, everything is tense and anxious. She can understand why with the situation at hand; until now Uncle Thantos was far too busy to have children, and now suddenly there’s one popping up at sixteen years old that he knew nothing about. That all of them knew nothing about. 

It’s a lot to take in, to say the least. 

Inside the cabin, everyone is strewn about. Clovis is asleep on his bed, as he usually is, a book next to his head with his finger tucked in for a bookmark. Cal is off to the side, holding an anxious-looking bird in his hands, Janeway she thinks its name is. He’s perched on his own bed, June at his side, cuddled close together. June has a stuffed animal held loosely in her grip- a flamingo stuffed animal that she’s pretty sure is named ‘Shrimp’. 

The very middle of the room holds the center of attention. Her dad and Uncle Thanatos, sat on the comfortable king-sized bed reserved for whenever dad visits them, close together and mumbling softly to each other. When she and Tim walk into the room, they both stop talking and lift their gazes. 

Her dad, Hypnos, is exactly as one would imagine him to be. His hair is gray and soft, with curls that fall over his shoulders in a loose braid that always seems to be halfway to coming undone. His eyes are always tired, a soft grayish-blue that inspires a quick nap for those who aren’t used to it. His features are all soft; soft golden brown darker skin, a soft jawline, a thicker body type with no muscle to speak of, a bit of scruff on his face like he’s forgotten to shave in the last couple of days. Pure white wings fan out behind him, laid out on the bed. He’s wearing a simple Star Trek t-shirt that Cal got him a while ago and plaid pajama bottoms. He’s the picture of sleepy, the picture of soft and dreamy and welcoming. 

Thanatos, on the other hand, is all prim and proper business. Dark black hair that falls down his back in flowing and curling micro locs, she believes the hairstyles called, dark brown skin, sharper features in a sharp jawline, lean and muscular sort of frame, and pointed nose. He’s wearing a black business suit even here, but there’s a little skull pin on his tie that June got for him after he gave her a dagger. His black wings are also fanned out behind him, but each feather stands on end, making them appear more like puff balls than anything. Shimmering purple and black and blueish, just like the night sky. 

Both Dad and Uncle Thanatos look up when they enter the room. Dad is as calm as ever, nothing giving way to the stress of the situation. Uncle Thanatos, on the other hand, looks like a blended smoothie of anxiety and exhaustion. Ready to take flight right then and there, strung tight like a bowstring.

“Uh…” Tim manages. Unsure what to do in this situation, she imagines. Awkwardly standing, fidgeting, looking the picture of a nervous child. 

“Tim,” Uncle Thanatos mumbles. His voice is filled with desperation and longing. A moment too late she takes a step back, and for the lateness she gets large black wings to the face as Uncle Thanatos rushes forward. She spits a feather out of her mouth, grimacing. 

He stands as close to Tim as he dares, only a foot or so away. Uncle Thanatos reaches his hands forward as if to reach for a hug before seemingly thinking better of it and laying his hands flat against his sides. She’s never seen him this anxious before. Not even that whole situation during the seven prophecy where he was kind of sort of kidnapped (it was on the Roman side so she’s still fuzzy on the details. Doesn’t help that he refuses to talk about it). 

“Hey… Thanatos,” Tim winces at his own words. “Sorry. I mean. Uh. Would you rather I call you something else?” 

“You can call me anything you like,” Uncle Thanatos says quickly. He takes a deep steadying breath, wings fluttering with his anxiety behind him. “I- I would like to apologize. I did not know that you existed until only a matter of hours ago, and due to that, you have lived your life entirely on your own. I have failed you as a father.” 

Tim looks distinctly uncomfortable. She imagines that if he could he’d be crawling out a window to avoid any kind of emotional conversation. Trapped inside a bird cage, and even without wings he’s flighty. Hypnos, and apparently Thanatos kids too, have never been very good about feeling trapped. 

“That’s, uh, that’s cool man. I mean- I get it,” He awkwardly responds. 

Charlie takes another step back. Her Dad does the same. Tim shoots her a look, one that screams ‘what’s going on what are you doing’ which she dutifully ignores. This is something that he needs to do on his own. And also something that she doesn’t want to get in the way of- feathers do not taste good, and she’s already had a mouthful. 

Just in time, too. Uncle Thanatos throws himself forward, all pretenses gone, a wail erupting from his mouth. He wraps his arms around Tim, crushing the smaller boy in a hug and sobbing loudly. “I’m so sorry! You’ve turned out so wonderfully my son! I will do everything in my power to make it up to you!” 

Again, Tim shoots her a look. This time it’s pleading for help. She snorts instead of doing anything even remotely helpful and saddles up next to her dad instead, offering him a fist bump which he sleepily returns. They don’t tend to see each other in person super often these days, but he’s dropped by a few times to hang out with her and her siblings during dreams and such. He’s enjoyed her stories about vigilantes and rouges, although he’s been a bit weird about how frequently she runs head-first into danger. 

Something about ‘having no survival instinct to speak of’ or something. Not her fault that she has both being an Alley kid and a demigod to contribute to that. 

“It’s, uh, it’s really alright. I mean- please don’t cry,” Tim pleads. He awkwardly pats Uncle Thanatos’ back, looking just about ready to crawl out of his skin with discomfort. 

“Timothy, my child, I will do everything in my power to make it up to you,” Uncle Thanatos sobs, almost as if Tim’s words aren’t getting through to him at all. Which, fair. This was about the reaction her dad gave when he found out about her. Little less dramatic, but still. Just about the same amount of crying and bone-crushing hugs. 

“I mean, it’s not your fault that apparently Gotham is weird-” 

“Do you want wings?” Uncle Thanatos pulls back, still holding Tim by the shoulders but looking at his face now. “I can get you wings. That would make you happy, yes?” 

“Uh-” Tim sputters. 

“Uncle Thanatos, hold on a minute,” Charlie interjects. She stalks forward, finally intervening and putting a hand on his shoulder. “This is still a lot for him, yeah? He’s only known about everything for a couple of hours. Let’s slow down, give him some time to process everything.” 

“Right, of course,” Uncle Thanatos nods, releasing Tim and taking an anxious step back and wringing his hands. He looks a whole lot more like an anxious teenager than he should right now considering he’s taken on the appearance of a forty-year-old man. “Tim, would you like… uh, gifts? Me and your uncle have prepared welcome home gifts if you so desire.” 

Tim blinks rapidly. Processing, she imagines. Getting your first godly hug tends to do that to you. They don’t tend to know the definition of ‘holding back’ so the hug is more comparable to being slowly crushed to death and enjoying the feeling for some reason. “Um. Okay, sure, whatever. May as well get this ball rolling,” He mumbles somewhat absently. 

“I have wings of the night for you. To take to the skies, to keep you safe, to give you the freedom you deserve,” Uncle Thanatos announces. He takes another step back and holds his arms wide, wings fanning out behind him. A soft glow filters through the room, spanning over Tim’s shoulders. Wait, he isn’t giving Tim any warning? 

“Tim, shirt!” She shouts. 

Tim has a moment to stare at her in utter confusion before suddenly wings are erupting from his back and tearing through his shirt. Wings of the night; shimmering black and blue and purple, feathers lined up together, matching Uncle Thanatos’ wings and looking beautiful. Just as beautiful as they would’ve been if he’d had any kind of warning to take his shirt off first. 

“Shit, wait, that was my only shirt…” He mumbles, reaching desperately around to clutch at the torn fabric. Then, Tim’s expression is quickly overcome with wonder. “Wait, what? These- holy fuck , why do they feel like that?” He turns to her, eyes shining dangerously. 

Charlie smiles softly. She’ll chew Uncle Thanatos out later for destroying her brother’s shirt so thoroughly. “They feel right, don’t they? Like there’s been a piece missing your whole life and suddenly you have it?” 

Tim’s wings wrap forward, allowing him to run his fingers over the soft feathers. Uncle Thanatos drops his arms and wings closer to his body again after the dramatics of the spell, smiling softly at him. “I hope you enjoy flying, my son.” 

“...Right,” Tim chokes. 

“As for my gift,” Dad interjects, taking a step forward. He produces a bracelet from seemingly nowhere and holds it out to Tim. It’s Celestial Bronze, a similar design to her’s but with butterfly wings around the gem instead of clouds. The gem itself is also a different color; a color that looks a whole lot like the honey-golden eyes of Uncle Thanatos instead of the blue-gray of hers and her sibling's weapons. 

(June got a charm bracelet with a set of throwing knives that she could rip off to throw and would respawn on the bracelet after some time. Cal got a magical shield and a longer sword in the form of bracelets like hers but lower down on his wrists. Clovis has weapons, she’s sure, but she’s never actually seen them because of how frequently he avoids training.) 

“A weapon to protect yourself with. I see that you favor a Bo Staff, so I have gotten you one that can also transform into a spear.” Her dad turns to her, “I trust you to show him how to use it.” 

“Of course,” She responds, grinning. 

Tim takes the bracelet, almost reverently. “Woah…” He mumbles. She helps him clasp it around his wrist, not his upper arm for now what with him still kind of having a shirt. Most of a shirt. She’ll show him later how to use it and maybe give him some pointers on how to deal with monsters. Plus some flying lessons, catching him up on the quest more directly, all the camp nonsense he’s missed out on, other pantheons … 

For now, though, she simply lets herself bask in the presence of her family. They all pile onto the king-sized bed in the center, Tim at her side because he looks a little bit uncomfortable around Uncle Thanatos for now, and simply watch a movie on the cabin nine-approved DVD player. Cal and June pipe up with the odd question about vigilantism that Tim is hesitant to answer, but he does in the end. 

Yeah, this is alright. She loves her family so much. This is exactly how she wants it to be. Her cabin, her siblings, her dad and her uncle, everyone together . 

-|-

The next morning comes. Uncle Thanatos and her dad had to dip last night after a bit of a movie marathon; one for work and the other so he doesn’t make any of the other gods pissy. Tim slept in Hypnos’ bed for tonight, but a new bed’ll be dragged in soon enough. Better to have him in cabin fifteen instead of needing to build a whole other cabin and make him sleep in it alone. 

(She’s heard complaints from some of the only children and just how lonely the cabins get. Just how frequently they sneak out to pile into one cabin together. Nico almost never sleeps in his own cabin- there’s practically a bed reserved for him in the Apollo cabin.) 

When morning comes, she does her usual morning routine, only with the addition of Tim sort of awkwardly following her around. She kicks Clovis into gear, dumping a cup of water on him to break him out of his sleep (read; coma). She makes sure the twins brush their teeth and helps them with their hair. And she leads everyone towards the dining pavilion, Clovis half asleep on one shoulder and Tim hanging off the other with anxiety. His wings are puffballs on his back, the poor kid. 

They get a few odd looks for Tim being there when they arrive. He tries to puff out his chest and look all high and mighty about it, but his confusion is more than evident. She shows him how to give offerings, she shows him how the magical cups work, and overall it’s a pleasant morning. Proper offerings, an actual breakfast, as much hot chocolate as she can fit in her stomach, and her family all around her. 

However, basking in pleasantness doesn’t get to last forever and they need to move towards more productive things for the quest. 

“In order for the quest to be completed, we’ll be needing you to track down Chaos so I can put him to sleep,” Charlie explains to Tim. She’s led him to a relatively vacant spot in the forest, chucked a Camp Half-Blood tank top at him to change into, and told him to start stretching his wings. “For you to track him down, you’ll need to hone your powers. Train with them. So, for now, we’re going to be doing a flying lesson. Any questions?” 

Tim straightens out from stretching his wings, somewhat awkwardly with the new appendage and all. “Yeah.” He wrinkles his nose and pinches the tank top he’s wearing in between his fingers, pulling it a bit away from his body. “What’s up with the bright orange shirts? They’re kind of ugly, don’t you think?” 

She shrugs. “Yeah, a little. But they’re designed to be bright to make finding our bodies easier if we die during monster attacks.” Tim flinches. “So, flying should be relatively instinctual to you because of your heritage,” She plows on. “We can start with trying to flap us into the air, or I can shove you off a cliff and see if you learn quickly from there.” 

“No, no,” Tim frantically waves his hands in front of his face, expression strained. “We’re not brushing past that. You guys designed your shirts around finding your bodies ?” He hisses. 

Gods, he’s really gonna get hung up on every little thing, huh? “Yeah, come on, keep up,” She says, rolling her eyes. “If you get injured, we have ambrosia to heal you up. Food of the gods. A little bit heals a demigod right up. Any amount will kill a mortal, and too much for a demigod kills you too, so be careful.” 

Tim stares at her for a moment, cogs working in his head. “...Okay, fine, whatever, we’re moving past that.” He sighs, straightening out his shoulders and spreading his wings around him. “Do I just… flap them really hard? How’s this supposed to work?” 

“Don’t think about it too hard,” She recommends. “Technically, because of our weight, wings this size shouldn’t be able to get us into the air. It’s all magic. So just go with what feels natural.” She flaps her wings hard, ruffling leaves and skewing the dirt around her, taking to the air and hovering a few feet above Tim by flapping in place. She moves a bit more purposefully, telegraphing her movements so that they’re obvious and so that Tim might be able to copy her. 

Tim frowns. Shakes out his shoulders. “Alright, just go with it…” He mumbles. His wings twitch behind him, an aborted flap. Then a proper one, then he hits a tree with his wing and nearly falls over. 

It’s a process. 

By the end of a couple of hours, he can fly relatively okay. More importantly, though, Tim can fold and unfold his wings on command. And he knows how to draw his bo staff, plus unleash the spearhead. All in all, it’s a pretty decent and productive morning. In the event of a monster attack, with his former training with the Bats, she imagines he’d be able to survive with minimal injuries, depending on the beast he faces. 

“Now we’re going to talk to the two unofficial partners on the quest.” Charlie lands on the ground, beckoning Tim over to her to start the march to the Hades cabin. “They’ve sort of been on standby. Nico can shadow travel, which is kind of like teleporting, and Will can heal. So if I messed up badly enough, they’d hop on over and save me.” 

Tim nods along, frowning a little. “Who’s their godly parents?” 

“Ah, right, forgot about that.” Explaining the whole Big Three ban is probably an important detail for the whole demigod thing… “Okay, so, background info, a while ago Hades, Zeus, and Poseidon decided to stop having kids because their kids were just so powerful.” 

Predictably, Tim snorts. “How long did that last?” 

“About as long as expected,” She responds, quirking a smile. “For Poseidon and Zues, anyhow. Hades actually stuck to his side of the bargain. The issue is… well, before the deal was struck, he had two kids, way back in the twentieth century. Then they got stuck in this hotel that dilates time, and then they got punted to the future. Didn’t break the deal, but suddenly two Big Three kids were here. One of them didn’t make it, the other one is Nico.”

“Nico, son of Hades,” Tim mumbles. His eyebrows furrow with concentration. “Wouldn’t that kind of make him our boss?” 

She snorts. “No, but I’ve been calling him ‘boss’ for as long as I’ve known him just to mess with him.” The Hades cabin comes up, so she beckons Tim to the front and ignores his scowling at the decorations. “Will is a child of Apollo. Now come on, we’ve got to check in with them before we head back.” 

Not bothering to knock, she shoves the door open into the Hades cabin. Predictably, Will and Nico are sitting on Nico’s bed, hunched over a very intense-looking game of Mythomagic cards. They startle and look up when she enters. Will is relatively relaxed, but Nico quickly attempts to cover up the cards. He honestly looks more embarrassed to be caught playing this card game than that time she accidentally walked in on them making out. Priorities, man. 

“Hey- uh, hello Charlie. Underling. What are you doing here?” Nico asks, awkwardly. Geek. 

Regardless, she steps forward and gestures to Tim. “Found the other kid in the prophecy. Child of Thanatos. Figured I should check in before we head back.” 

This earns two critical gazes. While Uncle Thanatos not having kids isn’t necessarily public knowledge, Nico should at least know that the man is far too busy to have time to build any kind of relationship. This is considered an anomaly of an extreme kind. Will was probably brought into the loop in that regard based on his suspicion. 

(Which, yeah. Uncle Thanatos doesn’t have the time to build a relationship, not like the other gods do when they have children. Which means, shudder , that her uncle had a one-night stand. Not something she wants to deal with or think about in any capacity, so she won’t. Simple as that.) 

“Interesting,” Nico mumbles. He scrutinizes Tim so closely that if he were Kryptonian there would be lasers coming out of his eyes right now.  

“Babe, you look like you’re going to dissect him,” Will chides softly, patting Nico’s upper arm. He turns back to her and Tim, grinning like a small sun. She blinks rapidly, getting rid of the spots in her eyes. “It’s good that you checked in. It’s nice to finally meet you.” Then, to her, “What’s your plan for getting back to Gotham?” 

“Not the taxi again,” Tim hisses at her. Which, fair. 

“Could we get a lift from Ms. O’Leary?” She asks. Best not to subject Tim to that ordeal again. 

“Who’s Ms. O’Leary?” Oh, right, Tim hasn’t met her yet. That’ll be fun. 

Ms. O’Leary always loves new people, after all.

Chapter Text

Bat-Chat

Red Hood: Since Tim isn’t answering his phone for some fucking reason

Why the fuck was Replacement dragging my neighbor around the manor? 

Or the other way around it was hard to tell

Spoiler: You actually came home?

Le gasp

Batman: There is cause for suspicion. Tim claimed to be going to Charlie’s house for a school project, however, he reported in the past that she lived in an apartment that is falling apart. It doesn’t even have heat. Ordinarily, he would’ve hosted her at the manor. 

Red Hood: God I keep forgetting that you’re in this chat

Oracle: Checked the security cams in front of the manor, and then further into the city. They never make it back into Gotham. I lost some of the feed for the front gate for a few minutes due to some static issues, but from what I can tell they just straight up leave the city. 

Nightwing: Where is he??? 

Oracle: Tracked his phone. It’s still at the manor. He left behind all of his electronics and picked the trackers out of his bag and jacket. He didn’t want to be followed. There’s a bus station within walking distance of the manor and without any security cameras, I imagine that’s what they took. 

Red Hood: Damn, Replacements got some balls

Hold on

Was he with Karlie when he did this?? 

Charlie whatever the fuck her name is

Oracle: Yes. Wherever he went, he went with her. 

Red Hood: Fuck

Signal: Uh

So like

Not to be the paranoid one that’s just freaking out

But don’t we think that Charlie’s in some kind of cult?

Spoiler: Some kind of freaky ‘kidnaps metas’ cult, yeah

Signal: Could she be trying to get Tim into that cult too? 

Spoiler: Fuck

Nightwing: Fuck

Red Hood: …Charlie’s in a cult???

-|-

Charlie waves goodbye to Ms. O’Leary and Nico as they fade into the shadows of the alley that they dropped her and Tim into. Tim is still pretty thoroughly covered in dog slobber from Ms. O’Leary taking a good crack at him and hasn’t stopped glaring at her for not warning him for a solid five minutes now. She smiles cheekily at him. 

“I hate you,” He grumbles. 

“Sure, sure,” She nods along, grinning wider. “You got a little something…” She gestures all across her face, smirking when Tim’s rage only grows. “Not a fan of dogs I take it?” 

“I like dogs fine ,” He hisses. “Key word being dogs . That was not a fucking dog .” 

“Well, head up you big baby, we have work to do.” She spins on her heel and starts marching out of the alley, ignoring Tim’s angry muttering from behind her. He follows quickly enough, though, so she doesn’t mind continuing. “In terms of getting this quest wrapped up so the world doesn’t end, we’re going to have to train up your powers. I imagine soul-sensing will be the most useful here for tracking him down, but we’ll cover all our bases just in case.” And so Tim doesn’t end up in a fight with a monster that’s too tough to defeat without magic and just ends up dying right then and there. 

Tim frowns severely. He holds his hand out in front of him, palms up, staring at it as if it’ll spontaneously light aflame or something. “I still don’t really think I have powers. What if I’m one of those demigods that don’t have them? I mean, there have been plenty of times in my life that if powers were going to come out they would’ve, you know?” 

She hums, tilting her head in consideration. Big moments tend to happen a lot with vigilantes she would imagine, yeah. World-ending moments that powers would come out if they exist at all, all displayed on TV or in news articles for her to occasionally get access to in the isolation of camp. But… “How do you know they haven’t operated? Just, y’know, subtly.” She turns to him, staring critically at every inch of his power that she can vaguely sense. Sort of misty, sort of cemetery-like. “Have you ever been in a pickle that you got out of in a strange way because of something that might be attributed to death-related shenanigans?” 

“Of course no-” Tim pauses. His eyes widen, his breath hitches, and he gets a misty sort of look in his eyes that tells her that he’s been pulled into some kind of memory. She doesn’t try to intrude on it, even when it hangs in the air for her to watch and steal. She simply lets him sort through it, sort through his own thoughts before speaking again. 

“Ra’s,” Tim finally says. “A while ago- I was in a lot of trouble, but I got support because this really important assassin guy decided he was obsessed with me. He still sends me marriage proposals. I always figured he was just insane. But-” He looks at her, frantic. 

She can only shrug. “Maybe he was insane. Maybe some part of him subconsciously was attracted to the part of you that is the prince of death. Like a compass to the north pole.” She’ll unpack the whole ‘important assassin got obsessed with my brother and still sends him marriage proposals’ thing later when she’s not in the presence of said brother. And maybe when she’s in the presence of the assassin, a knife, and no witnesses. For now, he seems to be having his own little freak out over there. 

“Right. Okay. Just- just gotta reset my worldview really quick…” Tim breaths. 

“Again?” She smiles sympathetically, reaching out a hand to pat him on the shoulder. Maybe a bit patronizingly, but he was pinned to the ground getting licked within an inch of his life by a giant dog less than ten minutes ago so it’s hard to find sympathy with that mental image in her head. “That tends to happen a lot once you learn about your godly heritage. Hopefully, it’ll happen less as you learn more and more.” 

“Yeah.” Tim pushes his hands into his eyes, taking a deep steading breath to ground himself. “Right. Okay. We’re going to ignore that revelation for now. Instead, we’re going to talk about camp.” He whirls on her, eyes blazing. “That camp, tell me about it. And how I’m supposed to tell my family. Alright?” 

Distracting himself from re-sorting through every fight he’s ever been in and dissecting it to figure out if magic was involved, she imagines. Which is fine. She’s happy to allow him this distraction if that’s what he wants. Going through every fight he’s ever been in with the additional ‘But magic?’ is too much to deal with in the middle of this random sidewalk in Gotham. 

“Well, it’s technically a summer camp, but some people stay year-round.” Charlie leads him through the winding streets of Crime Alley, towards her apartment so they can have some relative peace during their conversation. “It sort of depends on your family situation. If you don’t have a family, or don’t have a great one, you can stay year-round. If you’d rather go home, though, you can just stay the summer.” 

Tim nods along, latching onto her words like they’re a buoy in a storm. She’s kind of been dumping a lot on him over the last… day , so that’s fair. 

“As for telling your family, it’s sort of up to you. Some people don’t tell their families and just go to camp over the summer, others tell their families. If they don’t already know it’s…” She winces, rocking her head to the side. “ Less than recommended to tell them. If you’re worried, though, I can erase their memories of you if you’d like. Then you could leave full time no problem.” 

Tim twitches. “Uh… you can do that?” He asks blankly. 

She quirks a smile. “Child of Hypnos, remember? I can mess with memories.” For added measure, she waggles her fingers at him.

He stares at her, long and hard. If this is enough to make him skittish then she probably shouldn’t tell him about any of the bigger messes the Big Three kids have made in the last couple of years. Volcano thing still gets to her sometimes. “...Right. Okay, sure, that’s something you can do. Please don’t do that. I’ll figure something else out.” 

She shrugs, “Okay. It’s up to you.” 

“Yeah.” Tim shakes his head a little, expression hardening. “I think we should set up some kind of training schedule for me if we’re working on a timer. What sort of free time do you have?” He asks pointedly. Ah, probably because of her continued turning down of invitations due to work. 

“I work afternoons, but you could meet up with me after work and we could walk around at night time working on your powers and tracking Chaos at the same time. Double whammy,” She offers. “That’ll likely do your powers good too, if you have shadow-y powers like I suspect.” Honestly, she’s mostly basing her estimation of his powers on Nico’s powers.

“Shadow powers,” Tim echoes. He doesn’t even sound shocked anymore, just exhausted. At this point, who can blame him? 

“Well, see you in school tomorrow?” She turns to him, offering her best sympathetic smile. “Try to process everything the best you can, yeah?” Giving him some alone time should, at the very least, give him some time for quiet contemplation and processing. Introverts and all that. 

“...Yeah,” He replies weakly. 

-|-

Charlie breathes in, letting the muted sunlight streaming in through the window wash over her skin. Her blazer is both too stuffy and not enough to block out the chill that permeates the school. ‘All weather clothing’ really just means not quite right for any kind of weather. Too hot and heavy for the summer, too loose-fitted and thin for the winter. Right now? She’s feeling solidly somewhere between ‘too hot’ around the collar and ‘too cold’ just about everywhere else. 

Things have been a lot since the minotaur attack. 

Tim is related to her. Not just distantly, not just in the way that all demigods can relate to each other in their experiences, not just in the way that she can hang out with him in the summers- Tim is her cousin . Her Uncle Thanatos’ kid. And maybe for most other demigod families, they might not count that, but for cabin fifteen they do . 

It feels a lot better than she thought it would. 

(And at least part of that is because she knows his dad and knows he’s nothing like the gods at camp who only claim their children out of the promise Percy Jackson roped them into.) 

When they were younger, when it was just them two marching through the city in the dead of night, they were always so similar in such strange ways. The way they could smother their presence in a way that no child should be able to. The way they could jump and run and fly without so much as losing their breath. The way they followed Batman for years and never once got caught. 

She remembers taking pictures with him. She was never any good at it, her artistic talents have more to do with writing fairy tales for her younger siblings. But when it was just her and her brother, jumping from roof to roof, hiding behind air conditioning units and melding into the shadows, he would snap a picture and she would breathe in the night air and- 

Because they were both alone, back then. He was alone in his empty manor, parents always gone on business trips or home and awful. She was alone in a house filled with a drunken family member who yelled and chased and never wanted her in the first place. They both escaped their situations, and they both found each other out on those roofs. 

Their powers are going to be similar. She’s going to be able to help Tim learn his strengths in a way she never thought she’d be able to. She’s going to be able to fly with him, help him learn, help him grow because she understands . 

A Robin with wings as dark as the night. Who would’ve thought? 

Robin is magic. Apparently this one more than the others. 

The teacher drones on from the front of the classroom, but Charlie hardly pays attention. Her attention is drawn out the window, drawn to other planes of reality entirely. Instead of whatever words her teacher tries to convey, her mind wanders to nights spent Bat and Bird chasing, camera flashing. Daydreaming, she realizes, but she can’t bring herself to pull away from it. 

Tim used to buy her food. He had a credit card on his parent's account and she was only ever fed if Bryan felt inclined to, so Tim would buy her food. Fast food from Bat Burger if they felt brave enough to face a cashier without an adult, convenience store snacks, cookie dough and curry powder, every unholy abomination of snacks they could think of until they landed on ones that tasted good. Things that would make others they spoke to gag but the both of them giggle on whatever rooftop they landed on. 

In return, she would keep him company. Taught him how to navigate the Alley without being targeted for crimes. Taught him how to fight with her meager hard-earned skills. Taught him how to bandage up injuries when his father got particularly pissy and threw a glass at him, leaving him with shards embedded in his skin. Stayed with him, even when everyone else in his life went away. 

Brother. Her brother. 

-|-

The day proceeds relatively normally. Charlie’s exhausted from just about everything that’s been happening lately, which makes staying awake a near-impossible task, but it’s unfortunately required for the basic requirements of being a functional human. Or at least resembling a functional human. She’s neither functional nor human, so it’s relatively inapplicable. 

Duke and Steph give her some odd looks during lunch for some reason. She’s pretty sure she isn’t doing the thing where she’s snoring while awake, though, so she dutifully pretends she doesn’t see. They can be weird on their own time. 

Instead, she goes to her afternoon job, says hi to all the plants that like her, flips off the lemon balm, and does her usual duties. Dr. Ivy keeps assigning her to paperwork organizing, something about how she looks dead on her feet, but whatever. She’s not dead on her feet, Uncle Thanatos would never. 

(Although it is nice to not have to worry about dropping something important and figuring out how to pay for it.) 

At the end of her work day, she steps out of the Triple I, freshly changed into her night clothing (read; tank top for ease of fighting). Tim is waiting for her, wide-eyed panicking at one of the newer poppy plants violently shaking in his direction. The plant, named Edgar Allen Poe after one of her favorite authors, arrived the other day on special order from Dr. Ivy. Something about testing theories, Charlie thinks. 

Dr. Ivy has to know by now, but she hasn’t said anything. At this point, that’s as good as she’s going to get. 

“Uh, is this normal?” Tim asks blankly. The plant shakes harder, so he hesitantly reaches out and pets the petals. If she were a Demeter kid, she imagines she’d be hearing a very loud cry of happiness right now. 

“Normal for us,” She replies, nodding. She steps closer, leaning closer to the flower and eyeing it critically. A soft, almost baby blue. One of the less common colors for poppies, but one of her favorites.  “Poppies tend to like kids of Hypnos and Thanatos. Something about us being royalty to them? King of the fish type of situation, I think. Just give it some attention, you’ll be good.” 

“Right.” He pets the plant, face screwed up a little bit. “Totally normal. Anyways,” He turns to her, still petting the plant she notes, “Steph and Duke seem to be under the impression that you’re trying to get me to join your cult. Thing. Just, by the way.” 

It takes a lot of self-control to resist bashing her head into the table displaying the various flowers. Luckily she likes those flowers and bashing her head might risk them. “Right. I forgot you guys thought I was in a cult,” She grumbles. 

Tim scoffs, “Look, you’re the one who can’t talk about your situation without making it sound hella creepy! What were we supposed to think?” 

Fair, she supposes. Camp Half-Blood is kind of culty if you don’t have any of the context behind it. Or even with the context… but she’s sort of gotten over the weirdness of it, and Tim will too. Soonish. Hopefully. Or a lot more things are going to send him for a loop and make him question everything, which they do not have time for. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” She responds instead of answering him directly. She straightens out a little, squares her shoulders, and meets Tim’s gaze. “Now come on. We have some training to do.” 

Tim sighs, mostly for dramatic effect. 

The search starts by walking a path towards the docks. Not for any particular reason other than she hasn’t mapped out much of the docks yet in her little notebook, so she’d like to while they work. She walks with her notebook out and being notated, Tim walks next to her tense and strung out. Likely at walking around Gotham at night. 

If it weren’t for the fact that she’s pretty sure only the rogues of Gotham could cause her trouble, she’d be nervous too. Mortals just… don’t really do it for demigods. A regular mortal with a gun is just about as dangerous as the lemon balm. 

“First things first, we should work on seeing if you can do things like soul-sensing,” She starts. She taps her notebook with her pen, tilting her head to the side in thought. “For me, it came as a natural progression of my powers. I just sort of woke up one day and camp and went ‘woah, I can tell how tired people are’. Since we’re working on a time crunch, we’re going to try and get your powers rolling faster, alright?” 

“Yeah, alright,” Tim agrees. His expression becomes grim and serious; something akin to his Red Robin persona, she imagines. Good. Getting newer campers to take things seriously usually takes a couple of games of capture the flag and a couple of accidental maimings (purposeful, sometimes. Ares kids tend to go after new kids if they’re too egotistical). Tim having a vigilante background might make the transition smoother in this case. 

“It’s a very inexact science. Just- uh, let’s see, when you look at me, try and figure out as much as you can without using usual observation skills. Like- hm. Like seeing and hearing at the same time? Try and think about things like life force, too. How close I am to death,” She continues. Trying to mash her soul sensing and Nico’s together into a lesson plan probably isn’t the best way to go about it, but ah well. It’s probably the closest she’ll get to Tim’s estimated powers. 

“So I should be able to tell when you’ll die?” Tim asks skeptically. 

“How close I am to death, how healthy I am, how many people I’ve seen die, how many monsters I’ve slain, how many times I’ve been to the underworld, that sort of thing. In theory, anyway.” She furrows her eyebrows, taking a moment to think. “At some point, you might be able to tell how people will die. I’m not sure.” 

For her, she has a lot more to do with sleep and memories. She can tell how recently someone’s slept, how much they slept, how tired they are, that sort of thing. And for memories, she can often rifle through someone’s memories if they’re asleep. If they’re awake, it takes them actively remembering it for her to reach out and interact with it. 

“That sounds overpowered,” Tim grumbles. “Plus the wings, shadow stuff, invisibility… it feels like a cheat code.” After spending so long fighting to become a hero without powers, it probably does feel like cheating to him. It felt a little bit like cheating to her back when she was learning about all her powers; all of that time spent learning to defend herself in the Alley only for it to turn out that she can just magic people to sleep ? She was kind of pissed. 

“We’re a bit of a special case.” She shrugs, turning from him to her notebook. She notes down another street name and the level of Mist strangeness, humming to herself. Her notes are probably incomprehensible to anyone who doesn’t have her code for ‘Mist weird levels’ or whatever the metric is called. “I’d reckon we’re stronger than even the Big Three’s kids if we really tried, you know? Cause of the Primordial god stuff,” She says, waving her hand vaguely in the air. 

Tim taps his finger against his arm. Agitated, anxious maybe, and clearly displeased with that information. “Then how come they’re called the ‘Big Three’ and they had a ban on making kids but we’re treated normally?” 

Genuinely curious, she notes. Not displeased with it. She imagines he wouldn’t be too pleased with being feared either. Walking on eggshells, nervous, anxious- things that she doesn’t want to be more than anything. 

“We don’t tend to cause as many problems.” She smiles at Tim, folding up her notebook and ignoring it for now. “Our parents tend to be more laid back. Stay out of people’s business and keep to themselves, you know? We’re much the same. So- well, people don’t actually know how powerful we are. They tend not to think about it very much. Who expects the lazy Hypnos kid who naps all day to be able to put everyone in camp to sleep with a wave of their hand?” 

Tim frowns. That’s probably a little too heavy, so she stops smiling at him and buries her nose back in her notebook. Dark, much? Man, her thirteen-year-old emo phase hit hard when she had the added drama of ‘no one understands how powerful I am and if they did they’d be scared of me’. 

“Except for some of the Athena kids. There’s a girl, Annabeth, who’ll refuse to come into our cabin unless it’s an emergency. Smart cookie.” She taps her pen against her notebook. Should she…? Yeah, probably. “Best not to mention it to other people. We’re laid back, and we prefer not to be feared, you know?” 

A moment of silence passes. She continues writing, he continues silently following her. She doesn’t look, but she can practically hear the cogs turning in his head. Mulling over the new information like a shiny new toy, turning it over and examining every single angle and crevice it has. She lets him; that’s just how his mind works. 

Red Robin the detective. Works with (supposedly) the best detective in the world. Maybe it’s not so odd after all that he ended up as a vigilante, maybe it was only a matter of time. 

“Yeah, that’s probably best to keep to ourselves,” Tim finally says. He lets out a small sigh, chest puffing out a little bit. “So, soul-sensing and shadow manipulation?” A topic change. She’ll let him, instead of dwelling on the heavy topic of ‘we’re actually so powerful there should be a ban on kinds like us but they haven’t noticed so far so please stay quiet about it’. 

…Maybe it’s a good thing Tim learned about everything after he went through thirteen and, presumably, got rid of his emo phase. She can’t imagine what demigod drama and vigilante drama would’ve done to a young teenager. Maybe just ended the world right then and there, finished the job where Kronos and Gaea couldn’t. 

“That’ll be top of the list for now. Then we can work more on things like invisibility and reaping, if you ever want to help your dad with his work. And during summers or if we’re out in the country where no one can see us we can work on flying,” She responds, nodding. 

For a while, they continue going. Tim doesn’t manage to start sensing souls, but after a while, he manages to get some of the shadows on his hand to waver and twist. It’ll probably be more useful in a stressful situation where it’s life or death, where any good demigod learns, but for now, it’s good progress. She makes a couple of good notes on weird Mist spots as they go, and overall it’s pleasant. He even brought cookie dough and curry powder to snack on (supposedly store-bought because Alfred ‘doesn’t let this abomination into the manor’). 

Their bonding moment can last forever, though. Walking, chatting, practicing, and snacking just like they used to- well, she’d sort of been expecting an interruption of some kind. Just… an interruption in the shape of some villain shooting up the place or another magical monster deciding that she and Tim smell like a solid midnight snack. 

Not an interruption in the shape of a purple-clad vigilante. 

(She’s starting to regret choosing Orphan as her favorite vigilante.) 

Spoiler, Steph if Charlie’s soul-sensing and ability to put two and two together don’t deceive her, lands in front of them in a flurry of a long purple cape. Her uniform is honestly one of the cooler Bat uniforms, but the strained smile and barely concealed stress kind of ruins her gushing moment. It looks… protective, but not angry? Like Steph- Spoiler wants to be mad at Charlie but can’t. 

(She’s also starting to regret not clearing up the cult thing sooner.) 

Tim glares at Spoiler. A very ‘get away from us’ type of glare that would be strange to anyone that didn’t know that they knew each other. He’s really not doing a great job of pretending she doesn’t know about the secret identities thing. 

Spoiler, of course, doesn’t respond or even really acknowledge the ‘get away from us’ glare. 

“Hey there!” Spoiler chirps, waving her hand and placing the other on her hip. A persona of some kind, vigilante or public facing Charlie can’t tell. Whichever it is, it’s making her skin crawl. “What are you two doing out so late? The streets of Gotham can be pretty dangerous, even this part of town.” 

She blinks, looking around. At some point, they’d strayed from the bad side of town to the nicer side of town. Huh. She thought she’d needed to duck out of the way of muggings a lot less than she had been like an hour ago. 

…This feels patronizing. Seriously, if she caught them sneaking around the Alley she could understand the fake concern, but here ? This isn’t the Diamond District, but there’s a building within her line of sight that has security so bad she could crack it in her sleep . She would be able to protect herself from whatever this side of town has to offer without breaking into a sweat . 

“We’re hanging out,” Tim grits out through clenched teeth. He has such a fake cheery smile on his face that she can feel a shiver travel down her spine. Creepy. It’s his ‘gala’ smile that he learned from his parents. Always made her skin crawl, that one. “Just friends. We know how to watch after ourselves. Don’t you have a patrol to return to, Spoiler ?” He spits Spoiler’s name like it’s poison and Charlie tries not to shiver again. 

If Spoiler can feel the animosity, she doesn’t so much as twitch. Either completely oblivious or not at all cowed by the thinly veiled rage radiating off of Tim. Impressive. Even Charlie’s getting a bit of heebie-jeebies from being this close to Tim, and she’s not even the one being targeted. That’s just the Janet Drake smile, though. 

“I just thought I’d check in on two helpless teenagers!” Spoiler exclaims. The vigilante turns too-sharp eyes onto Charlie, and suddenly she has the very distinct feeling of being pinned to a corkboard and being observed like a bug. She’s not the butterfly here, that’s Tim . “It can be dangerous, wandering alone at night. Never know what might try to grab you up. You know, there’s been a lot of issues with people being kidnapped into cults lately.” 

“Spoiler, ” Tim hisses frantically. 

Charlie is starting to have an out-of-body experience. How is one supposed to react when their friend, apparently Spoiler the purple-clad vigilante glad she was right about that one, confronts them in the dead of night accusing them of trying to indoctrinate their other friend into a cult? While no one is supposed to be aware of secret identities or knowledge of said cult? While this cult doesn’t fucking exist ?

This feels like an escalation of events that she should’ve nipped in the bud but was unable to due to not knowing about it in the first place. A very drastic escalation of events, leaving her with a mind-numbing migraine of frustration and a very strong desire to bash her head into the nearest hard surface. Who let this happen? Who let her manage a mission alone? She’s not smart enough for this. Lock her back up in her cabin where she won’t socially screw herself so badly that people think she’s trying to indoctrinate people into a cult . 

Hanging out with Tim is going to be extraordinarily difficult if Tim’s entire family thinks that she’s trying to get him to join a cult. The problem with that theory is that there isn’t a real way to disprove it without explaining the whole demigod thing, which really might not blow over well. Not only with Batman's ‘no meta’s’ rule but also just them not being related to Tim and not really seeming too familial with him. 

(Seriously, why does Tim have his own apartment at seventeen? )

How does she get out of this situation without further incriminating herself? Without trying to futilely explain everything and potentially get her and Tim kicked out of Gotham? What kind of social grace does she need to have - which she very much doesn’t - to make it out of this situation while still being allowed around Tim?

(The thing about Charlie is that she doesn’t have a great brain-to-mouth filter. She has a thousand thoughts a second, and when an idea on what to say pops into her head there isn’t a whole lot of time to stop it before it’s coming out of her mouth. Usually, that’s fine, but sometimes it makes things difficult. Like that time that she accidentally convinced Red Hood that she does drugs, just to name an example) 

“That’s a funny coincidence. I’m sort of in a cult. Tim’s been trying to help me out of it, but it’s been super hard undoing all that ideology, you know?” Comes out of her mouth before she entirely knows what’s happening. Her brain stalls out when she finishes processing her own words. Full on blue screen type of situation. Gods, why ? 

Who let her out of Cabin Fifteen? Who let her run her own quest? Who gave her this responsibility? She can’t lie. She’s terrible at it. Sure, she’s perfectly believable when she has a solid lie, but when she has to come up with her own lie? She always digs herself into a hole that she can’t get out of. 

“You- what?” Spoiler asks. Echoing the feelings in her soul, honestly. 

Tim shoots Charlie a scathing look. A ‘what the fuck are you doing?’ kind of look. The kind of look that she’s sure would be accompanied by an elbow to the side if he also wasn’t in a state of complete and utter shock. 

Is it too late to go back on this now? She debates the moral ambiguity of convincing Tim’s entire family that she’s in a cult, her dignity, and the weight of needing to be able to spend time with him to train his powers. Unfortunately, the survival of the entire world wins out and she realizes that it’s too late to back out of this lie. 

(Goodbye dignity. Lost early at camp after her father sobbed over her in front of the entire camp about how terrible of a father he was, lost early in Gotham to the belief that she’s a drug-addicted cult member.) 

“Yeah. Uh, I got taken in by the cult like, six years ago. Except I didn’t know they were a cult at the time. Tim’s been helping me undo some of that trauma, you know?” She continues despite the red-blaring alarms happening inside of her skull. The words coming out of her mouth sound somewhat thought through with her lie, but her brain isn’t at all thinking any of this through. No, all her brain can contribute to this conversation is a very long and loud screeching noise that sounds suspiciously like Janeway when Clovis decided that she was being too loud and started chasing her around the cabin. 

(The bird, not the captain. Captain Janeway would never make a noise like the noise happening in her head, she’s far too cool for that.) 

Tim really does elbow her in the ribs this time. She ignores him and the growing sore spot.  

“I-” Spoiler visibly stalls out, spends a moment gathering herself, and seems barely aware of what's happening in the conversation anymore. Same, honestly. Then, unfortunately, a very serious look overcomes her features. “Of course. It’s good that you’re getting the help you need and working through undoing the trauma that was inflicted upon you.” 

Dignity? Gone, on vacation, sailing across the world on a magic flying warship with a golden dragon head on the front. Embarrassment? Rising so high she’s sure her face is glowing red. Guilt at lying about being in a cult to her friend? …Notably absent. 

Huh. Maybe she’s a bit more upset about being accused of being in a cult than she thought. Or maybe ‘I’m in a cult’ is an easier source for her trauma than ‘I’ve been in two wars’. Or, easier to explain, at the very least. 

(Certainly easier to explain than Octavian’s… entire deal. The dead stuffed animals still sometimes make their way into her nightmares. Hypnos kids are avid stuffed animal lovers and his offense is a personal one.)

“Yup, lots of help, right here!” She shouts. Forcefully. Gods, this is going to kill her. She slings an arm around Tim’s shoulders, hugs him to her side, and tries not to feel her soul wither up inside of her and die. “He’s really my best friend. He’s helping me figure out what was normal and what wasn’t, you know? Turns out that doing all my homework in Ancient Greek was not super normal!” 

Tim elbows her again. She’s probably going to have a bruise there by the end of the night. 

“...Right,” Spoiler says, slowly. “Okay. Um. If you ever need more help, we vigilantes are always willing to step in. And Tim here has resources, I’m sure of it.” Tim shoots her a scathing look that she doesn’t so much as twitch at. “If that’s all sorted out, I guess I’ll just be on my way!” Spoiler grapple hooks away probably faster than necessary. Probably at the strangeness of the conversation. If Charlie could, she’d fly away right now, much faster than a grappling hook could take her. 

The moment she’s gone, Tim whirls on Charlie, practically seething. “You-! You- what on earth were you thinking!?” 

She tries very hard not to melt into a puddle on the sidewalk. She’s about fifty percent successful. “You know, my dude, I honestly wasn’t really thinking. Gods, I think I’m gonna puke.” 

She does. On Tim’s shoes. They end up needing to buy new ones before they continue their death march through the city. 

-|-

Bat-Chat

Spoiler: Oh my god

Holy shit

Babs, please make it so Tim can’t read any of the stuff I’m about to send

Oracle: Of course. Also, language. 

Signal: What’s up? 

Spoiler: So I found Charlie and Tim walking around on my patrol

And I went to investigate just in case she was trying to get him to join the cult

And I maybe was kind of pushy with my questions cause Tim was glaring at me

But then

Oh my god

Okay so apparently Charlie KNOWS she’s in a cult and Tim is helping her get out of it and he just HASN’T TOLD ANY OF US

Signal: Oh shit

Nightwing: Why wouldn’t he tell any of us? 

Red Hood: God, don’t make the crybaby sad when I’m on a case with him. He’s sobbing into his phone right now. Someone come pick him up, I don’t want him anymore. 

Signal: Leave him on the street in civvies and I can come pick him up

Nightwing: He just started helping her?? Without telling us?? And he’s let us sit here thinking that he’s being indoctrinated into this cult??? 

Spoiler: Also, side note, apparently Charlie used to do all of her homework in Ancient Greek in her cult. Definitely a mythology-themed cult, if that helps, Babs

Oracle: I’ll note it down, but I haven’t been able to find anything so far. Their media presence is practically nonexistent. 

Signal: With Tim helping her out of it, won’t he get more information? 

Red Hood: If Replacement decides to tell any of you. Apparently, he’s a secret keeper. Never knew he had it in him. 

Nightwing: My baby brother is keeping secrets from me

I’m going to die

Why wouldn’t he tell us?? 

Signal: Ah, geez. Red Hood, you’re right, he’s a mess. 

Red Hood: Get rid of him for me

Signal: Taking him back to the manor to work on the case there and have his little mid-life crisis where he won’t bug Jason

Not murdering him

Spoiler: Quarter-life crisis

Red Hood: Dangit

-|-

Tim drops Charlie off at her apartment with a bag of takeout and a promise to buy her groceries. He looks at her mostly empty apartment, wrinkles his nose, and lets out a long hard sigh. 

“Black hair, blue eyes, sad orphan vibes. Gods, B is gonna be all over this…” He grumbles to himself. She very much doesn’t like the sound of that so she ignores it. Like most of her problems. It’s worked for her so far. She’s just… y’know. 

Currently, the entire family of her only mortal friends and Tim think she’s in a cult. Which is… definitely something she needs to deal with at some point. 

…Not today, she’s tired.

Chapter Text

Steph and Duke are nice to Charlie at school the next day. That in itself is not abnormal- no, they’re perfectly pleasant people, it’s how nice they are that’s abnormal. They’re nice to the point that it gets a little bit concerning. Like, they both put their desserts on her plate without even asking for permission type of concerning. Not even Clovis trying to weasel his way out of camp activities does stuff like that. 

It’s… strange. Concerning strange. 

Unfortunately, time doesn’t stop for her convenience and everything is forced to chug along at a relatively normal speed. Sometimes she wishes that there was a way to kill Kronos so time could be put on an indefinite pause, but she’s pretty sure that saying that aloud might make her sound ‘supervillian-y’ and ‘get her put onto the Gotham rogue’s list’ if she actually did anything about it. 

Duke and Steph are abnormally nice to her in school, Dr. Ivy keeps shooting her not-so-subtle concerned glances during work, she and Tim keep practicing at night, and she keeps accidentally falling asleep in class. Time keeps moving, she doesn’t become a Gotham rogue, and Kronos is unfortunately alive another day. 

It’s getting harder and harder to do homework on time. And pass her classes. Sure, her psychology class and Greek mythology class are in the bag, but everything else is… struggling. A lot. A blood, sweat and tears lot. 

To make up for it, she starts doing homework while Tim practices his powers. They sit on a roof while he tries to see her soul or any passerby’s souls and manipulate shadows. She sits further away so he’s less likely to accidentally stab her, a flashlight in her mouth, and homework perched on her legs. 

It’s slow going since she doesn’t technically even know the extent of his powers. Her ability to give advice is fairly limited, unfortunately. She can guess, but guesses are just that; guesses. Not fact, not a textbook laid out in front of them, nothing informational . It’s like trying to figure out her powers practically on her own all over again. 

(Clovis has a decent amount of information on memories and dream walking. His ability to get that information out in a timely manner before passing out? Less than exemplary.)

And Charlie- 

Charlie’s tired. She accidentally falls asleep during class, she accidentally falls asleep on the bus, and she accidentally falls asleep in the middle of a conversation with Tim. Hypnos kids are not meant to function on sleep deprivation, and it’s hitting her hard. Even with her hunger abating with Tim buying her groceries, she’s struggling just by pure exhaustion . 

Exhaustion means her brain isn’t working at one hundred percent capacity. Exhaustion means that she can’t make as great decisions, can’t assess situations with the same clarity she’d usually be able to, and exhaustion can sometimes mean she forgets or can’t tell when people are lying . 

Important details. Important , but the fate of the world rests on her shoulders and she figured that it would be fine. Cursed saying to demigods.

Maybe she should’ve been more worried about day-to-day happenings than the weight of the world. 

-|-

Charlie is tired. She sits on the bus from school to her job, pinching herself every few minutes to make sure she stays awake. She slept through way too much of English, which means it’ll be a struggle tonight to get through any of the homework. If there’s homework. She can’t remember if her teacher actually assigned an essay or if that was the leftover dredges of her nightmare about teachers turning into monsters to eat her. 

Honestly, she’d rather that be the case. It’d be cathartic to stab her English teacher and watch her burst into golden dust. Unfortunately, she’s not a monster and Charlie has to settle for not murdering her teacher. 

The bus trudges along without her consent. Riding over bumps, jolting her in her seat, rocking invitingly, just fall asleep nice and easy . She has to pinch her leg again, on a scar that has nerve damage so it sends a jolt of electricity up her spine. Will would kill her if he knew this is what she’s doing with the nerve damage, but what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. 

The bus pulls to a stop in front of one of the bus stops near the park. She has another two stops before hers, and then she’ll need to get off the bus and pretend that she’s more awake than she feels for her shift with Dr. Ivy. The poor woman worries enough already. 

The doors to the bus swing open and only a couple of people shuffle on. Very few people on this side of town take the bus at this time- it’s more late-night excursions that keep these routes running. Well, late-night excursions in the form of any drug runners brave enough to take the bus but skittish enough to avoid the daytime. 

A yawn forces its way past her mouth. If she rushes through her homework, which is a very big if with how little she got done during the class, she might be able to nap while Tim practices his powers. Should she start bothering him into buying her energy drinks? It might be good for her ability to at least pretend she knows what’s going on. 

She lets her eyes drift over the couple of people that walked onto the bus. She takes note of each of them, of their exhaustion and memories and daydreams almost on instinct, and she almost lets herself slip back into her half-asleep state of barely keeping herself awake. But then- 

A man. Relatively tall. Mostly bald, with only hair on the sides of his head, but a scruffy beard to make up for it. Golden brown skin just like her, broken up with a scar jutting through his eyebrow that he always said he got in the Navy even though he was never in the Navy. Muscled from hard work moving cargo for Penguin, the coveralls he always wore, the mint cologne he always put on in the mornings because it made her nose wrinkle-  

He recognizes her at the same time she recognizes him. Bryan stands only a few paces away, clearly coming home early from work. His bag is slung over his shoulder, there’s still oil smudged on his face. He looks so- so normal . 

Suddenly, stupidly, she has the urge to run away like she did six years ago. She’d run away six years ago because she’d found out about him working with Penguin and she panicked. What reason would she have for running away now? He’s just a man, he wouldn’t try to hand her over to one of Gotham’s most famous villains, he’s not cruel like that. But she was a kid, she’d been scared, and she hadn’t really thought anything through. 

Kids have overactive imaginations sometimes. He wasn’t a cruel man, wasn’t really even evil , just down on his luck and working for who he could. In hindsight, she hadn’t really needed to run away. But stupid, scared little Charlie had heard Penguin and had run because that’s all she knows how to do. 

Recognition flashes across his dark brown eyes, the same dark brown eyes that her mother had, and a scowl stretches across his face- except that’s not what happens . It’s not a scowl, not like the memories she’s tried so hard to forget, that sometimes she can hardly remember. No. His mouth tugs at the edges, his cheeks twitch, and his lips curve up. Up . A smile. 

Bryan is smiling at her. 

A sick feeling settles in her stomach, but through clouded exhaustion, she can’t fathom why. 

“Charlotte!” He calls out. Bryan raises a hand in the air, to wave at her, and she twitches in her seat. He walks closer, takes the seat next to her without even asking or waiting for a response, but he’s smiling and she’s so tired that all she can do is stare at his eyes and see her mother. 

It’s been so long since she saw her mother.  

(She hates being called Charlotte.) 

“Bryan,” She returns. She tries to smile, but she’s not sure how successful she is. Her voice doesn’t wobble, though, and for that she’s grateful. 

Bryan claps a hand on her shoulder, a far more familiar gesture than she expected. She twitches again. Why is she so twitchy? “Kid, it’s been so long! I thought you up and died or something,” He says, laughing. Laughing like the idea was funny, and she laughs too because she’s not entirely sure what else to do. 

“Man, you gave me such a fright that day.” Bryan stops laughing, and his hand settles on her shoulder. She’s tired, she’s exhausted, and she finds herself looking at the hand and she can’t quite remember if she’s supposed to feel caged right now or comforted. “Why don’t you come back to the apartment? Same one we had back then. I got off work early today, we could catch up, Birdy!” 

(Even more than Charlotte, she's always hated that nickname.)

There’s an answer she’s supposed to give. Part of her wants to say no, wants to rip his hand off her shoulder and run out of the bus and hide with Dr. Ivy until everything goes away. Fly away from here, out the window and into the streets, get away (caged little bird). 

But- well. Bryan kind of sucked back then, but he never did much more than slap her around every so often. And he wouldn’t turn her over to Penguin like some prize, he isn’t a monster. She’d panicked when she was younger and ran away, she’d been so scared of Penguin that she didn’t know any better. But now… 

Now she looks at Bryan, and while she doesn’t necessarily see a man she could call ‘uncle’ wholeheartedly, she can see someone she’d be willing to catch up with. She sees warm brown eyes just like her mother had, she sees a smile that she’s too tired to read further into, and she sees someone who she used to like once upon a time. 

“Okay,” Charlie says out loud. She wants to say more- to tell Bryan any of the spinning thoughts in her head, to ask if they could maybe catch up over coffee in a public place instead, to ask if he could maybe wear a different fucking cologne- But her mouth twists into the familiar smile she always used to wear around him and he brightens up at her agreeance. It feels too close to Tim’s gala smile for comfort and her skin crawls. “I’ll just need to text my boss and friend. I have work and a hangout planned, so I’ll need to let them know I can’t make it.” 

“Of course, of course,” Bryan agrees easily. His hand falls from her shoulder, and a sigh of relief escapes her mouth for some reason she can’t identify. 

She shrugs it off and pulls out her phone. She texts Dr. Ivy to tell her that her uncle’s in town and wants to catch up over coffee with a promise to work a double shift over the weekend. She gets ready to tell Tim the same excuse, but her fingers pause over the keyboard. Before she entirely knows what she’s doing, she’s telling him that she’s too tired to go out tonight and she’s going to her apartment to take a nap instead. 

Lying to him. To cover something up. On impulse, automatically, but she can’t analyze it any further because her brain isn’t cooperating with her. She’s still dead on her feet, still exhausted, and still grappling with a bone-deep anxiety that comes with the end of the world. She can’t get her brain to answer why it’s lying to Tim, can’t get it to answer why it hates that mint-scented cologne so much, can’t get it to answer why she feels as if bugs are crawling under her skin. 

The bus chugs along, and Charlie settles into her seat. She shoves her phone back into her pocket, pulls her bag onto her lap, and tries to ignore the dizzying scent of mint from her side. Bryan is still smiling, grinning like he won the lottery. She tries not to think about it too hard. She can’t think about anything too hard, actually. 

Tell Tim where you’re going , some part of her mind whispers. Tell him to come with you. Tell him to get you out of here. But Bryan isn’t a danger, so she’s not sure why her mind is whispering this to her. It’s illogical; if she actually wanted help, she could’ve sent a coded message to Tim asking for it. 

(And now she’s alone out here.) 

“You look tired, Birdy,” Bryan says, breaking her from her confusion-muddled thoughts. She looks up from her lap and abruptly realizes that she’s been zoned out for who knows how long. Her skin crawls at the nickname. He’s still smiling, though, so he’s not angry yet. 

(Yet?) 

“Are you alright? Have you been sleeping well?” He finishes. 

She scrambles for a response. She hasn’t been sleeping much at all , let alone the quality of sleep she’s getting. Between nightmares of the typical demigod variety and less-than-typical demigod nightmares, her sleep is fitful at best. And she’s beyond tired, she’s exhausted . But- well, she’s fine. At the end of the day, she’s always fine. “I’m alright. I just have a lot of homework,” She answers easily, offering her best plastic smile plastered to her face. 

“I bet you do at Gotham Prep,” Bryan says, nodding to her uniform. “How’d you get into a prissy school like that?” 

She’d thought that too when she learned where Tim went to school to sign up for it herself. It’d been a joke to herself back then. It sounds less like a joke coming out of Bryan’s mouth. 

“Scholarship. I excel enough in psychology that they let me in,” She responds. 

Bryan stifles a noise. It sounds like a cross between a snort and a cough, and for a moment the feeling of creeping fear and bugs under her skin intensifies. She wants to get out of here, she wants to run away, she wants to leave . 

But Bryan’s smiling as quickly as he stopped, and she forces herself to stay still. Still, still, still, don’t fucking fidget . “That’s great, Charlotte. You enjoying your classes? Made any friends?” 

It’s wrapping around her throat, making her feel as if she’s choking, making it feel harder and harder to breathe-

“Yeah, I’m enjoying my classes. I haven’t managed to make any friends, though.” She’s not entirely sure why she’s lying. Lying about something as simple as the friends she’s made. It’s not like they’re a secret. It’s not like talking about them will reveal their vigilante identities or camp or anything, but she’s lying before her brain catches up with her mouth. 

For some reason, she wants to protect her friends. Something is screaming at her, alarms are blaring, and she can’t let Bryan know about her friends. 

“That’s unfortunate.” Why is Bryan still smiling when he says that? “Well, here’s our stop. Come on, Birdy, we’re not far from the apartment.” 

( Stop fucking calling her that- )

He leads her off the bus. The bus driver gives her a look, one that reads ‘you alright kid?’ that she brushes past. The way to their old apartment is familiar, and she easily falls into step beside Bryan. For some reason, though, he sets his hand back on her shoulder and guides her like he’s afraid she’s going to run off again. 

She kind of wants to. 

Her skin is crawling by the time they reach the apartment complex. He’s still smiling, so she’s still smiling, but it feels more and more forced. Her hands twitch to grab at her weapons, her shoulders twitch to release her wings and fly away, everything screams danger . But this is her family. This is her family, and she shouldn’t have to feel scared of him. 

Bryan won’t hurt her. Slap her around a little, sure, maybe leave a few bruises. But he won’t hurt her, not like her mind is telling her that he will. Her mind is screeching at her like she’s about to dive into a den of harpies, not like she’s meeting up with someone who was kind of an asshole six years ago.

He leads her up to the apartment, and she resists the urge to flee. 

Something is making her skin crawl. Her breathing is becoming shorter, and she can’t tell why. She’s just so tired . Why is she so tired ? She can’t tell why everything is making her panic so much, why everything feels staticy, why everything makes her want to just run away like she did that night. 

(Trapped, trapped, trapped- )

Bryan swings the crappy stained wooden door open. It’s chipped on the bottom from the number of times he’s kicked it shut behind himself on his way to work. The noise used to make her flinch so hard she’d drop whatever she was holding, back when she lived here. 

The inside is the same as it used to be. Her absence is barely noted, which makes sense because he never let her keep her crap in the main area. Boots near the door, leftover dishes stacked in the sink, magazines strewn about the coffee table, cigarette smoke and mint wafting through the apartment. She steps inside, and he shuts the door behind her. She twitches at the noise, but she doesn’t flinch.

Click . 

Why is her heart pounding so hard in her ears? He just locked the door, that’s perfectly normal on this side of town. The Boweries aren’t as bad as Crime Alley, but it’s still bad enough that not locking your door is practically a welcome sign to any burglars in the area. Why is him locking the door making her hands shake, making her neck bead with sweat? Why does everything feel fuzzy? 

Bryan herds her further into the apartment. He takes her bag and puts it on the hook near the door even though he never would’ve let her hang up her bag back when she lived here. He urges her to take her shoes off, so she does, even if her hands are shaking so hard it’s difficult to unlace them. Her breathing is stuttered and uneven. Why is she so afraid? She can take a few hits, she’s not afraid of a few bruises. 

She stands up from undoing her shoes and sets them on the shoe rack. Bryan smiles at her, beckons her towards the kitchen table. It’s a different one that he used to have, a dark black wooden one instead of the wobbly brown one he used to have and always said he would replace. Suddenly, her feet feel stuck to the floor. 

There’s a chip out of the counter. It’s a nice counter, one that Bryan had replaced a few years before she left because his old one got termites. He replaced it himself so the labor didn’t cost anything, meaning he could put the whole cost into the countertop. Black marble, one of the fancy kinds you’d see in nice apartments in Old Gotham. He’d even gotten the landlord's permission so he wouldn’t have to get rid of it the next time the landlord decided to pay them a visit. 

Bryan wouldn’t accidentally chip it while cooking. He wouldn’t chip it while moving furniture, he wouldn’t accidentally drop something heavy on it, and he wouldn’t chip it by accident because he loves that counter. That was the feature piece of the apartment, he used to say. 

And Charlie- 

Suddenly, violently, viciously , remembers. 

On Charlie’s way to camp, a harpy got a go in at her eye. It clawed across her face, leaving her with a hefty scar that drew across her eye and severely damaged her vision. The Apollo kid that healed her barely managed to scrape up twenty percent of that eye's vision and eighty percent of the other’s, and most of the time she sees double out of that eye. It can be hard to concentrate on the other eye if she’s tired, which makes it sometimes feel like she has a concussion when she just didn’t sleep the night before. 

That’s what happened to her eye. That’s the story of how she lost the sight in her eye, how she got that giant scar, how she’s had to learn how to deal without depth perception and fight half-blind. That’s the story, and yet- 

That’s not the whole story. She’d forgotten, shoved it so far into a box in the back of her head for so long she’d forgotten . Slipped from her mind like a dream. A nightmare that she’d tried so hard to forget, and she’d succeeded . 

The chip on that counter wasn’t an accident. She remembers how it happened, and the memories return so suddenly she stumbles away from the counter, away from Bryan. The counter had chipped on her last day in this house. 

Charlie had run away because her uncle worked under Penguin and as a child, she’d been foolish enough to fear that he was going to hand her over to Penguin to be murdered. She’d run away in a blind panic before being found by Diev, later attacked, and then dragged back to camp in a blurry state of infection and coma-like sleep. 

That’s not the right story either. 

Because Charlie had found out that her uncle worked under Penguin. She’d found out, and she’d gone home to pack a bag. She’d gone home, foolishly, because she hadn’t been foolish about it. She knew that there was a line, and she knew that Bryan crossed it. She knew she couldn’t live with someone who worked under Penguin , someone who’s hurt so many . She was going to pack her bag, run away, and live with Tim because his parents would never notice. 

And he’d found her packing a bag. 

Bryan had realized that she’d known. 

Charlie takes a stumbling step back from the table, from the counter, from Bryan . Panic blurs her vision, and for a horrible moment, she’s back there again, pleading with him. Crying. Screaming. Bryan seems to realize what happened, what she remembered, because he’s stalking forward and reaching forward, all pretenses gone. 

He’s not smiling anymore. 

(She’d darted out underneath his arm, bag forgotten. She’d run out into the hall, slipping on the carpet, slamming her hip into a table he kept in the hallway. She couldn’t even feel the pain, she just kept running, kept going. Bryan had grabbed her by the back of her shirt, slamming her down into the kitchen. Her head had bounced off the hardwood tiles, she remembers shouting in pain, begging for him not to hurt her, begging for him to just let her go -)

“You know, when you disappeared, I thought that it was a blessing in disguise.” Bryan has her caged against the wall, no way to escape out the door and no way to run away. She suddenly feels so small , so much younger than she is. He’s glaring at her, so heated she’s afraid she’ll burn. “The snotty brat I have to look after gone, and no one will even suspect me because there wasn’t even a crime to cover up. All because you disappeared, just like that.” 

(Bryan had been shouting at her, holding her down by a strong hand gripping around her throat, not listening to her shouted and begged words. He’d been panicked, he’d been struggling to find out what to do, but then- but then her leg flung out and kicked the counter hard enough that a vase fell over. The vase fell, knocked one of the knives off the knife rack, chipping the counter as it clattered to the ground, just above her head.) 

“But then ,” Bryan grabs her by the front of her collared shirt, teeth bared and face so close to her’s that she can smell the beer on his tongue. It doesn’t smother the scent of the mint cologne. “ Then , they decided that everything was too suspicious. Sent an officer sniffing around my house, asking questions, poking his nose where it don’t belong. I would’ve been arrested if it weren’t for my contacts in the police, you know that?” He pulls her away from the wall by her shirt and then slams her back, her head bounces off of the paint. She lets out a pained whine, struggling weakly in his grip, but her brain is still clouded with memories and she can’t recognize that she even can fight back. 

(His hands had closed around the knife. She remembers watching the realization strike him, watching as he understood that he needed to kill her, she remembers when her words weren’t enough. She’d fought back as hard as she could, but he’d raised the knife above his head, ready to fall down into her body. She’d screamed despite the hand around her throat.)

“Bryan-” She starts, but he cuts her off by slamming her back into the wall again. Her head hits the hard surface another time, and her teeth clatter together harshly. Her vision is swimming- concussion, exhaustion, or memories she can’t be sure. 

“Shut up!” He’s red in the face and shouting, now. “After all that shit, after all that , they had to top it off by saying that your shitty mom didn’t even leave me any of her money! All frozen until you’re twenty, no matter what! Even then, it’ll just go to some shitty charity!” 

(“Hold still, little Birdy.”)

(The knife had come down, down, down , and a horrible squelching sound had echoed through the apartment. She remembers screaming, she remembers a burning so terrible she felt like she was dying. She remembers suddenly having the strength to shove Bryan off of her, and she remembers running as far as she could. Further and further, even when she found that satyr being attacked by a harpy, even when she collapsed from both injuries.) 

(The harpy gave her the large raking scar across her face that looks like she had a terrible run-in with a bear. But it didn’t get her eye. It didn’t, it didn’t hit deep enough for that. The one that got her eye was the man that stabbed her, who hit her eyebrow and sunk into her eye socket, who didn’t manage to get further when her demigod strength kicked in and she threw him off of her.)

(Bird locked inside of a cage, locked inside of his grip. She’s never liked being held in one place for very long.)

“So here’s what we’re going to do, Birdy.” The nickname makes her flinch away from him, but he doesn’t care. He leans close to her ear, ignoring her trembling, ignoring the tears streaking down her face. “You’re going to live here like a good little girl, quiet as a mouse, for the next five years. You’re not going to make a peep . And then when you’re twenty, you’re going to give me every penny that damn woman owes me, and then you’re going to get the hell out of this city, alright ?” 

Charlie's chest stutters. Her breaths are ragged, her body is shaking like a leaf in a windstorm, her brain is muddled between memories of her past and the need to stay present, and there’s adrenaline rushing through her veins.

 If she were younger, if she hadn’t faced the things she had, if she hadn’t been through two goddamn wars - she might’ve said yes. She might’ve folded. She might’ve nodded her head and let him do as he pleases. 

But Charlie Graves has lived through two wars. She’s killed more monsters than she cares to count. She’s faced down the titan god of time, not directly but still counting it. She faced down Gaea the primordial god , not directly but again it counts. She’s faced the end of the world, she’s faced dying, she’s faced brutal battles and neverending fighting. 

And Bryan can’t fucking compare. 

“I don’t want to,” She says. Mumbles, more like. Her voice is soft and shaky, still scared , but she’s refusing him and that’s all that matters. 

The hands around her collar tightens. Tightens like hands squeezing her throat, like the hands that pinned her in place, like the hands that caged her all those years ago. 

“What was that?” Bryan hisses, anger bleeding into his words. 

“I said I don’t want to,” She tells him louder. She sets her jaw and meets his gaze even if every fiber of her being screams at her for disrespecting him so blatantly. “I don’t want to live with you. I’m going home now.” 

Her nose explodes in a starburst of pain and burning. She expects the punch landing solidly against the center of her face, breaking her nose with a resounding crunch. She expects the follow-up punch that splits her lip and knocks her head back against the wall again. She even expects Bryan to throw her to the ground, rug-burning her knees and jarring her wrists when she catches herself. 

She doesn’t predict the kicks to her stomach. She doesn’t predict him grabbing a glass off his counter and shattering it over her head. She doesn’t predict him not fucking stopping - 

Blood splatters against the hardwood floors beneath her. Just like it did that night, just like it did so many nights when Bryan would give her a bloody nose or split her lip. She got good at figuring out how to scrub blood out of wood, but she never did figure out how to get it out of stuffed animals. 

June was going to be upset. Upset that she got hurt so bad, upset that she’s already stained Apple, upset at so many things. Will she be upset that Charlie’s not even doing anything to stop it? So scared, so terrified that all she can do is lay there uselessly. 

She’s not confrontational. She hates fighting, she’ll barely do much more than defend even in games like capture the flag. More than anything, she doesn’t want people to be afraid of her. And maybe- maybe that stems from being so damn scared of a man she was forced to look in the eye and call Uncle even though she wanted nothing more than to escape. 

( Bird in a cage- )

She’s not confrontational. But- but she promised June she’d come home. And suddenly she’s not sure how far Bryan is willing to go, how far he’s willing to beat her, if he’s going to be able to stop in his blind rage. And suddenly- 

Suddenly Charlie doesn’t care if Bryan is scared of her. 

Bryan lands another kick on her stomach, this one cracks a rib. Instead of letting it retreat to wind up for another one, instead of letting him continue, she reaches out and grabs onto his ankle. Her nails dig into his flesh, tearing, forcing blood out. He lets out a sharp cry of pain and alarm, stumbling, and when she looks up at him she knows her eyes are glowing a vicious and violent blue . 

“ Fuck you, ” She hisses. Her powers wash through her hand in a single moment, down through the point of contact and up through Bryan’s body. He has only half a moment to look terrified before he’s crumbling to the ground, hitting his head on his perfect fucking counter on his way down. 

She wants to spit on him. She doesn’t. Instead, she drags herself up, panting and painful, barely standing at all. She uses the walls as support, stumbling from the kitchen and towards the front. She remembers to grab her bag, but she doesn’t have the strength to bend over and put on her shoes right now, so she leaves them. 

A part of her desperately wants to call Tim right now. Call him and get a ride back to her apartment, get someone else to patch up her injuries for a change, maybe cuddle on her mattress and watch shitty movies on his phone. Maybe he’d bring food so she wouldn’t need to starve tonight, maybe he’d be willing to sit there and listen to her complain about Bryan being a bigger dickbag than she always thought. 

Another part of her wants to call Nico or Will and get shadow-traveled out of here. Back to camp, she imagines Nico would take her. Will would patch her up, pressing her for details and wincing along to her harrowing story. Maybe he’d even feel bad for her, as stupid a situation as she managed to land herself in. 

The part that wins is the part of her that knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she cannot talk about Bryan tonight. And calling for help means talking. 

So, she doesn’t. She uses walls for support, winding through alleys and stumbling over her own feet. She hides in shadows, using a touch of magic to make herself near-invisible so no one bothers her. Each step makes her body ache more and more, and her feet start to shout at her for walking across broken-apart concrete without any shoes on. 

At some point, Charlie stops crying. She doesn’t let herself start to process. That’ll cause a breakdown, and she can’t afford that in the middle of the street. No, she just continues hobbling towards her home, hunched over and shaking. 

Everything hurts.

Chapter Text

Charlie’s apartment door swims into view after a long and agonizing limp through the Alley. When it does, she almost collapses in the hallway with relief flooding through her system. It’s only years and years of training that allow her to keep shuffling forward, keep muffling groans of pain, and keep moving despite everything screaming at her to stop. 

Her vision wobbles dangerously. She knows that moving after cracking a rib like she did is never a good idea, but she doesn’t really have a lot of options. Pain flooding through every inch of her body is making it hard to move, making it hard to think, but she can’t stop. She can’t stop moving. She has to keep walking, has to keep putting one foot in front of the other no matter what. 

Just get to the apartment. That’s all she has to do.  

Desperately, weakly, she stumbles forward. Her shoulder pressed against the wall for support, her arm cradling her broken rib, mouth pressed into a thin line to stop herself from crying out with pain. Her teeth grind together from the effort of swallowing any pained whimper she might make. She shuffles, she stumbles, but she moves forward and that’s all that matters. Her door comes closer, and that’s all that matters. 

Just get to the first aid kit.

All she has to do is get inside, get to her bathroom, eat a square of ambrosia, and then she can pass out for as long as she likes. When she wakes up she’ll be healed enough to deal with the emotional trauma she just went through. And remembered. Two separate categories for two separate emotional breakdowns incoming, she imagines. 

Is she going to have to start changing the story she tells other people about how she lost her eye? 

Don’t think about that.  

When she slides in front of the door, she slumps against the frame. Her shoulders are shaking. Every movement feels like agony racing through every stinging bruise and every battered bone. Her fingers twitch and tremble, barely able to move as she wants them to. She can hardly control them, hardly get them to rifle around in her bag for her keys. Shaking like this, will she even be able to turn the key in the lock? 

“Kid?” 

Charlie’s eyes slide away from her school bag. Her vision is still dangerously wobbly, blurred from tears and pain alike, but she can still roughly make out a familiar shape standing next to her. Jason, tall and broad, with that wrecked soul she keeps meaning to figure out a way to fix and that white streak of hair that makes him look like a skunk. 

He still thinks her name is Karlie . Unbidden, out of the blue, completely irrelevant- the thought occurs to her. Her neighbor, who she’s been chasing nightmares away for months at this point and has been trading food back and forth- still doesn’t know her real name. 

That should hardly be relevant; zombie maybe serial killer neighbor doesn’t know her real name? Laughable. And yet…

She hums, weakly, in greeting. Her hand continues blindly groping around for the key in her bag, but her movements are clumsy and uncoordinated. “J’son. Nice to- to see you. No thanks on the food today,” She mumbles. Her voice is soft and wet, slurring from the pain. There’s blood in her teeth that’s making it hard to form words. She feels weak . 

“Kid are you-” Jason reaches forward, takes a step forward, hand outstretched- and Charlie flinches backwards. 

She stumbles. Legs catching a little, barely able to steady herself against the wall. It’s stupid- Jason isn’t the kind of person to go around beating up little kids. He’s Red Hood for the god's sake, he’s literally known for protecting kids. But- kicks landing hard against the soft fat of her stomach, slamming against her ribs, making her cry out in strangled pain- and she can’t stop the way she starts trembling. 

“Sorry,” She says. Her cheeks are burning with a muddled mix of shame and embarrassment. “Sorry,” She repeats, “I’ve just had- had a rough day.”

A really rough day.

Jason’s hand is still outstretched in the air. His expression is hard, strained, his jaw is flexing. Some part of her knows that he- Red Hood isn’t the type of person to just let this kind of situation go. Another part of her, the bigger part of her, just wants to scramble into her apartment and collapse. Bury her head in the sand like an ostrich, never make another decision again, hide away from the world and her responsibilities. 

“You’re injured,” Jason says slowly. Deliberately. Like he’s talking to- to some victim that he came across on his patrol. “Would it be alright if I help patch you up? I know some first aid.” Her stomach rolls uncomfortably. 

No , a bitter independent part of her wants to shout. Get away from me. Leave me alone.

Another part of her, a part that sounds young and childish and oh so scared , wants to reach out and just let someone else deal with this. She doesn’t want to have to patch up her own injuries. She doesn’t want to have to sort through what just happened. She doesn’t want to have to figure out what to do about Bryan potentially coming after her, about the emotional strain of what she just went through, figure out anything . 

She’s tired . Tired, in pain, hungry, and she can’t remember the last time she just relaxed . 

Just one thing. Just this one thing, she’ll ask for help on. 

“...Okay.” Weakly, pathetically, she manages to thrust the key to her apartment in Jason’s direction. She’s trembling too hard to even dream of unlocking her door by herself. 

He takes it. Helps her into the apartment, makes sure she doesn’t fall. She doesn’t comment on him wrapping an arm around her shoulders and holding the other out in front of her in case she falls, and he doesn’t comment on just how much she leans into his arm. 

Jason helps her drop off her bag and her jacket and leads her to the bathroom. He grabs her first aid kit without asking where it is, and she doesn’t point out that he shouldn’t know that it’s under her sink. Half-dazed and all the way exhausted, she can’t help but snort at how terribly the outer rings of the Bats are at keeping their secret identities. 

Then the snort turns to a muffled groan of pain when it pulls on her ribs. She feels so weak . She’s crying again, soft and quiet, before she even knows what’s happening. 

Jason produces some alcohol wipes from the first aid kit. He doesn’t comment on her crying, and for that she’s grateful. He just crouches in front of her and starts to dab at her face, wiping away blood and cleaning at her injuries. For a moment, she can pretend that everything’s not falling apart around her. She can pretend that she’s just getting looked after by someone she might be willing to consider a friend and that Bryan isn’t even on the list of her concerns right now. 

“Do you think you can tell me what happened?” He asks softly. Impossibly softly, like a vigilante trying to talk to a victim again. The tone makes her want to throw up. 

But that’s what she is, isn’t she? A victim. Attempted kidnapping victim this time, attempted murder victim last time. Charlie, child of Hypnos, secondary cabin head to cabin fifteen, two-time war vet- a fucking victim . How stupid is that? It sounds like the opening to a really bad joke. 

Everything feels like too much and too little. Static races across her fingertips, the urge to fidget mounds. She presses her hands flat against her legs instead, don’t fucking fidget still ringing in her ears. Hold still, little birdy still ringing in her ears. 

“Nothing happened,” She mumbles, voice thick. “I’m fine. Everything’s fine.” 

The fist lands solidly against the center of her face, against her nose, crunching it horribly and sending resounding burning sparks of lacing pain through her body-

“Everything’s not fine,” Jason bites out. His voice is growly, dangerous, and for a moment she almost shrinks away from him with fear- but then he’s breathing out a sigh and slumping a little. The fight drains from him just as quickly as it had arisen. “You- kid, you look like shit right now. Okay? This isn’t just some mugging. You look like someone attempted to beat you to death. This isn’t just something you can let someone get away with.” 

Would Bryan face consequences for this? Not for beating her up, not with the resources he has. And her attempted murder is so thoroughly lost to time even she forgot about it, the victim. There’s no way that he would be locked away, not with everything that there is currently. All she can hope is that one day one of Batman’s Penguin busts happens to take Bryan out too. 

“I know,” She replies. Her voice cracks. “But it’s fine. It’s- nothing happened, okay? Just… please.” She ducks her head and feels impossibly small, impossibly weak . 

Jason hesitates. Still wiping away blood, still with that concerned look on his face. He lets out a soft sigh, “Okay. Alright.” He continues cleaning up her injuries. He even goes so far as to look up what to do with a broken rib. 

Just for tonight, she can pretend nothing’s wrong and that everything will be gone by the morning. Just for tonight.

-|-

Red Hood: Fuck you

Red Robin: What did I do?

Red Hood: Just

Fucking

Ugh I hate you

Look, my neighbor kid that you’re friends with

She trusts you, right? 

Red Robin: Yeah, we’ve been friends since we were little. She’s told me everything

Red Hood: Something happened and she won’t tell me what

Get your ass over to her apartment to get it out of her, alright? 

Pick up the pace, she looks like a fucking raccoon or something

And fucking bring snacks or something she looks like she hasn’t eaten in weeks

-|-

After cleaning up all the blood, resetting her nose, realizing there’s not much to do about broken ribs, and putting a numbing ointment on all of her bruises, Jason helps Charlie hobble out of the bathroom and back into the main part of her apartment. He leads her over to her bed and lets her collapse on the mattress, grimacing with pain all the while. 

Falling several feet onto a mattress with a cracked rib and more bruises than she got during the battle of Manhattan? Yeah, probably not her brightest decision. But, she’s still sleep-deprived and working on exactly no impulse control right now. 

“You got anything in your freezer for an ice pack?” Jason asks. Strangely, he’s tucking blankets all around her and nestling Apple into the crook of her arm. Like she’s a child who just had a bad day at school or something. She’s feeling more and more like a burrito, which might be the sleep deprivation talking or might be the fact that Jason is trying to waddle her like a baby. 

“There’s nothing useful in the freezer.” She pauses. Tilts her head to the side a little. “Well, if you’re not squeamish, there’s some frozen mice in there that might work.” 

Jason gives her an impressive deadpan stare. Real Batman levels of complete and utter disappointment, honestly. “Why the fuck do you have frozen mice in your freezer?” He hisses. 

“John Luke,” She replies, jerking her head at the poppy on her window sill. “Figured out that he likes it when I bury frozen animal corpses near him. Something about nutrients or whatever.” 

“God you’re a freak,” Jason groans. He runs a hand through his hair, leaning back from the mattress now that she’s thoroughly burritoed and leaning up against the wall. “You’re not using frozen mice as an ice pack. I’ll- in a bit, I’ll run to my apartment and grab you some frozen peas or something, alright?” 

She opens her mouth, ready to say something about not really needing an ice pack and preferring just to be left alone so she can have her breakdown in peace, but then a knocking interrupts them both. She squints at the door. Is that…? The soul outside is definitely one she recognizes, but it better be the fact that she’s too exhausted and in pain to scan it properly. If Jason invited him over, she’s going to leave frozen mice all over his apartment. 

“That’s my cue,” Jason says. He stands up, pats her on the head, and walks to the door. Did he seriously call in Tim because she refused to answer his questions? She’s way too tired for this nonsense. 

Frozen mice, all over his floor. 

Sure enough, Jason opens the door and an awkward Tim stands on the other side. His arms are loaded up with various snacks and he looks frazzled like he ran the whole way here. He might’ve, depending on the kind of text that Jason sent him. She wouldn’t put it past Tim to figure out how to go incognito with his wings just to get here quickly too. 

Jason punches Tim on the arm and then leaves the apartment as fast as his feet will carry him. 

Charlie doesn’t feel totally present as Tim walks into her apartment. She knows, theoretically, that she’s here, safe, with someone who will protect her and patched up and not around- the knife makes a squelching noise when it drives into her eye and for a horrifying moment she can’t even feel the pain, just the sickness from the noise, just the driving nausea- and she can’t quite ground herself. Can’t quite bring herself back to the moment. 

Too tired. In too much pain. Dealing with too many emotions from the day. And the sheer and utter exhaustion at Jason literally calling in backup when she didn’t answer his questions is enough to leave her reeling. 

But Tim is safe, so she doesn’t force herself back. She lets him wrap her up even tighter in blankets, lets him prop open a laptop on her lap, lets him lean against her side and open up snacks for them to share. A movie plays in the background, but she can’t really focus on it. Water gets pushed into her hands at some point, and obediently she drinks it. Food comes too, and she eats what she can before her stomach is making its protests known. At some point she thinks there are frozen peas pressed against her ribs. 

It feels almost like when they were kids. 

Warm, wrapped up like this, safe - this is Tim - she starts crying again before she even truly registers it. Softly, quietly, silently crying, curled up against Tim’s side. His hand is in her hair, twisting his fingers through it, almost petting her. His other hand is holding hers, a tight grip, keeping her from floating away any further than she has. 

Tears fall from her burning eyes. Dribbling down her cheeks, gathering at her chin, dropping down onto the blankets pooled in her lap. Horrible, heartbreaking, safe tears. All she can feel- bone-shattering relief at finally being safe . 

Safe from Bryan. Just because she’ll freeze at the sight of him, doesn’t mean Tim will too. Tim, she knows beyond a shadow of a doubt, could beat Bryan in a fight blindfolded and with one arm tied behind his back. She’s finally safe . 

“You back with me?” Tim mumbles. His voice is soft, impossibly gentle and non-demanding . For a moment she wants to just sob, curl up into a tighter ball, ignore the world and bury her head in the sand. For all of her fear, for all of the anxiety crawling up through her body- everything feels awful . 

But this is Tim . She doesn’t have to hide from her brother. “Yeah,” She responds weakly. Her eyes barely manage to focus forward on the movie. It’s Disney’s Hercules, she realizes. Inaccurate, silly, and a lot of fun to laugh at as a demigod. Did he…? 

“You up for talking about what happened?” Tim asks softly. She risks a glance at him, but he’s not staring at her. Not peeling her apart, not picking, not jabbing or prodding like he shouldn’t. All he’s doing is staring at the movie, holding her, and offering comfort. 

Charlie, bitterly, selfishly, doesn’t want to talk. She doesn’t want to talk about it ever . She wants to forget again, just like she did last time. She wants to pretend that Bryan doesn’t exist, that she never got hurt in the first place, that everything is okay and everything is normal. How pathetic, a demigod being so severely injured by a human . 

She really doesn’t want to talk about it tonight.  

But this isn’t a problem she can deal with on her own. Not with Tim here. He’ll keep pushing, she won’t be able to stop him, and she won’t be able to hide from Bryan forever. Not with Penguin and the resources that come with that in the picture. Not with Tim’s resilience and stalker-like tendencies. Not with a world that seems hell-bent on making her go through every trauma it possibly can in some kind of twisted world-shattering speed run of emotional instability. 

Instead of answering straight away, she lets herself have a moment. She reaches out and grabs another spoonful of cookie dough, waits patiently for Tim to sprinkle curry powder on it. She chews slowly, lets herself relish in her last few moments of peace until she’s forcing herself to get into it, to explain to Tim instead of just leaving him hanging. To get this off her chest, to get the resources to get rid of Bryan. 

It doesn’t matter how much she doesn’t want to talk about this. She’s starting to realize she has to, and Tim isn’t the type to leave sleeping lions to rest or however the saying goes. 

“Did I tell you how I got the scar on my face?” She asks slowly. She doesn’t dare look away from the screen open in front of her, doesn’t dare look at Tim’s face. 

Tim hesitates for a moment. Confused, she can hazard a guess. But he humors her, “Yeah. A harpy took out your eye on your way to camp the first time, right?” 

A harpy took her eye out on her way to camp, it’s a grand story, it makes her feel kind of bad for Diev, it gave her a large battle scar long before she even stepped foot over that hill, it’s a story she laughs about over campfire sometimes- 

“That’s what I thought.” Unequivocally, it’s false. “A harpy took out my eye. It clawed my face, made me half-blind. But it- it only did surface damage. It wouldn’t have managed to damage my sight much at all, if there hadn’t been damage already done.” 

If that eye wasn’t so mangled even all of the magic of several Apollo kids couldn’t manage to salvage it.  

Deep, stuttering breath. Her lungs feel as if they’re collapsing in on themselves. There’s a stone in her stomach, it rolls, and suddenly she regrets the food that Tim brought over. Maybe cookie dough when she’s this anxious wasn’t a great idea. 

“Something happened before the harpy?” Tim guesses. 

She’d kicked and struggled, desperately trying to get out of his grip, desperately trying to get away but he was just too strong, too heavy, and she just didn’t stand a chance-

“Yeah.” She breathes in, but it doesn’t help much. “Yeah, before the harpy. Before I left Gotham. I- when I found out that Bryan was working with Penguin, I had to get away. I was going to pack a bag and then go to your house, see if I could hide away with you.” Her eyes burn, but she doesn’t have any more tears to give. Not after crying so much tonight. Instead, she lets herself go boneless against Tim’s side, lets herself relish in the hand running through her hair, scratching at her scalp. 

“At my apartment- I was packing a bag. I thought- I’d forgotten. I always thought that I’d just made it out and gotten lost, then gotten attacked by the Harpy. But…” She chokes, and for a moment it’s too much. Memories washing over her, the feeling of a knife burying itself into her eye, the fear that had overwhelmed her body, the feeling of dragging herself from that apartment bleeding and crying and desperately seeking help. 

“He came home early. He found me,” She barely manages. Tim’s breath hitches, but he doesn’t say a word. He stays quiet, lets her gather herself up and form thoughts into vaguely coherent words. She watches the movie for a moment longer, pretends that the anxiety thrumming through her body is the usual kind and not the debilitating kind.

“He figured out what I knew pretty quickly,” She manages to continue. “I mean, I’d put up with a lot from him. I think he knew what the lines in the sand for me were, and considering he hadn’t crossed any of the other ones, the only thing it could’ve been was me finding out about his business.” Tim is tense at her side, but he doesn’t stop holding her, so she couldn’t care less. 

“I knew he knew pretty quickly too.” Her breath hitches, her eyes burn, and her free hand fists where it’s clutching at Apple. She’s suddenly so grateful that June made her take the small stuffed animal that she could cry . “I tried to run. I left my bag, didn’t care, I just- just ran . But he was bigger than me, and he caught up pretty quick. And he-” 

Breathe in. Breathe out. 

“My eye was already damaged by the time the harpy had a crack at it. It was damaged by a knife, a knife that tried to stab straight through to my brain. Bryan tried to kill me for what I knew.” Tim’s hand, still buried in her hair, stops for half a moment before it resumes moving. She burrows deeper into his side. “I’d forgotten. I guess- I guess I wanted to forget so bad, that my brain just… let me.” 

“That happens sometimes,” Tim says. Finally breaking his silence. His voice is still soft, so comforting that she knows it’s purposeful. “People will shut out bad memories. Force themselves to forget. That happens a lot.” 

It’s normal. You don’t have to feel ‘different’. Tim is probably trained to deal with victims, but right now… right now it doesn’t really feel a whole lot like he’s dealing with a victim. He talks like he’s talking from experience. Someone hurt him, someone- and she knows exactly who but they’re dead so she doesn’t bother getting angry about it. 

Later, later she’ll make sure they’re in a horrible part of the afterlife. Later, when everything feels a bit more solid underneath her fingertips. 

“Yeah,” She returns, equally softly. “Today- Today I saw Bryan. On my way home from school.” Tim’s breath hitches. “I didn’t remember, at that point. All I remembered was someone who shouted a bit and occasionally slapped me around. I figured- I figured it would be fine, to go with him. I didn’t really think much of it.” 

Tim’s hand clutching her own tightens. His knuckles are white, his shoulders tense. She can understand why. After finding out about the attempted murder- she curses herself that she was foolish enough to just go along with him. Stupid, foolish, but there’s nothing to do about it now. It’s too late to take it back. She should’ve listened to her body and the anxiety that had been gripping her since she saw Bryan. 

“He wanted me to stay with him again. Because of my mother’s inheritance or whatever. But-” that chipped counter “-I remembered. I remembered once we were in the apartment, and I finally knew how much danger I was in. I tried to say no, to get out of there, and he…” 

Finally, the breath comes out of her. She can’t continue talking, she realizes. The rest is left out in the open, it’s easy to surmise. He was unhappy with that response so he beat her black and blue. Somehow, she’d gotten away. The rest of the story is easy to guess, but horribly she can’t get it out of her sandpaper mouth. 

Instead, she lets herself slump. Lets herself watch the movie and ignore her problems, ignore the weight of what's going to happen now resting on her shoulders. There’s too much to do, too much to deal with, and she’s realizing that she doesn’t want to do any of it . She just wants to watch a movie with her brother and pretend that everything is going to be okay. Everything will be okay. 

It just… might not be a fun way of getting there. 

Tim lets her sit. They watch more of the movie, they sit and cuddle, and she feels warm for the first time in this cold apartment. Wrapped up in blankets, pressed up against her brother, covered in tears and aches from bruises- she feels warm . And that’s all that matters to her. 

For a while, she can pretend that everything is normal. That there isn’t the oppressive weight of what she’s going to do next weighing over her. That she doesn’t feel horrible aches and pains from Bryan littering her body, that the memories that resurfaced aren’t pushing at the edges of her mind, that anxiety isn’t clawing its way up her throat. For a moment, she can just pretend.  

And then Tim ruins it by talking . 

“You can’t stay here anymore,” He says softly. The movie is over with, so he’s navigating to a different one to keep her distracted enough not to freak out. She doesn’t bother responding until a new one is playing, this time Lilo and Stitch. Apparently, their comfort movies have remained the same over the years. How many times have they rewatched these exact movies over and over again after particularly harsh nights with their families? 

While the familiar cartoon starts up in front of her eyes, she forces herself to come up with some kind of response. Just- just something to answer him with, to tell him so that she isn’t just sitting here in silence, so that she’s not just… 

What is there to say? She can’t stay here anymore, that much is clear. Bryan knows she’s in Crime Alley, and he’s pissed enough that the money probably doesn’t even matter anymore. He’ll send people after her, and while that isn’t as much of a threat to her as it is to a mortal, it’s still enough that she can’t stay . But- but she can’t move either.

Where else is there to go? Crime Alley is off the table because that’s where Bryan will check. He’ll scour it. Finding an apartment in the Boweries that she can afford, that won’t mind her being an unaccompanied minor, that’ll take cash under the table- it’s hard to imagine finding something like that. There’s nowhere else to go, not if she wants safety . But this quest isn’t done yet and she can’t just leave . 

“I can’t,” She agrees softly for lack of anything better to say. She can’t stay, because Bryan will find her and attack her and that’s hard to deal with without revealing things like magic or meta-like abilities. In Gotham, that’s a surefire way of getting kicked out. There's nowhere else to go, though, and for a horrifying moment she doesn’t know if there’s a way to escape this problem. 

“Then-” Tim pauses, takes a breath. “Then come with me. To Wayne Manor. Bruce will take you in, I’ll make him. It’s safe, there,” He practically pleads . 

Charlie almost snorts. At the very beginning of this mission- months ago, when she was still at camp and thought this was just a retrieval mission, she’d been worried about that. About being Wayne’s ‘type’. About Rachel's comment, about how she has blue eyes and black hair and a very strong desire not to get mixed up in that nonsense. 

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” She mumbles. Because she resembles a meta in all the ways that it matters to Batman , because she’s not someone who can blend in with the rich and powerful, because she hates authority figures with a burning passion, because Brucie Wayne isn’t someone she wants to deal with. 

Tim’s hand twitches where it’s interlocked with her own. “For the quest,” He says, changing tactics. “If not for yourself, then for the quest. If we live together, it’ll be easier to plot and track down Chaos. And train me up. We’ll be together almost constantly, so there’s not much of a chance of one of us encountering him and not having the other for backup. And at the rate we’re going, my training won’t be enough. But if we live together, that’s a different story.” 

Manipulative bastard. She shoots him a stink eye, but he pretends to be too invested in the movie to notice. He’s gotten a whole lot better at manipulation since she left town, hasn’t he? Playing on her feelings regarding the quest and her own issues with self-worth instead of trying to convince her regarding her own safety is smart . If he only played the ‘her safety’ card, she would never agree. 

Nobody does manipulation better than the Aphrodite kids, however. He has nothing on them. After getting blackmailed with her kind-of-sort-of crush on one of the Iris cabin kids, there’s not a whole lot that can phase her. Petty manipulation surrounding the importance of the quest won’t even break through the first few layers of her defenses- 

If he would stop making sense . 

Just for that, she uses her free hand to punch his leg. “Manipulative,” She grumbles, frowning. She doesn’t look over, but she can practically feel the grin stretching across his face. 

“Not manipulative,” He corrects, far too smug for her taste. “Just logical. Logically speaking, it makes the most sense to come to Wayne Manor. It ensures safety, gives you more time to train me, and ensures that we’re both together enough to fight Chaos should we run into him.” 

Stop making valid points she desperately wants to hiss. “Alternatively, me being in Wayne manor ups the chances of us getting caught with meta-like abilities,” She points out, frowning. “Remember Batman’s whole thing? No meta’s in Gotham? Bryan used to shove that article in my face all the time.” 

At the mention of her attempted murderer, Tim twitches again. She’d feel bad, if not for the fact that this is an argument she needs to win. 

“Batman doesn’t do that.” Bewildered, she turns to Tim and stares. He’s not looking at her, still pretending to be invested in the movie they’ve both seen hundreds of times, but his expression is serious. Dead serious, like he’s not just spit-balling out of his ass right now. “He- that article was way overdone. The reason he said that was to keep the Justice League out of our business. They don’t know how to handle our problems in Gotham. That wasn’t directed at-” Tim sighs, head slumping a little. “If he thought you were meta, he wouldn’t chase you out. That wouldn’t be a factor.” 

Charlie squints at Tim. Checks his soul for mind control, just in case. Then sniffs the air to check for drugs. Then checks his arm to check for needle marks. He lets her without so much as giving her an odd look for twisting his arm around looking for little bruises. Her search comes up with nothing; just a serious no-nonsense Tim telling her to her face one of the dumbest things she’s ever heard. 

“You’re an idiot,” She decides easily. He huffs out half a snort but doesn’t squawk to his usual defense so maybe this is more serious than she thought. Not chasing out meta’s… 

That would be insane. That would be world-shattering . Not just because of this quest, not just because it makes Wayne manor somewhere she could theoretically stay if she figured out how to keep out from underfoot of the adults but- 

But- 

That’s not fair . Not to eight-year-old Charlie who’d been terrified at learning she could put people to sleep with a touch of her hand, and started to realize that she was different . Not to her younger self, who’d been so scared that she didn’t call the cops when she’d nearly been murdered . 

Because she healed too quickly from injuries. Because if she wound up in the hospital, it would take a matter of days for someone to figure out that she can sleep off injuries. Because she loves Gotham and she couldn’t bear being kicked out of her home by some vigilante furry . 

It doesn’t matter. Not really. As much as this argument is one she wants to win, to retain freedom, to keep away from authoritative adults , to keep away from Batman , she understands. Logically, or whatever word he used, this is the only option.

Living on the streets on the move to keep away from Bryan is a recipe for dying before this quest gets even close to finishing. It could be starvation that gets her, some lucky mugger with a knife, or plain old dying to the elements. 

Being in the manor does mean more time to train Tim with his powers. It does mean that they’re separated less and have less of a chance of facing Chaos alone. It does mean so many things and- and she hates it . 

Adults in authority over her. Not being in control of her life anymore, not being permitted to defend herself anymore. Being forced to just stand there and grit her teeth through shouted lectures. Being forced to just go limp and take the few hits because it could be worse . Being forced to abide by someone else's rules because they think they know better about her situation. 

You shouldn’t be sleeping that long, it’s not good for you. 

Why are you burning a bit of your food? Knock it off, Charlotte, that’s wasteful. 

Can’t you just read a normal book? Reading it in that language makes you look demonic, you know. 

No, you should be awake at this time. It’s too late in the day to still be sleeping, lazy girl. 

A stone settles in her stomach. Not having that control over her life anymore, not having that ability to choose what she wants and take control. But- but there isn’t another option. Not if she wants to complete this gods forsaken quest. 

Temporary . This will all be temporary, she decides firmly. She can stand just being thrown around as others want temporarily, for the sake of this quest. She’ll do it for Tim . 

“Okay,” Charlie says. 

Tim at least has the decency to let her finish the movie before helping her back everything up.

Chapter Text

Charlie blinks awake slowly. Sunlight washes over her face, and so she lets her eyes stay half shut for a moment longer. Basking in the warmth of the room she’s in, in the comfort of the sheets underneath her, of the heavy blankets atop her, and the nest of pillows all around her. She can feel Apple loosely held in her grip, she can feel the press of her weapons on her arms, and she knows she is safe here. Everything feels warm, everything feels fuzzy, and she knows that she isn’t in pain. 

But that’s not quite true, is it? 

Her eyebrows furrow and her half-open eyes squint up at the blurry ceiling above her. It’s not the bruises she remembers having before falling asleep aching against her skin. Not the broken ribs or the split lip or the broken nose or- or anything she can expect from her… encounter. All of that is healed after a good night's sleep. No, the pain that she manages to barely hang onto in her half-asleep state is… A stinging? 

Right there in the crook of her elbow. A small, almost imperceptible stinging. Almost like the stinging from the IV’s at camp. Was she a test dummy for the newer Apollo kids learning how to get IV’s again? Or did she accidentally fall into a coma again? 

Her dreams weren’t stressful at all. She wasn’t really with her siblings, either. She’d been… in a warm place, with her father she thinks. His cave, flowers all around them, the soft glow of fairy lights, and his warm arms wrapped around her promising protection . Wouldn’t he have kicked her out if she was taking too long to wake up? 

Everything feels strange. Sort of fuzzy. Is she supposed to feel this fuzzy? Out of touch. Like a really good long sleep after a particularly bad injury. Those usually only happen if she can’t have ambrosia or nectar for whatever reason. Actually, now that she’s thinking about it, did she remember to eat any ambrosia before she went to bed for the night?

This doesn’t really feel like her bed. It doesn’t feel like the uncomfortable second-hand mattress of her apartment, the extremely comfortable and warm bed of her cabin, or the slightly scratchy sheets of the infirmary bed. It feels far too big, far too soft, and far too expensive. 

What was she doing last? She was injured, Tim came over, they watched movies, he convinced her to go to the manor, Mr. Alfred picked her up… 

Is she at Wayne Manor, then? She must be. How come there’s an IV in her arm? For fun? What kind of psychopathic- 

Or. Or something slightly worse than that. 

Charlie fully opens her eyes, hesitation tinging every movement. 

The room she’s in is expensive-looking. Decorated like one of those fancy mansions she sees in comic books or the occasional movie with the Aphrodite kids about rich men and swooning women. It feels warmer, though, in a strange sort of way. She’s laid out on a queen-sized bed, though, and that is definitely an oddity. 

Sure enough, there’s an IV stand next to her bed and an IV hooked into her arm. Upon inspection, it looks like it’s just some fluids and nutrients typical of coma patients. She’s starting to get a really bad feeling. 

Facts; she was severely injured before she went to sleep. She forgot to eat ambrosia before going to sleep. Typically when she’s injured and doesn’t have ambrosia working on the injuries, her body kind of goes into survival mode and sleeps them off. Sometimes ‘sleeps off’ means a minor coma. 

And now there’s an IV hooked up to her arm. An IV that she usually wouldn’t- shouldn't expect, unless she was asleep for long enough that people started to worry about her getting dehydrated or starving to death. This… isn’t the best first impression to make on Bruce Wayne. Bruce Wayne, AKA Batman, AKA the man who she still isn’t convinced won’t kick her out at the first sign of meta-like abilities. 

Great. Fantastic, actually. This is exactly how she wanted this to go. 

Hysterically, at this point, she stands up from her bed to try and get her bearings. Her legs shake dangerously and scream their protests at moving for the first time in who-knows-how-long. Based on the fact that she can, actually, put weight on them, she’d guess less than a week. At the week mark, she usually needs support the rest of the day to walk around. More than a week, and she starts to get into the ‘need physical therapy-styled yoga to get back up on her feet’ territory. 

Don’t think about the fact that Bruce Wayne could very well know that she’s a meta now. Don’t think about the fact that there’s not really an easy way to explain a coma. Don’t think about any of that; compartmentalize, take stock of her situation, and move on. It’s the demigod way- just don’t think about your crippling trauma and eventually it’ll go away or you’ll try to take over the world about it. One or the other. 

(Luke was kind of dramatic about the whole thing. Seriously, deciding to take over the world because of some measly horribly crippling trauma? Get over yourself.)

(Disclaimer: She knows that’s not the whole situation. Complicated stuff, Kronos was partially controlling him, blah, blah, blah.) 

Taking stock takes priority right now. Other than the fact that she’s devoid of injuries, relatively weak, kind of hungry, and sporting an IV, she’s actually pretty fine. A bit of a dry throat, ready to strangle Tim, hungry , but fine. More importantly, her things. 

Bracelets on her arms, check. Apple on her bed, check. Her backpack and duffel bag of belongings are sitting on a coffee table on the other side of the room, who needs a coffee table, a couch, and two armchairs in their bedroom? So she still has all of her belongings. A little bit of a worry after passing out on her hosts. If this were Bryan, he likely would’ve burned Apple and Charlie would’ve been stabbed once she got back to camp. 

Blood stains are one thing, but a pile of ash instead of June’s favorite stuffed animal? Unforgivable. 

And the bracelets don’t come off for other people. They don’t unclasp, they don’t shimmy off her arm, they don’t do anything for anyone but her. Perks of them being magic, she guesses. 

So physically and object-wise she’s fine. Next order of business; track Tim down and strangle him. She’ll figure out a reason on the way there. Number one on her list right now is just letting her stay in a coma instead of trying something like dropping her in a patch of mint and waiting for something to happen. Or even dropping her in the middle of Gotham Harbor and waiting for her to figure it out. She would’ve probably woken up before drowning, honestly, anything’s better than her current predicament. 

Weakly, she hobbles her way towards the door. She gets about halfway there, regaining some strength in her legs, when the door swings open instead. Tim is standing at the hallway's entrance with his phone in his hand and a vaguely exhausted look on his face. 

The moment his eyes land on her, though, he freezes. Like a deer in headlights. All he can do is stare, wide-eyed, frozen in the doorway like he’s seen a ghost. 

“I’m going to ki- ” She starts, but her death threat is cut off by Tim darting forward and knocking into her. He wraps his arms around her, stopping her from tumbling over from the force of his hug. He squeezes her so hard that her ribs creak. For a terrifying moment, she can’t breathe or respond in any kind of meaningful way. 

“Charlie,” he chokes. 

…Maybe she won’t strangle him for now. Later, then. For now, she wraps the arm not securely locked around the IV pole around his shoulders, sighing softly. “Yeah, Tim-Tam. I’m up and about,” She mumbles into his hair. 

Tim pulls away and stares at her hard . Scouring over her, checking for injuries or further signs of coma or whatever she imagines is running through his head right now. He looks terrified just as much as he looks angry, which she supposes is fair. 

She probably should’ve warned him about the coma thing without Ambrosia. Or remembered to eat the ambrosia. Maybe it’s not his fault that he didn’t dump her in Gotham Harbor after all. 

“You-” He starts, stops himself, breathes. “You idiot ,” He hisses, glaring at her finally. “What was that? You just- you just passed out the moment we got back! I tried everything to wake you up! I even dumped water on you! It’s been three days , what the fuck !?” 

Charlie wrinkles her nose. Yeah, dumping water on her won’t do the trick in that state. Not unless he were to dump her in water she has to wake up and swim in or die. She learned that the hard way with Clovis. Although, his ‘comas’ are a whole lot more regular than hers. In fact, she’d classify each night of his sleep as a mini ‘coma’. Free trial of death. 

“Right, sorry, forgot to mention,” She says, laughing awkwardly. “If I forget to eat ambrosia and go to sleep injured, I tend to do a bit of a coma-like thing. Sleep off my injuries, as long as it takes. Kind of like hibernation? Haha.” 

Tim’s hands land on her shoulders. He meets her eyes with the most long-suffering gaze he can probably possibly pull off. He looks dead tired. Ha. Dead . Right, not the time, actually. 

“Charlie. You need to mention things like that ,” Tim hisses. His voice is deadly serious and low (two for two in the puns department there), the kind of voice that he used once when she threatened to flip the light switch on in his dark room back at Drake Manor. 

She had her hand on the light switch, and he nearly killed her to stop her from flicking it. Actually, that’s probably not a great thing to joke about considering recent events- he nearly knocked her into a new hibernation cycle to stop her, she’ll go with. 

“Yup,” She responds weakly, nodding her head. “Totally. I’ll remember stuff like that next time. Won’t happen again.” For added measure, she salutes him. 

Tim sighs wearily, slumping. “Gods, you’re an idiot,” He bemoans. She frowns. 

“You’re the idiot. If you’d been smart, you would’ve dumped me in the harbor or something to wake me up.” Tim looks deeply disturbed for some reason. “What are we going to do now? Normal people don’t just coma off their injuries, what are we going to tell the rest of your family?” She hisses. 

Finally, Tim’s expression cracks into a wince. Guilt is etched into his face so deeply that for a moment she’s worried that he somehow managed to murder someone while she was asleep. He stops being able to make eye contact with her, he lets go of her shoulders like he’s been burned, he starts fidgeting in place… 

Motherfucker . 

“You told them I’m a meta,” She accuses, eyes almost glowing with rage. Her face screws up into a glare and she tries very hard to resist the urge to strangle Tim right now. Her list is growing. “You- Tim , did you tell them I’m a meta, yes or no ?” 

He looks at the ground. Fidgets in place. Still guilty, still unable to even look at her, and it’s answer enough. But still, she waits in silence for as long as it takes, lets the tension grow and Tim grows stiffer and stiffer where he stands. She lets him grow in his anxiety. He better . 

“I had no choice!” He finally cries. 

Charlie lets out a frustrated noise, throwing her hands up into the air and spinning on her heel. It tugs at the IV in her arm, but she honestly couldn’t care less. “The one thing-” She starts, but Tim interrupts her. 

“I- people don’t just do that kind of thing, Charlie,” He continues, ignoring her outburst. He doesn’t try to follow her, but his expression shifts from guilt to sternness and she resists the urge to punch it right off his face. “You fell asleep, refused to wake up, and then your injuries started healing. What was I supposed to tell them?” 

At her sides, her fists clench and unclench. She wants to yell at Tim for doing something like that. She wants to get angry at Tim for telling Batman that she’s a meta . She wants to punch him or yell and scream or do something to get all this anger out, but- but there’s one thing that forces air into her lungs and forces her to just stop and think . 

Because Tim doesn’t think Batman will kick her out for this. Tim thinks that everything will be okay after he reveals that information. He thinks he was explaining it away perfectly, giving her an excuse for why injuries will disappear in the future and why she might need to sleep longer. He thinks he’s doing the right thing because he foolishly believes in Batman. 

He doesn’t have the experience she does. The experience that tells her that everyone hates people who are different. The experience that tells her that adults are always awful, it’s just a matter of finding out what kind of awful. The experience that tells her that one offhand comment is enough to tell her everything . 

It doesn’t matter if the article was overblown, Batman still said that . And in the end, that’s all that matters. 

Tim doesn’t have that experience, he doesn’t understand. So he explained something to someone he thought he could trust. And Batman- he won’t want to lose Red Robin. He’ll be discreet about it, she imagines. Maybe figure out some other reason to kick her out in the meantime, maybe chase her out and threaten her into being quiet. 

There are plenty of ways to kick a kid like her out. Too fidgety, too loud, too much . It’ll barely be an excuse at all to get rid of her, and Tim will be none the wiser. Even without Batman threatening her, she imagines she’d stay quiet about it anyway. 

She breathes deeply, in through her nose and out through her mouth. Batman thinks she’s a meta, and there isn’t anything she can do about it now. She’s officially on a shorter time crunch than she thought she was. But it’s fine . 

Everything is fine . 

“Okay,” She finally says aloud. Her shoulders slump, the fight drains out of her. “Okay. I wish you wouldn’t have done that, but I understand why you did. I’m not mad at you,” She says, more on instinct from the twins than anything else. 

Tim is still staring at her. What he’s looking for, she can’t be sure, but he’s concerned and she can’t bear that right now. She just can’t- can’t deal with that concern, not when she was so ready to yell at him for a mistake he didn’t even know he made. 

“I’m gonna shower and get dressed. Can you show me the bathroom?” She asks. Desperately, pathetically trying to change the subject. To get away from that topic, away from Batman and metas and things that Tim won’t ever understand and things that she won’t ever understand. 

Tim stares for a moment longer. Studies, scrutinizes, searches . But he doesn’t prod, he doesn’t jab, he just sighs. “You have a bathroom connected to your room, here. There’s- Alfred’s making breakfast right now. When you’re done- would you like me to show you where?” 

Checking to see if she’s actually not mad at him. Checking to see if she’s willing to be around him, if she’s going to run away from him and shun him just like his parents did. A horrible feeling swells in her gut. I made him feel like this . 

“Yeah,” She chokes out. “Yeah, that’d be great.” 

She pretends not to notice the way Tim’s eyes shine dangerously. 

-|-

In the end, she takes out the IV, showers, changes her clothing, brushes through her hair weakly, hides Apple away in her backpack and then the backpack behind a loose wall panel, and then shoots off a text back to camp. Charlie tells Will and Nico to text or call instead of IMing her unless it’s an absolute emergency. She’d rather not figure out how difficult it’ll be to alter the memories of everyone at the manor if the mist doesn’t cover for her. 

Charlie’s still sick to the stomach about just how scared she accidentally made Tim. Just like when he was a kid and every little fault meant the difference between an empty home and his parents actually being with him. Just like June and Cal, who’ve spent their whole time at camp desperately trying to relearn how to be kids. 

But dwelling is only making her feel worse so she shoves it into the teeny tiny box marked later in the back of her head. 

Tim is waiting in the hall for her when she’s done, scrolling through his phone. He lights up when she saddles up next to him without shouting at him, trauma kids unite and all that, and leads her through the manor. She tries not to let the thought disturb her, but she’s not doing a very good job. If Camp is ever able to get a therapist, they're going to have a hell of a time.

She’s a little bit in awe about how huge the manor is during their little walkabout. Man, if camp had this kind of funding then maybe they’d be able to stop doing things like the ‘hand-me-down’ system. Every article of clothing has been worn by multiple people by the time it lands in your hands, basically. 

They’re all sporting the ‘holes in the jeans grunge look’ and none of it is on purpose. 

The kitchen itself is another story. It’s big, the biggest kitchen she’s seen in her life, but it’s… it’s also homely. In a strange sort of way. Nothing like the big fancy houses in the shows she’s sometimes roped into watching, more like someone who desperately loves their kitchen happening to end up in a big fancy one. 

Mr. Alfred is at the stove, cooking breakfast just as Tim has said. There’s a collection of plates near the stove stacked high with bacon, eggs, and pancakes. Mr. Alfred is, rather impressively, cooking with four different pans at once and somehow not burning anything. He smiles at her when she steps into the room, but he’s a little too focused on his task to do much more, so she leaves him to it. Must be inconvenient to cook for this many people without magically appearing food. 

Less fun are the other two occupants in the room. 

The second occupant is Bruce Wayne himself- sitting at the large dining table in the kitchen with a newspaper propped open in front of him and a cup of coffee clutched in his hand. He’s big, bigger than the news articles make him out to be. Tall, muscled, terrifying enough that she would definitely struggle in a straight fight with him. That makes sense, considering he’s Batman. She mentally repeats to herself just how desperately she needs to avoid him. 

The third occupant of the room is sat a few seats down from Mr. Wayne. He’s got a cup similarly clutched in his hand, but it smells more like Earl Gray than coffee. Propped open in front of him is the Odyssey. He’s wearing Wonder Woman-themed pajamas. He looks entirely non-threatening, honestly the least threatening in the room, but all the breath rushes out of her at once. 

Familiar Wonder Woman pajamas that her neighbor wears to take out his trash way too often. The Odyssey, which she recommended to him after finding out he’d never actually read it. That familiar weirdly damaged soul, that familiar white tuft of hair in the front, her neighbor - 

“Jason, are you hooking up with one of the Wayne’s?” Tumbles out of her mouth before she entirely processes the words that have managed to form. Instantly she ducks her head, ears burning. Fuck , okay, damnit. She just… said that. In front of Mr. Alfred and Mr. Wayne, who Jason might very well be hooking up with. “Nevermind. I’m just gonna… go crawl into a hole and die.” Where the fuck is her impulse control? 

Interestingly, Tim starts choke-laughing next to her. He’s wheezing from the force of it. Mr. Wayne lets out a long-suffering sigh and leans over his newspaper like he’s trying to get it to swallow him whole. Jason makes a wounded noise in the back of his throat. When she risks a glance up, she can see him cycling through the five stages of grief in rapid succession like some kind of weird messed-up washing machine.

“N- no ,” Jason hisses frantically. He’s burning red, frantic and despaired all at the same time. “I’m- Bruce is my dad ! Oh my god- They’re my family !” 

Oh Hades, Mr. Boss man, one of the coolest Olympian gods, if you would be so kind as to open up a chasm in the ground to send me straight to the underworld, I would forever be in your debt.  

Unfortunately, her prayers go unanswered and the ground remains solid beneath her feet. She’s pretty sure she’s flushing so hard right now that her brain is starting to leak out of her ears. There’s definitely steam coming out of them, at the very least. 

“Cool. Cool. Hey, Tim, thanks for letting me be around people while I’m still half-asleep and have no filter. I’m just going to go upstairs and hope that my coma reclaims me,” She mumbles miserably. She hides her face in her hands. This is a fantastic first impression to make on Bruce Wayne . Just, y’know, kind of accusing him of sleeping with his son . 

She’s going to die now. 

“It’s alright, Charlie,” Tim manages to get out between fits of laughter. He pats her back so condescendingly that she briefly considers breaking his fingers. “That’s not the worst first impression we’ve had in our family. Come on, let's get some food in you before you make a bigger ass of yourself.” 

“Language,” Alfred idly chides from the stove. 

“Tim, this is worse than the first impression I gave to Clovis!” She hisses frantically. For some reason, at this, Mr. Wayne and Jason’s gazes instantly snap over to her in a weirdly observant way. “Do you know how bad it has to be to beat that ? I stabbed him by accident!” 

Tim grabs her by her shoulders and steers her towards the plates stacked high with food. “Yes, yes. And when I first met Bruce I blackmailed him into letting me hang out with him. When Jason first met Bruce, it was because he was stealing the tires off his car. We’re all very bad at this,” Tim says. Like that will help at all . 

More importantly than her quarter-life crisis (one-fifths life crisis?), however, she spins on her heel to stop Tim from shoving her and faces him. “You blackmailed Bruce Wayne?” She demands. The absolute insanity that it would take to blackmail Batman is far more than she thought Tim possessed. Maybe he won’t be too put off by the lava rock wall after all. 

“Yes, yes, moving on.” He turns her back around and shoves her towards the food. 

She is not going to let him brush past that. Later, when they’re scouring the streets of Gotham and working on his powers, she’s going to interrogate him until he tells her why he thought that was a good idea .

A plate ends up in her hands, somehow and despite her dazed confusion, and Mr. Alfred directs her to grab whatever she wants and however much she wants. 

Charlie squints suspiciously at him. Risks a glance at Tim, but he’s just loading up his plate with as much food as he wants just as directed. That… can’t be right. She’s a stranger in their house and they’re just… feeding her however much she wants? 

Experimentally, she uses a fork that Tim shoves at her to lift a pancake onto her plate. She watches for a reaction from a still-studious Mr. Wayne, but he doesn’t so much as twitch. So she scoops a bit of bacon on too, and a bit of egg. He doesn’t demand she put some back, doesn’t yell at her, doesn’t do much more than… stare. Creepily. Is that a Batman thing? Maybe he’s just feeding her to appease Tim then kick her out. 

Or maybe he’s been picking up weird stalker tendencies from Tim. That would definitely explain the weird creepy staring. And the tracker he’s fidgeting with and clearly wanting to stick somewhere on her shirt, but she’s been dodging trackers from her brother for as long as she’s known him and Bruce Wayne has nothing on Tim. 

In the end, she doesn’t grab as much food as she actually wants. Demigods can eat , and after hibernating for three days she could probably eat everything Alfred’s cooked so far for the whole family. But she resigns herself to the same amount as Tim and hopes that her stomach won’t betray her before lunch. 

Briefly, she considers pulling the lighter she’d stuffed into her pocket out and burning a bit of the pancake for her dad to let him know that she’s thankful that he kept her company during her coma, but she realizes how insane she’d look. And how culty, actually. These people are under the impression she’s trying to get out of a cult, right? Best not to do anything too weird in the meantime… 

Instead, she digs in and resigns herself to burning one of the granola bars in her bag later. She won’t be able to nap for a while to chat with him, so that’s her best bet. Tim digs in as well, not at all bothered by her internal strife. Ass. 

The food is good. Amazing , actually. Better than the kind of shitty food she stacks high on her plate in the school cafeteria or the meager kind of stale pastries Dr. Ivy forces into her hands. It’s the best thing she’s had in a while . It would be nice if she could get used to this, but she shouldn’t. Not with the looming threat of being kicked out hanging over her head. 

“So, Charlie,” Mr. Wayne finally says. She’s about halfway through her food when he speaks, and chewing through a mouthful of bacon, so she chokes in surprise. She has to hit her chest a few times to stop herself from actually choking and doing something stupid like dying at the breakfast table. 

Nervously, and suddenly feeling kind of sick to the stomach, she sets her fork on her plate. “Uh… yeah?” She returns. 

“I was hoping to have a conversation with you,” He says. Y’know. The way someone starts a conversation when they’re about to tell someone awful things. Like, ‘I’d like to have a conversation with you. Your grandma is dead’ or ‘We need to talk. As it turns out, you’re dying’ type of talk. 

Considering her grandparents are either dead or immortal and her dad would kick her uncle’s ass if she were dying, she’s going to bet this has something to do with the ‘no meta’s in Gotham’ rule. The rule that Batman has, which Bruce Wayne is going to have to figure out how to reinforce without revealing his identity to her. Unless he’s equally as terrible about the secret identity thing as the rest of the vigilantes she’s interacted with so far. 

Is she about to be kicked out? It’s going to suck. Not just because she already set up her plans around being able to stay here at least temporarily, not just because she’s going to have to figure out how to live on the run, but mostly because of Tim . Because there’s a strong chance that Mr. Wayne is going to say that Tim can’t see her anymore and it’s going to become infinitely harder to finish off this quest and then take him to camp at all . 

And, of course, there’s the added bonus of almost every vigilante in Gotham likely trying to kick her out until she’s done with the quest. That’ll be fun to dodge. 

Will he give her a chance to grab her stuff? If not, Tim will probably grab it for her. And then she’ll send most of it back to camp and start rooftop hopping to stay out of Bryan’s way. And then she’ll figure out how to meet up with Tim outside of school, because Bryan will start looking there, and around Mr. Wayne, because he’s probably got trackers in all of Tim’s clothing or something. 

Gods. Why can’t her life be normal for five minutes? 

“Yeah, okay.” She doesn’t voice her anxiety. She doesn’t beg to be able to grab her stuff now instead of trying to use Tim to smuggle it out. She doesn’t argue that she’s not a meta because that ship has sailed and demigods are infinitely more complicated to explain. She just… sits. And waits for the inevitable. 

“God, B, don’t say it like that,” Jason pipes up from the end of the table. She snaps her gaze over and tries not to glare at him. Jason doesn’t even look up from his book, just continues reading as if he’s not actively damning her even further. “You sound like you’re about to tell her that her grandma died or something,” Jason continues, “Soften up your tone. And mention what you’re going to talk about.” 

Mr. Wayne is Jason’s father. Guardian. The authority figure in his life. 

With Bryan, disrespecting him like that would’ve earned her a punch and a good long shouted lecture. At camp, that would’ve earned a snort from Mr. D or a sigh of exasperation from Chiron. Mr. Wayne, mortal, a parent, someone who has every power possible over Jason, clicks his tongue and- 

“Right.” Huh? “I was hoping to have a conversation about what happened and you staying here somewhat more permanently.” Huh? “Regarding your stay here, you may stay as long as you wish. If you’d rather stay somewhere else, I can help find a foster home that should be suited. And we’ve started gathering evidence against your uncle. If you’d like, we can press charges against him within the week.” 

Charlie realizes, somewhat belatedly, that she’s probably gaping like a fish right now. Her mouth hangs open, her eyes are blown wide, and she just kind of… sits there. Staring. Huh?  

Mr. Wayne didn’t yell at Jason for disrespecting him. He took the criticism, corrected himself, and just… continued on. Like they’re peers or something. Not father and son . And then- and then he’s talking about her staying here as long as she wants ? Pressing charges? Against Bryan ? 

She can’t keep up with this conversation. Her brain is scrambling, trying to piece things together but failing rather miserably. She can’t complete the disconnect between Mr. Wayne’s reaction to Jason’s disrespect and his reaction- his nonreaction . She can’t even begin to process him offering her to stay here permanently . Pressing charges against Bryan wasn’t even something she considered . 

“Uh,” She says dumbly. Blinks rapidly, turns to Tim for help. He shrugs, which is not helpful . What is she supposed to say? How is she supposed to even process that? How is she supposed to understand his nonsensical words? 

Brain scrambling, reeling, barely keeping up, she latches onto the one thing she does have an answer for in a sea of confusing words and nonreactions. “You- um. You don’t have to press charges against Bryan.” She winces, automatically hunching her shoulders a bit. 

Pressing charges… yeah, that’ll get a bit inconvenient. Not only because of the whole ‘she’s legally dead or missing’ thing, but also because of… demigod shenanigans. What demigod isn’t wanted in four different states for assault, domestic terrorism, and arson? Actually strikingly few at camp. Trip up to camp and then the whole ‘a prophecy pretty much every year since’ thing has kind of made it so a lot of them are facing criminal charges. 

(She’d like to argue that the domestic terrorism was mostly Diev’s fault, however.) 

Mr. Wayne’s face makes a complicated expression at that. Like he wants to prod for why she doesn’t want to press charges, but he’s hesitating. Hesitating for some reason. Like he doesn’t want to push too hard. This is freaking her the fuck out . What are they feeding Mr. Wayne to make him like this? Morning cup of coffee with a dash of sedatives? 

Tim taps at the table, drawing her attention. For a moment she thinks he’s going to force her to come up with some kind of lie that’ll work for now, but instead he- he talks to her. 

“Διατί οὐ θέλεις κατηγορεῖν?” Tim asks in Greek. So that Mr. Wayne doesn’t understand, she realizes, a private conversation. Why don’t you want to press charges? He’s asking, and- 

He’s giving her an opportunity to explain away from prying eyes. Just in case it’s a demigod thing. She sighs in relief. “ I don’t think I can press charges against anyone right now. I’m- sort of wanted in a couple of different states. Uh, you know, regular demigod shenanigans ,” She explains in turn, also in Ancient Greek. 

Tim’s eyes narrow. “ What are you wanted for? ” He asks sharply. 

She tries not to wince. Unsuccessfully. “ Er. Explain later? ” His eyes narrow further. “ Look, the Mist sometimes makes battles against monsters look like we’re beating up little old ladies. I’m… sort of wanted for assault. And arson. ” Tim continues to stare. “ And domestic terrorism,” she gets out in a rush, “But that one isn’t even my fault! It was a hellhound that blew that post office up and Diev that riled it up in the first place!”  

Tim sighs, long and tired. Mr. Wayne is still expectedly waiting for an answer, looking slightly confused by them conversing in a somewhat demonic-sounding language. She wonders how Tim is going to explain his way out of this one. Talking in Ancient Greek tends to… raise a few eyebrows, to say the least. 

“We can’t press charges yet,” He finally says in English. He sounds distinctly exhausted. “I’ll need… probably a week or so to cover up some stuff. Then we can do everything. Cool?” He turns his last question on her, raising his eyebrow in question.

Can Tim really just… cover up all of that? If he can, that would make cross-country travel a hell of a lot easier. And pressing charges would make the whole Bryan problem go away… “If you think you can get rid of that stuff, then yeah, that’s okay,” She responds blankly, nodding. She’s probably in shock or something over this conversation. That’s why she’s feeling so weird and numb. 

Mr. Wayne shoots Tim a look that says something along the lines of ‘tell me later’ and Tim doesn’t bother responding to it. She wonders what kind of cover story he’s going to come up with for this whole debacle. 

“Anyhoo, I’m done with my food.” Tim pushes out from the table and stands, stretching his back for a moment. Stiff shoulders from not being able to use his wings, she imagines. He turns to her, raising an eyebrow. “Come on. Let’s go meet the others.” He stretches out his elbow to lead her, and she stares somewhat skeptically at it. 

Others? More people? More people to embarrass herself in front of? Great. Fucking fantastic (please note the sarcasm). 

Regardless, she loops her arm with his and lets him lead her out of the kitchen and through the manor. This is a lot more than she wants to deal with fresh out of a three-day coma. 

-|-

The room they end up in is some kind of TV room. Comfortable-looking couches, pillows and blankets strewn about, bookshelves filled to the brim with games, gaming consoles, movies, books, the odd decoration, and board games. Duke is here, for some reason. Steph isn’t, but there’s a ten-year-old who glares at Tim and a pretty woman who smiles at the both of them. Then looks her up and down, widens her eyes a bit, nods to herself, and then goes back to reading through her phone. 

Odd. Whatever. Not any stranger than the conversation she just experienced. 

Charlie plops down on the couch next to Duke. The ten-year-old looks half-ready to draw one of the knives he has hidden under his clothing, so she’s happy to get a bit of distance to give her time to escape. Maybe draw her own weapon if she can disguise it well enough. Tim sits on her other side, eyes the ten-year-old, and frowns. 

“Hey, Charlie,” Duke greets casually. Like it’s totally normal for him to be in the Wayne manor for some reason. She’s not going to question it, actually. She’s too tired right now. Still reeling over the last one. 

“Hey,” She responds. 

Tim reaches over to the coffee table in front of them and grabs the remote to start flicking through TV shows. This free of access to technology is certainly… new, for her. She watches with somewhat muted interest. “The brat is Damian. He might try to stab you, don’t let him. And that’s Cass. She’s quiet but nice. She won’t stab you,” Tim says. Then eyes Cass, who’s still looking at her phone. “Probably, anyways. If you’re nice she won’t stab you.” 

“Right.” She’s starting to get flashbacks to her introduction to the Hermes cabin. It was sort of a lot of ‘that person gets violent night terrors, don’t sleep anywhere near them. That person will stab you if you take their snacks, don’t take their snacks. That person just stabs’. Pretty similar to this introduction set, actually. 

“How do you feel about moving on to Lilo and Stitch two?” Tim asks, pulling up the movie. She stares at the cover, trying to remember if she’s seen this one yet. Dutifully ignoring the stabby ten-year-old, Duke being here for some reason, and leftover dredges of shock from everything that’s been happening since she woke up. 

“The one with the yellow thing that makes sandwiches?” She guesses. 

“Yeah,” Tim replies, nodding. 

She shrugs, “Sure.” Comfort movies are probably in her best interest right now. She’s stressed enough that if Will took her blood pressure he’d probably have an aneurysm. Not only did she botch the introduction with Mr. Wayne, he spoke in riddles the entire breakfast. Not even normal Sphinx riddles that she could text an Athena kid about, just straight-up nonsense riddles that she bets no one could figure out. 

“Cool.” He clicks the movie and it starts up. 

Damian makes a disgruntled sort of noise, but he settles back into the couch instead of stabbing Tim like she’d half been expecting. Duke settles into the couch too, smiling softly. 

It’s almost peaceful. 

“I’m meta too,” Duke says a few minutes into the movie. Exactly no transition, exactly no lead-up, and with all of the social graces of a bull in a china shop. She eyes him, and he smiles nervously. “Sorry, I just mean- I get it. I was nervous at first too. But- uh, you don’t have to be. I’ve been here for a while now and I’ve been fine. So you’ll be fine too.” 

“You… live here?” She asks slowly, squinting at him. “And Mr. Wayne knows you’re meta?” Her plans of keeping Duke away from the big bad Batman seem to have utterly failed, then. 

Duke nods, still smiling. “Yeah. He’s pretty cool about it. The others are too. A bit insensitive about asking questions, but cool.” 

She squints, skeptical. She’s not sure if she believes him. She’s not sure what the difference is, if Mr. Wayne actually knows, if maybe his powers are just super minor so no one comments on it. But… but maybe. 

Maybe. That’s all the ground she’s willing to give Mr. Wayne for now. That’s all he deserves anyway, for letting that rumor spread so far. 

They watch the movie. And then another one, when that one finishes. At some point, Mr. Alfred comes in with sandwiches and she eats two, stomach growling in protest at eating any less. Damian leaves at some point after observing her like she’s some kind of bomb waiting to go off. Cass hangs around for a bit but ends up wandering off too sometime after lunch. 

Dinner rolls around, and overall Charlie feels almost… okay. Settled. Better after sleeping off her injuries, somewhat rested, almost full, and… okay. For the first time in a long time, she feels okay. It’s an odd sort of feeling. Not one she’s entirely used to, not after moving back to Gotham for this damned quest. 

Still, she sits at the table with the rest of the family for dinner. Jason is back from wherever he disappeared to, Cass is back, and Damian is back (clearly begrudgingly). The food is placed out in front of them, more is placed on the table for seconds ( seconds! Outside of camp! ) and she feels warm and safe . 

Duke and Tim at her sides are enough for her to ignore the foreboding presence of Mr. Wayne sitting at the head of the table. Maybe it’s the buffer of Cass sitting near Mr. Wayne, someone she knows with a certainty could take him out if necessary even though she isn’t sure why she’s so certain. Maybe it’s the fact that Jason’s here, and she doesn’t have to worry if he’s trying to kidnap her or not. Maybe it’s the fact that everything feels so warm and she’s still kind of sleepy from nearly falling asleep on Tim. 

Everything feels good . So good, that her brain kind of goes on autopilot. She grabs her plate, smiles softly when she sees a serving of mac and cheese because she knows that her dad likes mac and cheese, and stands. Tim, also clearly on instinct, stands next to her, plate in his hands. 

She turns automatically around, expecting to be met with a hearth in the center of the pavilion or the small portable stove top Tim started carrying for their rendezvous so they’d be able to burn a couple of fries from the dinner he’d buy them. But her eyes are met with an empty kitchen and, horrifyingly, she remembers herself. Tim does too, at the exact same time. 

They stiffen in near unison. 

When she turns back around, everyone is staring at her and Tim. She’s still holding her plate, still halfway ready to go scrape bits of it into a fire so she can tell her dad about her day like she always does, and- and they’re staring at her . 

“Is something wrong?” Mr. Wayne asks hesitantly. 

Tim is frozen next to her. Frozen in fear or shock, she can’t be sure, but he’s frozen enough that she knows he’s going to be useless in finding a way out of this. He’s useless a lot of the time when it comes to demigod stuff because he’s so new to it. Lying out of his ass about why they’re leaving the table with their plates like they’re trying to dump out the food Alfred just gave them? Yeah, not in his wheelhouse right now. 

Plus, she can see the crisis he’s having about the habit being ingrained so deeply after only a handful of weeks to make him so instinctively go for the offering. He looks sort of panicked right now. Might be the residual shock from learning about mythology and stuff, that sort of shock usually takes a year or so to fully wear off. 

So, lying is entirely on her shoulders. Lying, which is something she’s notoriously bad at. “Drugs” is still ringing viciously in her ears. Willingly going on with the cult bit ran away with the last dredges of her dignity. Covering her ass when it comes to mythology stuff, something she hasn’t really had to do as a full time camp member. It’s just like lying to Bryan about where she was all night, it’s super easy, super whatever. She can do this. Just, figure something out and say it quickly enough that he won’t take the awkward pause as her coming up with a lie. 

“Sorry. It’s- uh. Habit.” She winces. “I was going to burn a bit of my food. For- uh, a religious thing.” A great lie. A fantastic lie considering everyone at this table thinks she’s in a freaking cult . 

Everyone, predictably, starts looking massively uncomfortable. Great. Okay. Just- just keep going, this is fine, she just needs to keep lying and eventually it’ll be ridiculous enough that someone will shut her up and she’ll stop talking. 

“Sorry. Uh- I was a part of a cult for a long time, and I’m sort of working through all that, but I think I’m still sort of attached to some of the religious pieces. We didn’t- uh, we didn’t, like, worship any living people. I just- sorry.” She gulps. How does she explain away Tim also coming with her? “Tim’s been doing it with me in solidarity.” Can someone shut her up? “To help me move away from the cult but move towards the religion that I’d like to still be involved in and he’s been really great about it and-” 

Tim elbows her in the side and she clicks her mouth shut. This is going great . If only the ground would swallow her up, please. Uncle Thanatos? Could you please come and claim her soul before she embarrasses herself any further at this dinner? 

“It’s like a comfort,” Tim cuts in, finally over enough of his shock to help her cover up the lie she’s desperately trying to spin and failing. “Like how I used to make you text me a million times when you went on a business trip, even if it was only for like a day. Just… let’s drop it, yeah?” 

“If you would like to burn a bit of your food as an offering, Ms. Charlie, then I’d be more than happy to assist you,” Mr. Alfred cuts in, stepping forward. He ushers her and Tim over to the stovetop despite Mr. Wayne clearly wanting to ask more questions. 

She really needs to learn when to shut up. 

But she can’t really complain. She can’t, not when she gets to scoop a bit of her mac and cheese onto a fire and tell her dad about her day in her head. She’s going to be able to talk to him in only a matter of hours, sure, but it’s not the same. Not the same as it is in camp, not the same as it is on the rooftops with Tim, just not the same . 

Dinner is supremely awkward after that. People keep shooting her looks like they want to ask but don’t, for some reason. Likely Mr. Alfred staring them down. Conversation is stilted like they’re not sure what to talk about, and it’s not helped by the fact that she knows exactly no pop culture and so every single reference they make flies right over her head. 

When her phone rings in her pocket, she almost cries with relief. “Sorry, I have to take this,” She says without even checking who’s calling her. She slips out of the kitchen, pulls her phone up to her ear, and clicks accept. 

“Charlie you bitch-! ” Immediately greets her. Clovis is shouting into the phone, but he’s cut off as someone clearly shoves him away and crowds near the microphone instead. 

“Charlie! Charlie!” June shouts, apparently the one to shove Clovis away. “You’re living with Batman !? Why didn’t you tell us!? Can we come over? Can we see the bat cave? Can you get him to do the Batman voice? Can we ride in the batmobile?” June asks in a rush. 

What? How on earth do they know that already? 

“Does that mean you also live with Red Hood?” Cal asks more meekly. 

“Charlie I swear to the gods -! How the fuck did you manage to move in with Batman !?” Clovis shouts. His voice is muffled, clearly further away from the phone. And also slightly tinged with pain, so she imagines that when June shoved him away from the phone he ended up tumbling off the bed and onto the floor of their cabin. 

She sighs, long and hard. Drags a hand down her face. Debates how much shit she’ll get if she just hangs up. Ultimately decides that the longer she spends away from the awkwardness of the dinner table, the better. And the more she explains, the less likely June and Cal are to figure out a way to Gotham to see their favorite heroes. 

“Look, it just sort of happened. How did you guys find out so quickly? I haven’t sent a message back to camp yet,” She asks. 

“Dad told us!” June chirps. “We were all napping before dinner, and then he swooped in like woosh !” 

“He explained that you’d told him over the offering,” Cal adds on. 

She resists the urge to groan. So her dad tattled on her to her siblings? Great. June and Cal are excited, which is great, but it’s going to be awful trying to convince them that they can’t come over and see the Batcave. And Clovis is going to hate her for living with freaking Batman . She’s going to get such an earful when she gets back to camp. 

“Look, I’ll talk to you guys tonight, alright?” She offers. “I’ll explain everything then,” not show them because that’s not an image any of them need to see, “And then we can talk about me maybe getting a video of the bat cave. But nobody comes over, alright?” 

Cal makes a very sad noise, June groans very loudly, and Clovis is still shouting at her from the background. Deciding that this conversation has reached all it’s going to produce, she hangs up and shoves her phone back into her pocket. This is going to be a pain in her neck. 

“Sorry,” She says, walking back into the kitchen. “Some friends from camp.” She slides back into her seat. Tim snorts, the little devil. Weirdly enough, or actually not that weirdly because they think it’s a cult, the rest of the table grows somewhat concerned at this information. 

“Uh… How many kids are at this camp?” Jason asks hesitantly. She can read between the lines. ‘How many people are in this cult we all think you’re in?’ 

This is becoming a very big problem that she can’t quite figure out the solution to without explaining magic and mythology and all that nonsense. A conversation that barely went well with Tim, and she has a history with him. These strangers she doesn’t trust are not people that would even begin to believe her. 

“Uh.” What's a number of kids that's normal but not concerning enough that they just say ‘screw it’ and interrogate her? An interrogation from Batman and not just a monster that can hardly remember her name is not something she’s interested in experiencing. “A normal amount. A typical amount. You know. Um…” 

She turns to Tim. He mouths ‘eleven’ at her. Is that a normal amount? There are definitely more than eleven, but if she says ‘hundreds’ then she might end up on the wrong end of an interrogation Batarang. If those exist. 

“Eleven,” She repeats. “Eleven kids other than me. Some of them uh-” died is the correct answer but also an answer that will make them sound like a very dangerous cult, “-move on from the camp. Go do other things. Some of them go to the other camp which has, like, a college and stuff.” Technically only a couple of them have moved to Camp Jupiter for the college, but it probably counts. Percy Jackson being one of them probably counts for at least ten kids just on his own. “Yeah. So… yeah.” 

“There’s another camp?” Jason asks sharply. 

Tim looks a cross between ‘what the fuck don’t keep talking’ and curious about this other camp. Right, she hasn’t talked about the other pantheons yet. She should… figure out how to get around to that. And also stop talking at some point, because she’s just digging herself into a deeper hole. More camps for this family means more cult locations, which isn’t good. 

“...I didn’t say that,” She lies, bold-faced and completely obviously, staring directly into Jason’s eyes and daring him to say a word about it. He visibly starts leaning away from her. 

“We’re just concerned, Charlie,” Mr. Wayne tries. He has the soft sort of concerned expression that comes with trying to explain cult logic to a person trying to leave their cult. She is not feeling this right now. 

She could answer. She could lie, dig herself into a deeper hole, try to pretend she’s not just making stuff up on the spot and hoping for the best. She could throw it to Tim and hope he has a better time of it. She could just start babbling nonsense to get them to stop talking to her. Lots and lots of options lay before her, and she goes with the most unobtrusive one- the one that makes the most sense to her exhausted brain. 

Charlie ducks her head and eats her food. Mr. Wayne tries a couple more times, but she ignores him. Like a child throwing a fit and refusing to answer their parents. She’s too exhausted to care about the repercussions, however. With everything around her falling apart as it is, she’d rather just collapse in on herself and do nothing for the rest of time, actually. 

-|-

Charlie is standing in the middle of the street in Crime Alley. Her apartment is to one side, and the other buildings are all lined up neatly in a row. But it’s not quite an accurate representation either. 

For some reason, all of the words written on signs or billboards are in Ancient Greek. There are bits of moss and grass growing between the cracked sidewalk, even though pretty much nothing can grow in Crime Alley without extensive care. The sky feels sort of fuzzy, like it can’t decide if it’s daytime or nighttime yet. The ground beneath her feels squishy, almost like a bed, but it still looks like the concrete she’s so familiar with. 

The world around her is out of focus. Like a camera lens. She blinks and looks around, but no matter how much she shifts her eyes everything remains slightly off. The colors, a little too desaturated. The cracks, not quite right. The clouds overhead move too quickly, and then there are no clouds, and then it’s a night sky and then it’s a day sky, and then- 

And this world feels like hers. But not hers. It’s hers in that it won’t hurt her, it’s not being manipulated by some evil outside force. But… it’s shifting to be something else, to show her something. Something she needs to see. Why she needs to see it, or how she knows she needs to see it, she can’t be sure. 

Her head tilts up on instinct. Above her, she notes there are multiple animals perched all around. A small flock of birds, bats, and the single butterfly from her dream before are all surrounding her. Perched on lamp posts, mailboxes, benches, window sills- perched, and staring. But it doesn’t feel oppressive, it just feels… watchful. 

Then, her head tilts down. Beneath her, the soft ground that looks just like the cracked concrete she’s used to, she sees the pool from before. The darkness, the shadow, the inky black substance- pooling all around her. It grows, encompassing the ground. Horrifyingly, terrifyingly, she can feel herself sinking further in. 

The birds caw desperately. The bats make chirping, screeching, desperate sort of noises. Every single creature, birds and bats and the butterfly, clutch desperately onto her, onto her shoulders, arms, shirt, anything they can grab, and try to pull her out. They flap their wings as hard as they can, pulling until her skin is red and they’re all panting from the effort, but she doesn’t move an inch out of the tar-like substance. 

She continues sinking. She wants to reassure the poor creatures. To warn them to stay away, maybe. To tell them to run, to fight against the tar, to help them drag her out. But just like her last dream, all she can do is watch. A spectator. She can only watch as she sinks further and further down into the pit, into the darkness. 

The last thing she sees is the butterfly frantically flapping at her face before her head ducks underneath the surface and everything goes black.

Chapter Text

A hand shakes Charlie awake. There’s a hand on her shoulder, shaking her, and half-asleep, still reeling from a horrible dream about drowning in tar and bats and birds and a butterfly failing to pull her out, she- well, she panics. Because June, Cal, and Clovis know by now that they can’t shake her awake- if they want her up and about, they have to shout her name. 

Because a hand on her shoulder usually means someone is about to throw her to ‘test her reflexes’ (a group of very disgruntled Ares kids who were pissy about losing capture the flag to the minor god cabins). That time period lasted about a year because she proceeded to force strategies out of the Athena kids in exchange for naps out of spite. And a year of constantly being woken up several times a day by being thrown or hit or some combination of the two- well, she’s got some unfortunate ingrained instincts. 

Family knows how to get around it. Her siblings have learned to shout her name instead of touching her, maybe dump water on her if she’s especially unresponsive. It’s really only the awful reflex-testing kids that touch her to wake her up anymore. 

In less than a moment, she’s got a fork fisted tight in her hand, she’s jerking up from her spot lying strewn about on the table, and her other hand is flying out to grab her attacker. There’s a shouted noise of surprise, but she couldn’t care less. All she cares about is grabbing the collar of the shirt of her attacker, slamming them down onto the dining table as hard as she can, drawing the fork up to their neck, and- 

And. And there is a stranger, not an Ares kid, in her grip. A stranger who looks a lot like Richard Grayson, Mr. Wayne’s first son. A lot like the first Robin, Tim's second favorite Robin, who clued him into the secret identity thing in the first place. 

“Oh- oh gods! I’m so sorry!” She lurches away from him, dropping her fork like it burned her hand. She’s flushing so red she imagines she looks more like a lobster than a human right now. 

Richard Grayson, the first Robin , Nightwing , laughs good-naturedly and stands. He rubs at the spot where she held his shirt, smiling lightly. “No problem! I should be sorry for sneaking up on you like that. Are you alright?” He asks like he wasn’t the one with a fork at his throat less than a minute ago. 

Is she going to cry in the wee hours of the morning after falling asleep at the breakfast table? Is she going to punch Tim for giggling at her predicament? Is she going to fly out of here and never return, screw Gotham and Chaos and all of those problems? 

No. Unfortunately not. All she can do is meekly nod, burning a bright red so badly that she’s pretty sure she’s about to die, and then sit down. Her shoulders hunch forward. “I’m really sorry. I- uh, I’ve got a weird flinch reaction. Sorry.” 

“Tt. Your instincts are… interesting,” Damian pipes up from his end of the table. He seems to be watching the interaction with stars in his eyes. Like her slamming his older brother against the table and holding a fork to his throat was entertaining or something. Freaky little kid. He’d fit right in at camp. 

“Yeah, I get it,” Richard laughs again. “I’m Tim’s older brother, Dick. It’s nice to finally meet you!” He holds his hand out for a fist bump, but still tired from her nap and frazzled from expecting an Ares kid to be ‘testing her instincts’ she flinches back and holds up her fists. And then drops them, face warming further, somehow. She must be glowing at this point. 

“Uh- nice to meet you too. I’m- uh. Charlie. Right.” Tim is still laughing, so she kicks him under the table to tell him to knock it off. He kicks her back. So she shoots him a glare, which he matches with equal ferocity. 

“We should get going,” Damian says to Dick, interrupting her and Tim’s little glaring match. She stops glaring quite so fiercely at her brother, instead glancing up at Damian tugging on Dick’s sleeve. It’s an oddly… cute sight. For someone she’s only halfway sure isn’t an assassin, anyway.

“Right!” Dick chirps, clapping his hands together. “There’s a new exhibit at the Gotham Museum that me and Damian were going to check out!” He turns to her and Tim, looking far too excited for whatever time it is in the morning. “Would you two like to come with?” 

“ Richard , do not invite these two,” Damian hisses, tugging harder on Dick’s sleeve. 

Tim blinks slowly from his spot at the table. Barely awake, pulled out of a small match with her, and not quite processing things at the right speed. Serves him right. He spends a little too long staring, so Dick turns to her instead for an answer. 

…Which isn’t great either. What is she supposed to say? ‘No thanks, I’d rather stay home and play magic with Tim here’ or ‘yeah, sure, stranger I’ve never met before, let’s go on an outing together that I’m clearly not wanted on’? Seriously, what does she say ? 

“The museum?” A new voice pipes up from the entryway to the kitchen. Duke stands halfway in, looking up from his phone and somewhat interested in the conversation taking place. He smiles easily, stepping further into the kitchen. “That sounds like loads of fun. The new Greek Mythology exhibit, right? Hey, Tim, Charlie, you both take Greek Mythology at school, right? You’re into that sorta thing?” 

Dick is staring even more now. She can feel herself start to sweat. Excuses for getting out of this to just be a bum in her room and make Tim train all day are quickly thinning out. Damn Duke for listening to her talk and actually taking an interest in her life. 

Unfortunately, interest in Greek Mythology is… certainly not the way she’d describe it. She’d describe it more along the lines of ‘I needed to learn this so if I come across something I know how to defeat it’, but she can’t fault Duke for not knowing. Tim, on the other hand, needs to stop muffling snorts of laughter before he gets people to start asking questions. She kicks him again for good measure. 

She’s definitely taking too long to answer. She’s taking too long to come up with an excuse, a way out of this, so all she can manage to say is- “Uh, okay.” Damnit. Okay, whatever. This’ll be a good opportunity to teach Tim more about the world he now has to live in to prepare him a bit more. And, besides, it’ll be interesting. Dick seems nice enough, and Damian seems less likely to stab while Dick is here. She’s fine with this crowd of people. 

Duke, Tim, Dick, and Damian. That’s a perfectly acceptable group to go to the museum with. 

(If she could just forget the fork incident, that’d round out the morning nicely.) 

-|-

And then there were more. Charlie stands outside the museum, trying to remember if she has any cash in the emergency bag she grabbed on instinct, surrounded by a lot more than four friends she’s relatively chill with hanging out with (minus nearly forked the throat of Dick). 

Okay, not a lot more. Just four more. But that’s still an outing of a total of nine people and she is way too tired to have this many people in her personal space at once. Especially when one of those people is the zombie she keeps forgetting to deal with beyond random book recommendations. And another one is Batman . 

Steph and Cass are nice additions. Steph is her friend and Cass seems nice enough. No negative notes here, they’re just nice to have around. She’s nearly stabbed neither of them and neither of them will potentially kick her out of the house for any minor infraction on her part. 

Mr. Wayne isn’t on the other hand. Mr. Wayne, Batman, ‘no meta’s in Gotham’ except that she’s not entirely sure how that rule holds up anymore, a man whose house she’s been living in for a couple of days now, and a man she’s met exactly once. If one doesn’t count the times she stalked him as a child, but she mostly did that to hang out with Tim. 

He’s the stalker here, not her. Honest. She doesn’t even own any trackers to stick in friend’s bags, unlike a certain freak who’s been trying to bug her since moving back to Gotham. 

Charlie is sweating, is the short version. Wearing a tank top in the cool barely springtime and still frosty in the morning weather, but sweating . Itching to fly away from her problems, her solution to most things, and itching to just… go home. Not to the manor, that’s one of the bigger sources of her stress right now. No, she’s itching to go back to camp. Right now, please . 

Maybe Mr. Boss Man Hades will finally take pity on her and crack open the ground to claim her soul in the underworld and have her work for him instead of facing the consequences of her actions. Or maybe Uncle Thanatos will finally reap her soul like she’s been praying for him to so she doesn’t have to deal with this. They seem like reasonable alternatives to a semi-awkward outing with the people she lives with. 

Tim shoots her a stink eye from where he’s standing so she can guess that he suspects what she’s internally praying for right now. Not that her rapidly swinging wide eyes between Mr. Wayne, Mr. Zombie, and Damian-trying-to-sneak-a-knife-past-security is helping any. Maybe she doesn’t need Hades or Uncle Thanatos to help at all- maybe her soul will just leave her body all on its own and she won’t have to talk with people like a normal human being. 

“Stop looking like we kidnapped you,” Tim chides quietly. He knocks his shoulder into hers, hard enough that if she didn’t have demigod strength backing her up she’d probably stumble a good few feet. Ass. 

“I don’t think I have cash,” She replies faintly. It’s not even the top of her list of worries, and yet that’s what comes tumbling out of her mouth before she’s entirely sure what she’s doing. “I never carry any. I just grabbed my emergency bag on instinct. It only has drachmas in it. I can’t pay for a ticket in drachmas.” 

Tim elbows her in the stomach. Hard enough to bruise if not for her endurance, she imagines. He’s really filling out the ‘annoying brother’ role quickly, isn’t he? Getting used to each other again after so long apart, she imagines. 

“We’re paying for you, dumbass. B is rich, if he didn’t pay for you I think Jason would skin him,” Tim grumbles. Mocks. She shoots him a glare. 

“That isn’t-” 

“How’re we splitting off?” Steph calls from the front of the group. 

Apparently, while Charlie had taken her eyes off of the others for a split moment to argue with Tim, Mr. Wayne had already bought tickets. One of them ends up in her hands without much consent from her or consideration for her spluttering or offers to pay Mr. Wayne back. She gets an odd look from Mr. Wayne for that, which she supposes is fair. Why would he want the grubby money of a random teenager when he could probably buy this museum if he wanted to? 

Damian sniffs rather loudly, grabbing onto Dick’s sleeve with a white-knuckled grip and refusing to let go. “Dick has sworn an oath to take me through the painting exhibit. Do not follow us,” Damian announces like he’s in some kind of Victorian era drama. 

Contrary to his announcement, Steph stalks over to them both, a wide grin on her face. “One group for the painting half, one group for the rest of the new exhibit. Who wants to go where?” Damian makes a disgruntled noise at Steph but seems to be somewhat tamed by Dick resting a hand on the smaller boy's shoulder. 

Cass and Duke end up going with that group too. Apparently, the paintings are actually the more interesting part of the exhibit. Looking at old Greek weapons and statues is… not as entertaining, she’s sure, but also it’ll help brush up Tim’s memories on everything she’s been teaching him. For some reason, Mr. Wayne decides to join them, and Jason ‘I’m totally not a zombie or a serial killer’ sticks with their group too. 

Tim looks a bit miffed by this development but doesn’t say a word. Instead, they all head into the exhibit to start working through the different sections. They start off in the older weapons and armor; pieces that Charlie can actually look at and recognize the difference between celestial bronze and regular old metals. She wonders if she should tell camp that there’s a celestial bronze shield here or if it doesn’t really matter since it’s not a weapon so it won’t affect anything. 

Probably. She’ll make a mental note to ask Chiron about it the next time she checks in at camp, just in case. 

Regardless, time for a mini-lesson. She grins, sliding easily into teacher mode. She’s gotten good at this sort of thing after helping some of the newer campers. Tim is like a new camper, just… nowhere near camp and a few months older than her. “Tim,” She jabs her finger at a shield with a gorgon's head in the center, “What's that? Come on, I taught you this one only a week ago.” 

Mr. Wayne and Jason are watching her and Tim a little too closely for comfort for some reason, so she dutifully ignores them. Like most of her problems. That’s what she always says; ‘ignore your problems and eventually they’ll either go away or everyone will think you’re in a cult because of a snowballing collection of events’. 

Tim scrunches up his nose at the shield. This one is regular old metal, not something particularly interesting, except for how it might trip Tim up in regards to answering. A woman’s head with snakes gathering all around it. Easy to mistake for Medusa, sort of like a trick question on a quiz. He’ll need to be able to tell the difference in the wild between regular old gorgons and Medusa, so it’s good practice. 

“...I want to say Medusa, but I don’t feel like you’d give me something that easy,” Tim finally says, frowning at her. 

She grins wider. “Correct! It isn’t Medusa.” Tim groans, loud and far too dramatically. “It’s one of the other gorgons. This one is meant to depict Stheno, but they don’t do a great job of it so it looks more like one of her children. You remember their powers, I presume?” 

Tim rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Snake hair, turns anyone who looks into their eyes into stone. That one isn’t particularly difficult.” 

“For the most part, yeah,” She says, nodding her head. “Stheno and Euryale, Medusa’s sisters, are considered to be immortal within myth however, in comparison to Medusa being considered mortal.” The unspoken ‘but they’re all monsters so they’re all kind of immortal and all kind of mortal’ hangs in the air for Tim, but she doesn’t say it aloud because of their company walking only a few steps behind them. “They also have wings, while Medusa typically doesn’t. And tusks. Depends on the myth how they look and what kind of powers they have.” 

Or in demigod terms; depends on how they end up coming back from the dead. It can change depending on an entirely random set of events, so you’re never entirely sure what version of a myth you’re up against. 

Next, they walk over to a display case holding a vase with the painted image of a winged creature with the head of a woman. It looks altogether somewhat strange, and sort of odd. Out of place compared to the modern depictions of sirens, which is exactly what she’s banking on. She gestures at this one next, earning another groan from Tim. 

“And this one? Do you remember which one this is?” She quizzes. 

Tim stares at it, long and hard. “...Harpy?” 

“Not quite, although they do look similar.” She taps the plaque displaying the information, explaining that it’s a painting depicting a siren. “It’s a siren. Sea-dwelling nymphs with alluring voices. Although some myth says that if you can resist their call and not get eaten, then you’ll be granted incredible wisdom from what they tell you.” 

“You know a lot about this sort of thing, huh?” Jason pipes up. She jolts. She’d almost forgotten about their two shadows, too absorbed in the mini-lesson she’d started giving Tim to ensure that if he comes across any of these monsters he’s not completely out of his depth. 

“Uh-” She whirls around, stops herself from completely flinching and falling into a battle stance. That would certainly not be the socially acceptable response to being startled. “Yeah. It’s- I know a lot about this sort of thing, I guess. I’m pretty into Greek Mythology. I’ve recently been trying to brush up on some other mythologies too…” Because of other pantheons and all the nonsense that comes with them. She winces. “But my specialty is still Greek, I guess.” 

“That’s neat. Guess that's why you recommended the Odyssey, huh?” Jason says, smiling. 

“Yeah. Once you’re done with that, I’d suggest Achilles. Or-” She pauses, biting her tongue. “I mean, if that sort of thing interests you. Otherwise, I’d have to ask my b- my friend for good book suggestions.” Jason’s probably into cheesy old romance novels like Pride and Prejudice. 

“I’ll check it out,” He agrees. 

Trying to ignore embarrassment over dumping her interests on the neighbor she needs to get around to fixing, she returns to her mini-lesson with Tim. She takes him through the section, guiding him through the various monsters displayed on shields or on vases to make sure he knows how each of their powers works and how to potentially defeat each of them. She’s definitely info-dumping at some point, but Tim is interested and Jason and Mr. Wayne haven’t told her to shut up yet so she takes it as a win. 

Then, they move into the statues section. Statues of various Greek gods. Interestingly, for the exhibition, there’s an information plaque that mentions how in order to get both major and minor gods included, they included more modern statues. Almost all of them are naked, unfortunately, but she squashes down the discomfort of seeing someone she kind of sees as her boss naked and tells Tim some random trivia about Hades. 

He continues to show interest, and even Jason is nodding along now, so she lets herself ramble a little about the various gods. She talks about Hades, a little too much about Cerberus in that section. She talks about Persephone and how she’s always preferred the version of the myth where she just kind of wandered down into the underworld. She probably spends a little bit too long singing Iris’ praises just in case. 

(Never hurts to butter her up just in case Charlie actually has a chance with the Iris Cabin kid.) 

“Oh! I didn’t think they’d be included!” She chirps. Her eyes are carefully scanning over an informational plaque that’s telling her about how a modern artist had depicted Uncle Thanatos and her dad, grinning widely. “These two are some of my favorites, they’re-” Her voice chokes off midway. 

The statues in front of her are accurate. Scarily accurate, considering most depictions of Hypnos and Thanatos are based on their old Greek appearances. They got everything correct, right down to Uncle Thanatos’ black micro locks flowing down his shoulders in loose curls and Hypnos’ eternal sleepy expression. They got everything so accurate, she could mistake them for being in the room with her. 

And also, they are very naked. Absolutely no clothing. A little bit of jewelry, wings, but nothing covering anything important. 

Just as quickly as her eyes land on the statue, she’s frantically looking away and covering her eyes. Next to her, Tim is actively choking, desperately covering his eyes and flushing so hard he looks like he has a fever. She imagines she’s much the same. Her face is burning . She is never going to be able to get that image out of her head, no matter how much bleach she takes to her eyes. 

“Oh gods ,” She chokes, heaves. “Let’s just- let’s just keep moving. Yup, not going to look up, let’s just keep on moving to the next one, we don’t need to stop here,” She rambles. 

“Yeah, yeah, let's go,” Tim quickly adds. They rush away from the gods awful statues, both of their heads ducked and eyes shielded with their hands to avoid looking at them. 

Jason and Mr. Wayne hurry after them. “Are you okay?” Mr. Wayne asks, with all the kind of concern of a gentle parent whose kids are suddenly acting insane for seemingly no reason at all. 

“ Great ,” Charlie wheezes. 

“Why’re you so embarrassed about that statue?” Jason jabs. “You were totally cool with the other ones. Hell, the one of Zuess had him trying to seduce someone. Shouldn’t that be bothering you guys way more?” 

“If you saw one of B’s nudes just floating around on the web, wouldn’t you want to get away as fast as possible?” Tim hisses frantically. 

Jason sputters. “That’s- what does that have to do with anything-?” 

Mr. Wayne sputters, “I don’t have nudes -” 

Charlie intervenes before people start asking too many questions and she has to come up with a lie for why she did not want to have to stare at her Uncle and Dad naked for too long. “Look! This here is Hecate, a titan goddess of magic! I have lots of fun facts about her!” She interjects frantically. Not at all a smooth transition, but Mr. Wayne seems desperate to get away from that particular line of conversation and Jason doesn’t seem particularly upset about changing topics either. 

No one likes to think about their parents having anything under their clothing. Yup, under their clothing, all parents are just black holes of nothingness. No bodies. 

The topic changes, and she looks anywhere in the room but in the direction where the statue of her family is. When she comes across the statue of Grandma Nyx, she practically cries in relief to find it fully clothed . She was scarred enough for one day and she’s already got one bleach bath waiting for her eyeballs once she gets back to the manor, she doesn’t need another one. 

Near the end of the statue room, while she’s begrudgingly giving fun facts about Mr. D and his naked statue (horrifying, really, but less horrifying than seeing her family naked so she’s able to just avoid looking at it), Tim suddenly stops her. 

He grabs her by her upper arm, hand clenched tight, eyes wide and lips pressed thinly together. Mr. Wayne starts doing the ‘concerned dad’ thing again, so she brushes him aside with a wave of her hand and focuses on Tim. 

“Yeah?” She asks. Hesitates a little. He looks… kind of like he’s seen a ghost. But she’d be able to sense a ghost, wouldn’t she? Maybe it’s a Thanatos kid thing. 

“I-” He stops himself. Glances around the room a little. “...I think I messed up my- uh my makeup? Come help me fix it.” Before Mr. Wayne or Jason can say their protests, and they clearly want to, Tim is dragging her out of the statue room and down a random hall towards an empty exhibit that looks fairly boring and not a part of the event. Maybe being bad at lying just runs in their family. Not only is Tim not wielding any kind of makeup at all, his face has impressive eyebags and sickly pallor, the kind of thing one would immediately cover-up. And, another thing to point out, she doesn't even know how to put on makeup because camp never had any besides what the Aphrodite cabin horded- 

Largely irrelevant, so she ignores his equally terrible lying skills for now. 

Okay. Freaking out Tim, abandoned the others, an empty part of the museum. Is this the whole ‘taking her to a remote location to murder’ thing? Probably not. She thinks she’d probably be able to tell if Tim was planning on murdering her. More likely, it’s something that disturbed him. Did he see a statue that disturbed him? Is he having a late shock reaction to the statue of their parents? Is he- 

Then it hits her too. Nausea pools in her gut, so thickly she almost gags. Her skin itches and crawls like there are thousands of bugs crawling over it, and her fingers twitch to grab at her weapons. 

All too suddenly there’s a ringing in her ears. Tim gasps too, likely at the thickening of wrong all around them, and pulls away from her, grabbing at his chest. His fist clenches against his shirt like his chest is aching something fierce and his face screws up with pain. 

He’s panting. He looks- scared, terrified . He hasn’t been able to sense the Mist yet in their practice, so if he’s suddenly able to it’s probably completely rocking him. And this- this isn’t just the Mist. This is the weird Mist. This is the kind of Mist she felt right before the Minator attacked, right before things parted so well that Uncle Thanatos somehow managed to claim Tim. 

This isn’t a great introduction to the Mist, to say the least. Poor Tim is probably going through a crisis right now. 

“The-” Tim starts. She stops him with a raise of her hand. 

Everything got worse right before the minotaur showed up.

Demigods don’t believe in coincidences. 

Charlie pulls the Mist around them like a thin sheet of protection. It’s thin, weak, and it takes a lot more effort than it should. If one or two people stumble upon this room, no problem. The cameras should be good too. But if a crowd shows up? If someone even remotely used to magic shows up? If Mr. Wayne somehow manages to find them? They’re screwed. 

Next, she grabs her bracelet from her upper arm and yanks it off. A dagger materializes in her hand. In close quarters like this, it’s better to use a smaller weapon. Especially with the exhibits around her- oh, wait, it’s the kind of shitty modern art that clearly took whoever made it five minutes to put together, she doesn’t mind roughing it up a little. She shucks her backpack, dropping it quickly on a bench near the entryway to the exhibit. 

“Tim, draw your dagger!” She shouts. He snaps out of whatever funk he’s in, reaching behind himself and drawing his dagger out from his backpack. He must realize how unfortunate his bo staff would be in here too, at the very least. 

And once again she is thanking the gods that Tim has had vigilante training before this. A new camper would ordinarily take months to know to just follow orders barked like that on the field. Tim, who’s used to dangerous shit and others knowing more than him about any given situation? He just snaps to it. 

For a moment, the Mist simply tightens all around them. She lets herself breathe slowly, spreading her senses throughout the room. Dagger in hand, battle stance ready, breathes slowly, she waits. Tighter, the Mist grows, like a rubber band waiting to snap. Tim is next to her, in a battle stance that speaks of not knowing how to use a dagger but hoping for the best. 

Then- 

Snap . 

The ground splits open ahead of them both, a fissure like one from an earthquake. Like one from the pits of the underworld. From the pits of Tartarus. 

A griffin bursts out from the ground, roaring and cawing so loudly that her ears ring. It flaps high into the air, big and feathery and all too loud . It screeches at them both, claws extended, tail whipping behind it. It dives forward without hesitation, heading right for them . 

Her heart is pounding in her ears. Sweat beads at her brow, her knife is held in such a tight death grip that her knuckles are turning white. A dagger in a tight space is a better choice. A dagger in a tight space is the best choice- unless there’s a flying fucking creature . 

She made a bad call. Damnit.

“Tim!” She lurches, kicks Tim to the side and then dodges to the other. The griffin crashes head first into a painting that’s simply a blank, unpainted canvas with a single messy black dot in the center. 

It roars, belows, screeches with the kind of intensity to shatter glass. She takes a stumbled step back while it scratches furiously at the painting, tearing it completely to shreds. It stumbles away from the wall, talons skittering against the tile floor. For a moment, she can’t be sure what it’s going to do, who it’s going to pick to fight, who it’s going to charge for. 

Demigods are never very lucky . 

It charges for Tim. It charges for the only one of them to never slay a monster, to not have training with a dagger, to not know how to use any of his powers. It charges for Tim, who’s in a fighting stance that works better for fists than a dagger. It charges for Tim, who glares at it like he’s ready to fight but she knows without a doubt that he isn’t . 

Charlie screams. She charges, faster with adrenaline, faster than she’s ever been, running so fast she’s able to jump onto the back of the griffin. It screeches almost immediately, wildly bucking to try and get her off . But it moves away from Tim , and that’s all that matters. 

She holds on by squeezing feathers so tightly her fingers buzz and sheer dumb luck. It tumbles into a display case holding a dollar store bowl filled with paperclips, knocking it to the ground and causing it to shatter. She raises her dagger, attempting to drive it down into its head. But it bucks again, her dagger misses, and it knicks its shoulder blade instead. 

The noise the griffin makes deafens her. A pained screech, roar, howl, scream erupts from its mouth, so mighty and loud that she flinches and freezes on its back. It takes that split-second flinch, that single second of distraction, to finally buck her off. She flies away, landing hard against the wall on the opposite side of it. She knocks over a giant glass container full of marbles, shattering the container and spreading marbles across the ground. 

Wind knocked out of her, all she can is wheeze when Tim rushes to her side. The griffin is shouting, reeling from the knick in its shoulder, fluttering its wings and turning back to them both. She forces herself to get up, to ignore the pain slowly climbing its way up her spine and spiking through one of her ribs. 

The griffin snaps its beak threateningly at her. 

“Tim, something is wrong with this griffin.” As if to enunciate her point, the griffin stumbles when its front paw can’t support its weight and knocks over a large square block of cement in its frustration. A square block of cement that should definitely be too heavy for this thing. “Stay back. I’m going to have to deal with it alone.” 

“Are you insane ?” Tim hisses. “You can’t kill that thing alone!” 

“Tim!” He twitches into attention, finally looking her in the eyes. She practically drills her gaze into his, burning every bit of intensity and seriousness that she can into her eyes. “I have fought more monsters than you have. I have fought tens of monsters at once, all on my own, before. You will sit this one out, evade that thing, because if I have to watch over the both of us then I’m going to get really annoyed really quickly.” 

Tim flinches back, a frown cutting across his face. “You-” He starts. He’s interrupted by a low growl emanating from the griffin, letting them know that it’s shaken off the injury. Tim debates for half a moment longer, looking conflicted and frustrated but also- also distinctly helpless in a way that she can perfectly understand. 

“Okay,” He finally says, voice weak and defeated. 

Charlie steps forward and Tim steps back. She can hear him step far enough away that she can feel safe knowing that the griffin likely won’t be able to get him in its efforts to get her. For the injury, it should focus on her for now. 

And so Charlie fights . 

Her wings fall out of her back in a massive flourish, draping around her like a cape and then extending outwards to flap and push her into the air. She meets the griffin in the air, in a clash of her dagger against its talons. It screeches when she kicks at its injured arm, fury building behind its eyes. Anger that only a monster can possess. 

It swipes at her. She blocks with her dagger, but- but it’s hard . Her arms strain from the effort, and it flexes its muscles and suddenly she’s flying down instead of properly blocking. This griffin is strong . Way stronger than it’s supposed to be. 

She barely manages to flap her wings hard enough to avoid crashing into the floor. She darts back up into the air, reaching for the high ceiling instead. The griffin chases after her, claws extended forward. 

A regular griffin? Absolutely no problem. An extra strong griffin in a limited space with her disfavored weapon, half her concentration going to keeping the Mist wrapped around her and Tim, and someone else to watch out for instead of relying on? More of a problem. More of a ‘let’s see if I make it out of this fight alive’ instead of a ‘hope I don’t get any new scars from this encounter’ .

Time to see if her last resort will work on this screwed-up version of a griffin- and then threaten Tim into not mentioning it to anyone else. 

When the griffin dives for her again, instead of blocking or simply dodging, she darts in close and twists behind it. She grabs it again, by the scruff of its neck, and it lets out an enraged howl. She ignores its twisting, its desperate flapping, its desperate attempts to get her off of it. Instead, she focuses and she pours . 

Her power leaves her fingertips in a rush, like a waterfall, seeping into the griffin in her grip with such an intensity that she can feel the moment it hits. The griffin suddenly seizes, falls limp in her grip. It falls from the sky, coming crashing back down to earth. 

The griffin crashes through a giant ceramic statue that really just looks like someone glued random slabs of ceramic together in a nonsensical pattern. It shatters, billowing up into a cloud of dust, skittering across the ground. She lands near the now asleep griffin, panting. 

That’s… not a power she particularly enjoys using. Not only is it difficult with monsters being so awake and ready to fight, it’s also… kind of messed up. Because now she has two options; figure out what to do with a giant griffin in the middle of this random museum, or stab it while it’s asleep and unable to defend itself. She never does this in front of anyone at camp except Clovis, she knows better.

Knows how it’ll make people see her.  

Tim walks up slowly behind her slowly, hesitantly. Looks down at the griffin, a twisted sort of expression on his face. Maybe the same conundrum as her; kill it while it can’t fight back or figure out how to smuggle it out? 

She sighs. 

Raises her dagger above her head. 

She doesn’t look as she sinks it down into the griffin's head. She’s starting to feel sicker, even with the strange Mist dissipating all around her. Gold bursts around her, and she can pretend she didn’t hear a horrible squelch when her dagger landed in the griffin's head. She takes a step back. Her stomach is churning, pushing forward memories that she’d rather just forget thank you very much. 

Charlie feels sick while she grabs her backpack and slides her wings back into her back. She feels sick while she puts her knife away and gets Tim to do the same. She feels sick while she takes a small bite of Ambrosia to deal with her broken rib and hands a small piece to Tim when she sees that he got cut up by the ceramic shards when it exploded. She offers him a bit of praise for figuring out the strange Mist so early, but she hardly seems to be listening. She hardly listens to her own words. 

The Mist drops all around her, finally letting it go. She sighs with relief. Figuring out how to explain this will still be difficult, but now she won’t have to figure out how to explain something like a griffin . That would be infinitely more complicated. Maybe if they just sneak out of here before the cameras come back online then no one will be the wiser about them being here and they can just-

Mr. Wayne and Jason walk into the entryway of the exhibit. It takes all of a second for them to not only see her and Tim, but the destruction behind them, the ceramic dust covering them, and put two and two together. 

“Uh,” Charlie says dumbly. “We got… lost?” She winces. 

They’re… less than impressed. 

-|-

It is very quiet on the drive home. So quiet, in fact, that halfway through Charlie starts idly wondering if the griffin really did take out her hearing and she hallucinated them shuffling out of the museum and avoiding the cop cars pulling up outside. But then they hit a good pot hole, Tim flies up in his seat a little, and lets out a small hiss of pain when he lands on a cut that’s only halfway healed. 

Hearing still intact, then. Will would be proud. 

Mr. Wayne and Jason eye Tim when he hisses, both in the front seats of the car, but they don’t comment. The car goes back to being deathly quiet, and she goes back to staring out the window, contemplating her place in the universe. Philosophical pondering is always a great way to pass the time while waiting for her inevitable doom. 

Three minutes. That should give her enough time to grab her bags if she speedwalks from the entryway. If she takes an extra minute, she can grab the toothbrush she accidentally left on the sink counter this morning. However long she gets, though, she’ll take. Even if her plan might change to involve breaking out the window with her stuff. 

It’ll suck not seeing Tim all the time anymore. She’ll have a harder time figuring out how to fix Jason’s zombie-ism without living next to him or living with his family. It’ll be sad to say goodbye to Steph and Duke potentially forever. And she’ll have to figure out how to see Tim regularly without his family finding out about them meeting up. 

She can probably still do her shifts with Dr. Ivy. She has another one tomorrow, and it’s unlikely that Bryan will track her down there. Even if he did, he wouldn’t try and bother her there. Penguin doesn’t need to start a turf war with Dr. Ivy, he knows he’d lose in a heartbeat. That’ll cover food since she won’t need to cover rent anymore, and from there she can probably just figure out rooftop hopping or something. 

Can she pass for eighteen? If she can, she should hit up some homeless shelters at least a couple of nights a week. Maybe if she and Tim figure out how to slip enough cash out of Mr. Wayne’s bank account without him noticing, she could buy a car to sleep in. She doesn’t have a license, but that’s hardly relevant. If she sticks to the more abandoned parts of the city, nobody would even notice. She’s a good driver by Alley standards. 

And- 

It still sucks. 

Charlie is used to moving. Between schools, between cabins, from her mother's house that she hardly remembers to Bryan’s shitty apartment, between people that don’t want her and people that pretend to want her a little better. She’s used to moving around, but it doesn’t get much easier every time. Settling down- She’d never truly settled in at the manor, but she’d settled into her life at Gotham. 

And that life is being stripped away. 

No more Steph. No more Duke. No more apartment. No more awkward interactions with Jason. No more school. No more subpar cafeteria food. No more walking through the Alley like she owns it. No more feeling comfortable in this city. Officially, she’s going to be on the run. All because of a stupid monster that shouldn’t even be able to get into Gotham. All because- because she couldn’t kill it fast enough, there was extensive damage, and now she’s just the troubled kid again. 

( Charlotte, I don’t understand, why can’t you just turn in your homework? You forgot? That excuse can only work so many times, young lady. ) 

( Why did you hit that kid, Charlotte? ‘You don’t know’ isn’t a good enough excuse! If he was teasing you, you should’ve come to a teacher! ) 

( Charlotte- look, I just can’t handle you on this field trip. What if you wander off again? What if you hurt someone? What if you start a fight? I just can’t manage you and all of the other kids too. Yes, I know you got your permission slip signed, that’s not the problem. You’re just a troubled kid , Charlotte. You need to go sit in the principal’s office for the day instead, alright? )

In her lap, her fists clench. Subconsciously. Maybe consciously? She can’t figure it out, can’t think over the ringing in her ears. She’s grown too comfortable. At camp everyone forgot things, everyone was a little impulsive, everyone was a little too much . She wasn’t different, she was around people who understood . 

Out here? She’s different . She’s troubled . And, yet again, it’s gotten her into the kind of situation she can’t dig her way out of. All because of problems she has no control over. 

The car pulls into the driveway of the Wayne manor. She lets herself get one last good look at Jason’s soul; she should’ve figured out a way sooner, should’ve just knocked him out or something, and now she’s going to have to do something awful like break into his apartment in the middle of the night to fix it. Maybe she’ll steal some of his food while she’s at it since she’ll be certain that it won’t be poisoned at that point. 

They pull into the garage. It’s darker now, and she lets out a shuddering breath. 

Three minutes to grab her bags. An extra minute for her toothbrush. That’s all she needs, all she can ask for. All she deserves , out here where every thing she does wrong is a fault instead of an accident . 

And she can’t even explain herself. 

“Charlie. Tim.” Mr. Wayne is twisting around in his seat to look at them both. Here it comes. She can already here it now- 

“Tim, today was too much. You were awful today. Your behavior was terrible. Just- just go to your apartment, I can’t deal with you. Don’t come back until you can stop with this behavior, until you can figure out how to fix this mess. And Charlie- get out of my house. You don’t belong here.”

She steels herself, squares her shoulders, raises her chin, prepares to take the blow. However he phrases it, however he kicks her out, with words or fists, she’ll take it with her head held high. She hates Batman, and she refuses to let him see her cower. He doesn’t even deserve that much.

“Can you please tell me what happened?” And- 

All the air rushes out of Charlie at once. Huh ? Mr. Wayne’s voice is smooth, steady, not angry and loud and harsh . He isn’t kicking them out, Tim temporarily and her permanently. He isn’t yelling at them for their faults, for whatever just happened, for breaking an entire museum exhibit . He just- 

Calmly asked them what happened. 

To reiterate; huh ? 

“There was an incident,” Tim starts explaining. She turns to stare at him with the same look she might give him if he spontaneously started doing the macarena in the middle of this conversation. She’d honestly be less surprised if he did. 

What is he doing? Explaining ? At this point, he’s just going to get both of them permanently kicked out. Can she get a second part-time job to support them both? Can Tim work? Should they just abandon Gotham to its fate and head back to camp? 

“A distressed teenager with Meta abilities accidentally teleported into the exhibit,” Tim lies. Continues, as if he’s not just throwing words at an angry adult . Explaining never works. ‘Excuses’. But Tim just- explains. Lies, but explains nonetheless. “They were frightened and ended up destroying a bit of the exhibit in their panic. Me and Charlie managed to calm them down enough that they teleported away. I believe that someone may have been attacking them before they teleported so they automatically started freaking out and attacking everything around them.” 

Man, that’s such a good lie. How come Tim’s so good at lying? The moment she’s put on the spot stupid things tumble out of her mouth before she entirely knows what she’s doing. He can just… lie. An important skill for any half-blood, and unfortunately not one she’s quite gotten the hang of yet. BSing your way through a situation should be a class at camp. 

Mr. Wayne turns to her with a raised eyebrow. Corroborating the story? How does one do that? Just nod her head? Say okay? Agree? Add on more details? “Uh. Yeah.” She nods, maybe a little bit too quickly. “Okay. That’s what happened. They had purple hair.” Tim elbows her in the side. 

“This person broke the ten-foot cement cube?” Mr. Wayne asks pointedly. 

Do people with teleportation powers have the ability to break through solid cement? Probably not. Not unless they had more powers. And that’s starting to get a bit more unbelievable. But, uh, well, a demigod could break through ten feet of solid cement if they had enough momentum and a weapon in their hand. And she has no brain-to-mouth filter, so before Tim can come up with a better lie, she says, “I did.” 

Mr. Wayne and Jason stare . 

“I… work out?” She winces. They stare harder if that’s even possible. “I’m really strong. For… normal reasons. Meta reasons. Haha.” Tim elbows her again, and this time she elbows him back and shoots him a glare. She’s going to bruise again at this rate. 

“...Right,” Mr. Wayne says. Slowly. Disbelievingly. 

“Well, run along you two,” Jason says, finally contributing to the conversation. He makes a shooing motion too, as if to bring home the point. “Go see Alfred if you’re injured, but otherwise go eat some lunch. B here will start scrubbing the security cameras. Go on.” 

Charlie stumbles out of the car in a daze. Not kicked out. Not even really reprimanded. That’s… definitely odd. Are they just waiting until later to kick her out? Maybe this is a sort of ‘we’ll figure out how bad your punishment will be then get back to you’ type of thing? What would be befitting other than being kicked out? 

Probably best not to imagine how creative Batman can get, actually. 

And also, Jason is really not super great about the secret identity thing. If she didn’t know that Mr. Wayne was Batman she would be all over the security camera comment. 

…Ah well. If she’s going to be kicked out or yelled at later, it’s a later problem. Right now problems involve grabbing as many sandwiches as she thinks she can get away with and crawling back to her room to call Will and Nico. 

-|-

An IM message shimmers in front of Charlie, displaying Will and Nico sitting together a ways away from the dining pavilion with their own lunches in their laps. She and Tim sit on the ground of her room, on the far side of the room to give them extra time to brush the message away in the event of an emergency, their own lunches perched in their laps. 

She sets her sandwich down, swallows the bite she took, and nods to Will and Nico after they’ve finished processing her and Tim’s rundown of events. “Long story short, I’m starting to suspect that Chaos knows that me and Tim are sniffing around. Bending the Mist like that and straight up breaking open the ground to send a monster in- only a god would have that kind of power, and the only one that I know of that can stand Gotham and hates us would be Chaos.” 

Uncle Thanatos can technically stand Gotham, and apparently her dad too, but she’s pretty sure she’d get advanced warning about monsters from both of them. 

Tim offers a thumbs up in agreement but his mouth is full of sandwich so he can’t add his own comment. Nico is much the same, chewing rapidly to try and get rid of it, but Will is already speaking for the both of them. 

“That’s definitely… concerning.” Will sighs, leaning forward over his food to get closer to the IM. “With the minotaur, that’ll be monster number two. If he’s sending monsters after you…” 

“Not with any kind of frequency,” Nico finally says. He shoves his plate aside, seemingly deciding to be included in the conversation instead of finishing his lunch early. “Attacking you at the museum was a strange sort of move. Both of you were awake and had plenty of time to get to a separate area. If he could, I imagine Chaos would be sending as many monsters as he could after you, especially when you’re asleep or vulnerable.” 

“Takes time to recharge his monster-sending power?” Tim guesses. He frowns, tapping his finger against his plate. “And we get a good amount of warning, so it shouldn’t be that big of a disturbance, right?” He turns to her, raising his eyebrow in question. 

“Theoretically.” She sets her plate on the ground, suddenly feeling sick to her stomach. “Practically, the monsters are tough. Tougher than I’m used to. And if Chaos gets lucky and gets us while we’re at school or asleep or something it’ll be-” She hesitates. Glances at Tim, who’s sitting stiff as a board next to her. “...Tough,” She finishes awkwardly. 

“He’s powering them up, somehow,” Nico agrees, nodding his head. 

“For now, stick together,” Will orders. “Try not to be separated as much as possible. If he attacks Tim alone, that’ll be-” He cuts himself off. Yeah, none of them need him to finish that sentence. Untrained demigods struggle against normal monsters, powered up ones would beat Tim’s ass until he can wrap his head around killing. “Just- try to stick together. And maybe figure out certain isolated areas to run to when you sense it coming. Roof of your school, for example.”

“Sleeping is harder,” Nico adds on. “For now, Charlie, do you know how to set up a perimeter with your powers? Given your heritage, it should still be active when you’re sleeping. It’ll warn you of intruders.” 

Charlie picks at her shorts, frowning. “Yeah, I can figure it out. Probably.” 

“Good.” 

“Keep us updated,” Will says, “And if you need any help don’t hesitate to call. We’re one call away for backup.” 

Last resort , she doesn’t say. Instead, she smiles and promises to call them if things get bad enough. 

-|-

Bat-Chat

Oracle: Tim has been blocked from seeing this message and the following ones. I’ve looked through the footage at the museum, it cuts out a few moments after Charlie and Tim get into the exhibit and starts back up after the damage is already done. All I can tell from the footage is that they definitely had warning about whatever was coming. 

Batman: What do you mean by cuts out? 

Oracle: Some kind of interference. Static. Complete blackout, no amount of scrubbing will repair any of the footage. It’s like the camera just suddenly decided to stop working. 

Batman: Likely Charlie’s meta abilities

Oracle: That or the mysterious attacker.

Chapter Text

Somehow, Charlie is in school. She’s not dreaming, she’s one hundred percent awake, but she’s still in school, not all that worried about Bryan tracking her down and looking forward to going to Wayne Manor after a shift at Dr. Ivy’s. Well, not looking forward to it, but she’s not kicked out either and at this point, that’s more surprising than probably anything else that’s happened to her in a long time. 

Not kicked out. Not sporting a couple of new bruises. Hardly even much of a lecture other than a few calm words about property damage. No shouting, yelling, throwing her around- nothing . 

After the museum fiasco, she’d been expecting… well, she’d been expecting a lot of things. Various scenarios had rushed through her mind, none of them good, and she’d been expecting and ready for any one of them to suddenly happen. 

Getting kicked out right then and there, being hurt for her mistake, being sent to jail (or at least him attempting to send her to jail), and even briefly Tim getting kicked out too. She’d been expecting- well, she’d been expecting something drastically negative . 

Honestly, the most negative thing that had come from that experience was the fact that she still can’t unsee how realistically that artist had depicted a naked version of her father. 

It’s… startling. Somewhat unnerving. She’s still not sure if Jason is a zombie serial killer trying to murder her for her brains. And Batman, Bruce Wayne, whatever, is still on her ‘distrust’ list regardless of how many people try to tell her that he’s ‘totally cool with meta’s, don’t even worry about it’. Oh, she’s worrying about it. She’ll worry about it until he either dies or she finally goes insane. 

Sometimes she feels a little insane. 

(Come on, dislikes anyone with superpowers and an authority figure? What’s she supposed to trust, the fact that he dresses up as a bat every night to go out and fight crime?)

In her Greek Mythology class, having class time to work on a project that she finished a week ago (writing a short story in Ancient Greek? Easier than her English class), she’s having trouble focusing on much of anything at all. Her pen taps insistently against her desk, her foot taps against the floor, her eyes are wandering out the window, she’s stuck between a daydream and anxiety about the Waynes, and… 

And everything isn’t falling apart. Surprisingly. 

Last night, she got eight hours of sleep. Not the ten she really needs to be getting, but not the five she was getting before either. Her stomach isn’t rumbling with hunger pretty much at all. Her shoulders barely ache from not using her wings. The constant oppressive feeling of sickly Mist hardly bothers her. Anxiety still lingers but isn’t ripping through her with reckless abandon like it had been. She feels… whole. Not falling apart. 

It’s an unusual feeling. Not one she’s felt pretty much since leaving camp. 

Charlie is still bitterly homesick. She still misses camp more than anything and there’s an aching in her heart that can’t be filled with anything but her siblings and stretching out her wings and the stable hands and the pegasus’ and- 

But she’s not crumbling under the weight of this quest either. She’s standing tall, standing proud, facing the end of the world and this Primordial god with her brother at her side and a genuine plan to finish this. She’s… she’s managing. Decently, in fact. 

Because Rachel jinxed her and she got adopted by Bruce Wayne . Fostered. Whatever it’s called. Regardless, she’s living with him right now and it’s kind of insane . Street rat to being fostered by the Waynes. She’s pretty sure that backstory fits a couple of the other kids he’s taken in, but it’s still complete nonsense . 

A finger sharply jabs into her shoulder, drawing her out of her thoughts. She glances over at Tim, her desk partner. He has a piece of notebook paper between them, scribbled notes in Ancient Greek that they’ve been passing under the teacher's nose. Right now, his finger is pointing at a brand new note written out for her. A question. 

She rolls her eyes but reads the question dutifully anyway. All he’s had is questions lately. A step up from her being confused and just following his lead, but still. The question this time is one that she actually can’t believe she forgot to mention. 

You mentioned earlier something about ADHD and dyslexia for me being a demigod, but we were kind of fighting and I was still halfway convinced that I hallucinated the minotaur, so I didn’t catch the explanation of why. Is it a demigod thing? 

Ah, right. That was… not the best time to explain just about anything. Adrenaline-fueled, screaming, still covered in golden dust from murdering the minotaur. It makes sense that her words went in one ear and out the other for him. Time to remedy that, she supposes. Could’ve done without the new sore spot on her arm, though.

Demigods almost always have ADHD and dyslexia. ADHD because we were made for battle; we’re jumpy, flighty, and always ready for the next threat. And dyslexia because our brains are hardwired to read Ancient Greek. That’s why you’re reading this easier than if we were passing notes in English.

She finishes writing her response and shoves it back over to him. He squints down at the paper, frowning severely. His eyes skitter over her words, and his frown only deepens the more he reads. Half of her wonders if it’s because he’s only just now realizing that they’re passing notes in Ancient Greek. The other half of her is trying to match her tapping foot to his tapping foot and failing pretty miserably because of just how quickly he’s moving. 

Tim scratches out his response quickly, practically hunched over the notebook paper. He shoves the page back over to her, then buries his nose in his laptop and refuses to even glance over at her. What’s that all about? Weirdo. Whatever. She leans down to read his response. 

But it’s not required, right? I don’t have either of those. 

It’s her turn to frown. She lifts her gaze from the notebook paper. Very purposefully glares at Tim’s furiously tapping foot, his laptop screen that displays the English homework he’s spent the entire class period on despite finishing off the Ancient Greek assignment in a matter of minutes, the thermos of coffee on his desk with four shots of espresso in it, and how each noise from outside the classroom has him twitching and drawing his attention away. She rolls her eyes. Squirrel brain, honestly. 

Dumbass, you have them both. Read the DSM-5 if you have to. I can see the symptoms from here. You’re practically wearing a hole into the carpet and that English homework is meant to be easier than your Ancient Greek homework.  

Tim frowns at her words. And then at her, because she punched him to get his attention on the paper. He mouths ‘jerk’ at her, then turns back to his computer and starts looking something up. The DSM-5, she imagines. He’s always been a bit of a research nerd. If not for his complete non-reaction to spiders she would’ve pegged him as an Athena kid. 

She rolls her eyes again at him and returns to her own laptop. She doesn’t have homework open in front of her; her English teacher is merciful this time and didn’t assign any. No, she has a very intense online chess match open in front of her. The other person’s finally made their move so she can stop just daydreaming herself half to sleep. 

After several long agonizing minutes of deciding her move and then waiting on her opponent to decide there’s, Tim punches her and aggressively shoves the notebook paper in her direction. She pins it to the desk before the teacher can notice, glaring at him. He sticks his tongue out at her. She returns the favor.

I guess my ping-pong attention span, constant fidgeting, hyperfocusing, under-focusing, and struggle with the English language weren’t completely in my head then.  

Okay. Cool. Totally normal response. Not at all something she’s gonna note down for whenever camp gets a therapist. 

Charlie very purposefully stares at Tim in vague distress, but he’s glaring at his laptop again so she imagines he’s waiting for a written response. She aggressively writes one down and then shoves it in front of his computer. 

Dude??  

He snatches it and puts it back on the table, glancing up at the teacher to see if she’s noticed. The teacher is still firmly staring at her own computer screen. If she didn’t know any better, she’d say that the reflection of the same chess app that Charlie’s using is reflected in the teacher's glasses. 

Shitty parents

Is Tim’s half-assed response more than a minute later. The paper is more than a little crumpled when he finally gestures to her to read it, so she can get the message clear enough. Touchy subject . 

Ah, dude.

Tim rolls his own eyes at her response. Which is unfair, because that is a totally valid and normal response considering the circumstances. That’s pretty much what the ‘therapy’ at Camp Half-Blood amounts to. Everyone going ‘things were shitty for me’ around the campfire and everyone else going ‘same, bro’ and calling it a night. 

Eventually. Eventually, someone will figure out how to hire a therapist for camp. Maybe a couple, one person shouldn’t have to deal with the BS that is hundreds of demigods and all of their issues. It’d take years alone to get through all the ‘daddy never loved me’s before they even started touching the wars. 

“Ms. Green! Mr. Wayne!” The teacher snaps. Charlie shoves the notebook paper she’d begun writing out a rebuttal to Tim’s look under the desk, frantically looking up at the enraged teacher. “No note passing during work time!” 

“Yes ma’am,” she squeaks. Tim doesn’t so much as lift his eyes from his computer, the brat. 

-|-

At lunchtime, Charlie doesn’t stack her lunch tray as high as it’ll go with every kind of food she can get her hands on. It’s a more reasonable serving, and she doesn’t mind not scarfing it down as quickly as she can. Mr. Alfred’s breakfasts are… appeasing the gnawing hunger that had slowly started to eat away at the limited muscle mass she’d started to build up. 

She’s still pretty resolutely refusing to eat the actual amount she needs. Fear of being too much and losing her current home is definitely a big factor. For some reason, though, Mr. Alfred’s started loading up her plate with double the serving size of everyone else and that’s definitely been helping. 

With one hand, she scoops food into her mouth in a far more relaxed manner than she can remember eating lunch in… months at this point. With the other, she plays a very intense game with Tim, where the stakes are a whole lot higher than just bragging rights. Training against monsters that they can do in front of mortal company, is how she’d explained it. 

Tim is probably looking a little bit too intense there, though. His eyes are bloodshot, his shoulders hunched forward, his eyebags rivaling hers and a kind of intensity that would belong more on a battlefield than a school cafeteria. Steph and Duke haven’t stopped shooting him looks since they brought out the cards and he started acting like he was being sent to war or something. 

…He might as well be. 

“Uh… Tim?” Duke finally asks, somewhat hesitantly. Tim doesn’t look up from the cards that he’s studying like his life depends on it, which it kind of does. All he does is jerk his head a little to show that he’s listening. “You alright there, bud? You’re looking… pretty tired,” Duke finishes somewhat lamely. 

“Dandy,” Tim responds, absolutely no tone in his voice. It’s almost frightening. If she wasn’t used to knocking out crazed sleep-deprived Athena kids on their third all-nighter for research under order of the camp medics, she’d be a bit more disturbed. As it stands, she knows that Tim got four hours of sleep last night and is only on his third cup of coffee for the day. Reasonable, all things considered. 

“Katobleps,” Tim says, cutting Duke off from another concerned question, likely about his health. He lifts the card in question into the air, displaying it for her to see. She squints at it, wrinkling her nose a little at the stylistically drawn image sitting before her. 

“Cow monster. Poisonous gaze, poisonous breath,” She answers dutifully. Then frowns. If Leo’s half-crazed around the campfire stories are to be believed… “Uh, not super common.” She glances at Steph and Duke, then back at Tim. “Legend says that a while ago a mighty warrior named Frank defeated most of them, so they’re rare. According to the game lore, at least.” 

Not according to the game lore, actually. According to Leo claiming that Frank Zhang, one of the Seven, killed so many of them that they’re practically extinct until they manage to crawl their way out of Tartarus. And supposedly Frank can turn enemies into snakes now? A confusing conversation, she’s pretty sure Leo was operating on no sleep for the last several days due to the project he’d been working on at the time. The story might’ve been… muddled. 

All the same, Tim nods, flipping the card back around to himself. He studies it for a moment more, likely memorizing the picture and the information she gave him, before reshuffling it into his deck. Which isn’t actually how you play this game, but she isn’t going to call him out on it. Steph and Duke certainly haven’t. Although, they may not know how to play this game in the first place, so for all they know this is how it’s played. 

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Duke asks hesitantly. 

“Great.” Tim gives a smile that is very unconvincing and makes her wince with pain when she sees it. “Just really into this card game. Now, Charlie, tell me about this one.” He shoves a manticore under her nose and she twitches back. She doesn’t break his wrist for shoving something so close to her face so suddenly, though, so she pats herself on the back for that one. 

Thirsty for knowledge and an ass about efficiency. Certainly his father’s son. She’s going to have to get him some kind of monster manual or something (does camp even have one of those?) before he drives her or any of their companions insane. 

Or goes insane himself. He’s been slowly whittling down the hours of sleep he’s been getting and it’s only a matter of time at this point. 

-|-

That afternoon, Charlie is lugging naturally made fertilizer around the Triple I, arms burning and shoulders aching. Tim is sitting on a stool in between the staff room and the rest of the plant room, invited in by Dr. Ivy rather nicely for some reason, currently working on both his powers and a map for tonight's adventures. 

The map is folded out between two large plants that could’ve been Venus fly traps at one point but are definitely not anymore. They’re nuzzling at Tim while he works, though, so maybe it’s alright. Or maybe the little bit of sandwich meat he gave them is paying off. They’re not eating the map he’s marking up so that at the very least is good. 

With one hand, Tim is drawing a line through Gotham and tallying off places that he thinks might have weird vibes. Places where criminals like to hang out, places that tend to become hideouts for rouges, that sort of thing. With the other, he’s currently trying to get the shadow of one of the not-venus fly traps to bend to his will. He’s doing a sort of fluid motion with his hand that looks like it was copied directly from a certain show about water benders and she’s tempted to hit him over the head for it. 

“Don’t think about what you think you should know!” She calls from across the greenhouse area. She drops a large bag of fertilizer off in the corner where all the trees are, marking it down on one of the clipboards. “Think about what feels natural. Don’t copy anything from TV shows or things you’ve already seen, that won’t work, trust me. This has a lot to do with gut feelings, okay?” She jabs her pen at him for extra emphasis, even if he isn’t looking at her. 

Tim groans, the hand attempting to move the shadows dropping down onto his leg. “How am I supposed to follow a gut feeling if my gut is saying that magic is illogical and I don’t have it?” He returns, voice raised to carry across the large room. 

She rolls her eyes so hard she’s surprised they don’t fall right out of her skull. Instead of doing the thing she wants to do, throw Tim into a battle arena to see if his powers manifest then, she does the more reasonable thing and goes back to work. “That’s your brain, dumbass. Your brain that’s filled with nonsense about how magic is for the select few and that you don’t have it. Shut your brain up and listen to your actual gut,” She chides. 

Luckily, Dr. Ivy is outside right now, working on the research for the big tree in the back that was definitely probably an apple tree at one point but also definitely isn’t an apple tree anymore. They’re free to do pretty much whatever they want in here in the meantime, like play with shadows to train up to stop the end of the world.

Not that Dr. Ivy seems to care one way or another- Charlie’s half convinced that she somehow knows about everything and just isn’t commenting to stay out of other people's business. 

Respect. 

“My gut isn’t being very helpful,” Tim grumbles, rubbing a hand over his stomach like that’s going to help anything. 

She claps him hard enough to bruise on the shoulder as she passes him, nearly knocking him out of his chair. For the offense, when she walks by him again with a new bag of fertilizer, he kicks her hard enough in the back of her leg to bruise. She grunts, barely keeping her balance. 

“Your gut would be more helpful if your brain wasn’t so damn loud,” She returns, equally as grumbly and frustrated. She drops the bag off, wiping the sweat off her forehead. Then, she turns to Tim, scowling fiercely. “You’re used to your brain. Stop thinking like a computer-savvy detective, start thinking like a vigilante. When you’re facing off against a criminal, do you have time to think about how exactly you’re going to punch them? No, you just rely on muscle memory. Your muscles have the memory, draw it up.” She spins on her heel and starts marking off the clipboard once she’s done, huffing a little with annoyance. 

Tim continues grumbling but goes back to making vague movements with his hands. This time, they don’t resemble water-bending movements. They’re more awkward and wavy, but also a whole lot like the movements she makes when she waves somebody to sleep or Nico makes when he summons an army of the dead. Subtly, so subtly that Tim probably misses it with his nose buried in the map, the shadow of the not-venus fly trap twitches. 

Charlie smiles. They’re making some progress, at the very least. 

After she’s got all of the fertilizer moved and has started the lengthy process of cleaning and decontaminating all of the chemical beakers that Dr. Ivy uses, Tim finally pipes up again. 

A shadow is dancing in the palm of his hand- not useful in battle quite yet, but such astounding progress that she’s nearly blown away. He’s definitely one of those types that are just good at everything, huh? The map is almost entirely abandoned, his other hand has opted to tap the pen against the desk instead. His expression is contemplative and serious, and when he speaks he sounds just as stoic. 

“I’ve been thinking…” His eyes skitter away from her when he catches her looking and the shadow in his hand collapses back to normal. “I’ve been thinking about telling my family. Maybe,” He finishes somewhat awkwardly. 

Charlie hums. Sets the beaker in her hands down on the counter, then the scrub brush on the edge of the sink. It’s hissing a little bit from what was maybe acid, but she should be fine. 

Telling family is… a complicated issue. Depending on the circumstances, it’s always incredibly complicated. If family knows, they already know and they likely helped you get to camp. If they don’t know, odds are they aren’t great and that it’s best to just never see them again. If they don’t know but they’re still family that the camper wants to see regularly…

It gets complicated, to say the least. 

The world of magic and mythology isn’t one that mortals can easily accept. Even mortals like the Bats who work every day with other mythological figures, they’re still under the belief that those figures are… well, gone. Past figures, just figures. Not real anymore, not actually living and breathing among them. 

Mortals tend to crack from that pressure. Abandon their child, go insane, refuse to believe it, think their child insane… the possibilities are endless, and never any good. The chances of it being something bad are just too high and the chances of it going wrong for Tim… 

It’s hard to think about. While she doesn’t trust Mr. Wayne as far as she can throw him, which isn’t very far considering he has nearly half a foot of height on her, Tim does . Tim loves this family that he was adopted into. He loves them wholeheartedly, no matter how much they’ve hurt him or left him behind or neglected him. 

If they kicked him out, he would shatter. If they hated him, called him crazy, broke under the pressure of the knowledge- Tim would shatter, and she fears he would be beyond repair. This is a family that he loves just as much as she loves her family back at camp, and she can understand just how devastating it would be to lose them. 

If she lost June, Cal, or Clovis- if she lost any of them, she’d be beyond repair. She’d be gone to the world, she imagines. 

“I don’t-” She starts, but stops, chest stuttering. She forces air into her lungs, lets her eyes slip shut. A complicated issue, a complicated family, a complicated- everything . Too much to put into words, too much to explain, too much to say , and yet she has to. She has to, or her brother might lose everything in a desperate attempt to get his family to understand him completely. 

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” She finally manages to force out. She doesn’t open her eyes, but she can hear the way Tim’s heartbeat picks up in his chest. Her shoulders slump. “It’s- telling family, it always ends up… what I mean is…” She runs a hand through her hair, turning around so she can lean up against the counter. She opens her eyes and stares at the ceiling instead of Tim. 

“It doesn’t usually end well, telling family that doesn’t already know. You can, if you’d like, but it… They could…” She frowns. “Sometimes, the family cracks under the knowledge they’ve been given. Sometimes they refuse to believe it and take it out on the child, one way or another. Sometimes they kick the child out or try to force them into psychiatric care. I don’t know what would happen if you told your family, but I just-” 

Finally, she turns to Tim. His expression is resigned. Not sad, not anxious, not angry and refusing to listen to her- a quiet kind of resignation that speaks of the kind of things he’s been forced to do before. It makes her heart crack in her chest. 

“I just don’t want to see you lose your family,” She finishes weakly. 

Tim nods slowly. So utterly resigned and accepting that she just wants to give up on any kind of pretenses, wrap him up in a hug, fly him away from here so he doesn’t have to face any of this . But- but she can’t. She can’t, and Tim has to face this no matter how terrible it is. He has to decide between keeping a secret this large from his family or potentially losing them forever. 

It’s a horrible choice to make. A horrible choice that no one should have to make. And even before he opens his mouth, just by the expression and the slump of his shoulders, she knows the answer he’s going to give her. 

“I won’t tell them,” He says. Her heart cracks, but just as the sadness fills her veins, so does the relief that Tim won’t be forced to lose his family. 

Tim looks away from her, towards the desk, towards his tapping finger. A frown mars his expression, mighty and holding back a flurry of emotions and memories that she can feel tap-tapping away at his brain. Memories she knows bear a lot of weight, and probably throw more weight than her words around in his decision to keep this from his family. 

“When I-” Tim pauses, takes a breath. Steels his shoulders a little. “A while ago, Bruce got a bit- uh. Lost, I guess. In time.” 

Charlie blinks. Huh?

“And everyone thought he was dead,” Tim continues as if what he said before was a normal thing to say and not just completely batshit insane. “I knew he was alive, I just knew it , and I couldn’t let go of it, so I tried to get them to help me go searching for him but I-” He looks up at her, desperation in his shiny wet eyes and shoulders hunched forward. 

Terribly, she already knows the answer. Why he would cave to her saying he shouldn’t tell his family so easily. Why this story is relevant. Why her mentioning parents locking kids up in psychiatric wards had made Tim twitch. It makes a fury roll in her gut, a horrible sparking anger resounding through every muscle, encouraging her to scream and punch and pull until there’s nothing left . 

“They didn’t believe you,” She finishes when the silence draws on for too long. Tim slumps, sinking back against the table for support. 

“They thought I was crazy,” He says, voice barely above a whisper. “They thought- Dick threatened to lock me in Arkham . They said I needed help . I just- I…” He trails off, voice wet and small. 

Charlie sees red . 

Arkham. Not psychiatric care that’s demeaning and rude, not some care facility for troubled kids, not something reasonable - fucking Arkham . The place where psychotic criminals end up. The place where people like The Joker frequently go and are able to mess with other inmates. 

The next time she sees Dick, she’s going to punch him where the sun doesn’t shine. 

Arkham . 

If Tim had been locked up in there- how many criminals would’ve loved to take a shot at a small, young boy who was seemingly so weak ? How long would it have taken for his identity to get out? How many would’ve tried to kill him for his title? 

That isn’t a place you just send people . It’s for the worst of the worst . Not- not Tim . Not her brother . 

“I’m going to kill him ,” She seethes. 

Unfortunately, she doesn’t. She does end up hugging Tim instead of finishing off the cleaning for Dr. Ivy, but she doesn’t seem to mind because the not-venus fly traps are in a good mood. 

-|-

That evening, they continue around Gotham following the map Tim had made. Charlie makes them follow the map, poking her senses out for the Mist all the while. As they walk, Tim practices sensing the Mist in the first place under her tutelage. 

As it turns out, Tim is a lot better of a radar with the ‘weird Mist’ than she is. They manage to get highly specified notes that evening, even if they don’t find anything. All in all, it’s relatively productive. All things considered. Way more detailed than anything she could’ve come up with. 

(She doesn’t end up punching Dick in the dick when they get home, but she does glare at him whenever they pass in the halls and he gradually starts bringing up going back to Bludhaven more and more.) 

-|-

Two full weeks after she’s moved into the Wayne manor, there’s been a lot of progress. Tim can officially technically sense souls, but his ability to do anything useful with it… varies. Strongly. And he can somewhat manipulate shadows, but his pull is about as strong as stabbing people's feet so far. Nowhere near something like potentially shadow traveling one day. 

Most importantly, though, he’s gotten much better with both the Mist and fighting with his spear. It’s a process, training him out of nonlethal attacks and towards more cutting strikes. And it’s definitely going to be a pain for the poor guy to differentiate between both fighting styles in proper combat, but that’s a him sort of problem. She’s perfectly happy to just use fists on mortals and weapons on monsters. 

It’s also around this time that they run into another rogue. Which she is officially over with. She’s done with rouges. Dr. Ivy is cool, and Dr. Harley seems nice enough from the stories she gets from Dr. Ivy, but everyone else sucks! The Riddler, Scarecrow, everyone ! 

…She’s not having a good time. 

It starts like a relatively normal night. Following Tim the radar, marking up her notebook and map, criticizing his weird ground shadow knives, and then dodging said ground shadow knives when he grows impatient enough with her. It’s relatively relaxed, relatively okay, and overall a decent night. He even buys her some food from a convenience store to snack on while they walk. 

So of course it went wrong. 

Charlie is in the middle of arguing with Tim about Star Trek, because of course she is. In their dream last night, Cal had started a debate about the best captain in Starfleet history. June and Clovis had sat off to the side, happy to watch the argument unfold. Cal had quickly backed off after starting that brutal fight because he wasn’t prepared for just how seriously both she and Tim take these sorts of things. 

Meanwhile, she and Tim had been at each other's throats since. He had the gall to say that Benjamin Sisko was somehow a better captain than Janeway for ‘being the prophet’ and ‘helping a planet recover from a brutal occupation’ and ‘leading a crew with virtually no backup from the federation on the edges of space’. She is going to murder him. 

“Okay, but one of your points is completely null!” She all but shouts, waving her pen around as if that’ll enunciate her point. “Him being on the edge of Federation territory and having virtually no backup is irrelevant to him being better than Janeway, because Janeway had no backup! She wasn’t even in the right quadrant !” 

Tim tries to kick her in the back of her ankles, but she jumps over him just in time, nearly losing hold of her notebook in the process. 

“Okay, but at least Sisko never sleeps with any of the crew,” Tim points out. She glares so furiously at him that he flinches back like he’s about to be stabbed. If he keeps going down this line of conversion, he just might be . 

“We don’t talk about the lizard episode ,” She hisses. “She wasn’t aware of her actions. She didn’t know what she was doing.” 

“What about that time she and her number two, Chakotay, got stuck on that planet because of that illness or whatever and she kept flirting with him?” He presses. 

“She thought she was never gonna see her family again!” 

“That’s hardly relevant to such a fast turnaround from being a married woman to flirting with her second in command like it was nothing -” 

“Shut up.” Charlie slaps a hand over Tim’s mouth, slamming the both of them flat against the wall of the alleyway they’re walking through. He starts licking her hand in protest, but she has two younger siblings and she isn’t even phased. He’ll need to start keeping caterpillars within easy reach to put down her shirt if he wants her to even twitch . “Stop messing with me and look out there, dumbass,” She hisses. 

Finally, Tim stops struggling against her and turns his attention out of the alleyway and where her eyes are locked. He, predictably, freezes. 

Clayface in all of his melting clay-like and dirt-like glory. Standing in front of a large bank, absolutely nobody else around, raving about how he’s going to destroy this building as his big bang for getting out of Arkham recently to an imaginary audience. Gods damnit . Why is it always her ? Why is it always rogues ? 

Tim pries her hand away from his face and crouches down against the wall to be more hidden. She wipes her hand on his shirt to get back at him but quickly follows. Both of them are able to erase their presence to near invisibility (and one day literal invisibility for one of them), so there’s very little chance of Clayface seeing them. 

“That’ll explain why this particular patch of Mist was so weird,” She whispers conversationally. Tim smacks her as quietly as he can manage. And then he gets his game face on, because unfortunately 'bratty sibling' is not a skill set suitable for dealing with a rogue. 

“I’m not in uniform, we’re a while away from any kind of backup, this is really bad…” Tim mumbles to himself. His eyes are locked on Clayface, who’s still monologuing for some reason. She frowns, glancing between Tim and Clayface carefully. She fucking hates rogues, man. 

“It’s not that bad. Do you want me to take care of it?” She asks. Her fingers flex experimentally; Clayface is tired, likely from the Arkham break he’s raving about. Likely nobody’s noticed if there aren’t any alarms blaring. Regardless, he’s tired, so she likely won’t even need to touch him to get him down. Besides, he’s mortal, not a monster. He’s easy . 

In comparison to the griffin she faced at the museum, this’ll be a piece of- 

It. No. Not again. Never again. 

It’ll be difficult . It’ll be difficult, it’ll be hard, and it won’t be jinxing her again . 

“Stay out of this,” Tim hisses at her. “He isn’t a monster, you can’t just kill him. Even then, your spear wouldn’t even graze him. We’ll have to wait for backup…” He tilts his head away from her and his eyes start flickering around like he's planning out some over-complicated plot to trap him in a pickle jar or something stupid. Which might sound hyper-specific, but is in fact a plot that a seven-year-old Tim once ranted to Charlie about during a late-night movie binge. 

So, she’s lost him to plotting. Instead of asking for permission, she runs through her plan quickly in her head. She’s out of range right now unless she’s willing to fall asleep herself, which she’s not considering Tim would have to be the one to carry her back. There aren’t a lot of easy ways to sneak closer and hope for any kind of cover. Sneaking probably isn’t an option, not unless she spontaneously gets the ability to turn invisible like her Uncle or can fly without getting shot down by a Bat. 

Instead, her best option is probably to rush him. Clayface is on enough adrenaline right now that her rushing him won’t add to it anymore and wake him up. If she gets within range, it’ll just be a simple sleep spell to knock him out. He’s mortal, too, so doesn’t even need to touch him, just get within range. Mortal and tired, what a combination. 

“Alright, Tim-Tam, stay quiet,” She orders. She claps him on the shoulders and crouches, getting ready to sprint at Clayface. 

“Charlie- what are you doing ?” Tim hisses frantically. He reaches out to try and grab her, but she twists out of the way of his hand. He's too startled by what is probably looking like a suicide mission to him, running at Clayface without a plan, so his reaction time isn't quick enough to actually catch her. She launches off the concrete and falls into a dead sprint towards Clayface. 

Charlie runs forward as fast as her legs will carry her. Far faster than a normal human can run, with the godly blood running through her body, but definitely not something as cool as the Flash. Her feet pound against the concrete beneath her, her lungs rattle against her chest, and the wind whips in her hair. Her backpack clatters loudly against her back, drawing Clayface’s attention almost instantly. 

He winds around, shouting and fist reeled back, ready to hit and hit hard . But- well. 

Compared to the minotaur she faced a couple of weeks ago, she might as well be fighting a wild animal without an ounce of magic to speak of. Mortals, even metas, don’t tend to pose any kind of threat to demigods. Especially not unprepared not terribly smart metas. 

Clayface reels back his fist to hit her, high in the air. If it did land on her, she imagines it would hurt . But it doesn’t matter, because she’s in range. All she has to do is concentrate, wave her hand in the air, feel the humm of her magic buzz from the tips of her fingers out and into the man across from her and- 

Clayface slumps over into a puddle of clay. Without landing a hit, without getting injured, without even breaking a sweat , Charlie just defeated a Gotham rogue. Numbly, she stares down at the puddle of clay. Huh. 

Tiny itty-bitty Charlie is reeling right now. Screeching in her head about how she should definitely don a bat-shaped cape or send in some kind of tryout video or something. The more rational part of her understands that Clayface is just about as threatening as one of the security harpies catching her outside of her cabin after curfew, but it's still having trouble settling in right. Concepts aren't... clicking. Maybe she's just finally snapped under the pressure and this whole thing was a hallucination. Or maybe being a born and raised Gothamite has set her expectations for Rogues a bit higher than just 'knocked out with a single spell'. 

Lame, honestly. And also a bit crazy. 

Tim walks up next to her, similarly shell-shocked. He just stares for a moment, at the collapsed form of Clayface and her, completely unharmed and barely sweating. Tim barely manages to gather himself up enough to start looking for a liter soda bottle to shove Clayface into. He’s still struck mute, unable to even chastise her for running off like that. 

Well. That’s… certainly interesting. 

“I don’t have the energy to deal with this,” Tim informs her once he’s done gathering Clayface up into the bottle. He stands up, the bottle clutched in his hands with a white-knuckled grip. “I’m not going to deal with it, because I don’t want to. We’re just going to… ignore it. Alright?” 

“Alright,” She replies numbly. 

Not talking about it. Just... not talking about the fact that there is a very real chance that most demigods could probably single-handedly wipe out Gotham's entire rogue gallery. At least until they start doing things like planning ahead and bringing along caffeine pills or something. That seems... fair. Yeah, okay, she's just going to ignore it too because bringing it up would mean that she'd likely have to deal with the fact that she should probably at some point help out with Gotham's villain problem, and that's a problem for another day. 

Tim nods sharply. “Okay. With- uh, with that patch of Mist, I’m pretty sure…” He winces to himself, fingers tightening around the neck of the bottle. “I’m pretty sure I know where our big bad guy is.” 

Charlie inhales sharply. She takes a step forward, jerking, half ready to just take flight and deal with it right now - “You do?” She asks, breathless. 

“Yeah.” Tim takes a moment to breathe, shoulders stiff. “It’s- dangerous. Really dangerous. I think- I think we’re going to need more than just…” He vaguely gestures to them both. To their tank tops, arm warmers, triple-layered pants, weapons, and emergency backpacks. Not exactly the best battle gear, she’s willing to admit that much. Traditional quest gear if she's being honest, but not technically good by any stretch of the imagination. 

“We need to prepare,” She finishes for him, nodding a little. “I’ll take the taxi back to camp to get us some armor-” Tim twitches “-while you drop that off with the bats and get our supplies organized into a smaller bag. Alright?” Tim visibly relaxes. 

Okay, apparently that was about the taxi thing. What, has he really not gotten used to crazy drivers by now? Isn’t Jason from Crime Alley? 

“Great. Yeah, I can do that. Make sure to be back soon, though, or the others will worry.” He reaches out his hand, shaped into a fist. 

She grins, somewhat feral. “Of course.” She hits the side of her fist against his, a silent promise. 

Preparing for battle. What a familiar feeling. Hopefully, this one will be a bit easier on the ‘world-ending’ side of things. 

-|-

Charlie arrives at camp fully intact and two drachma lighter. Maybe a little car sick, but that’s hardly relevant when her stomach is rolling with the battle that lay ahead of her. The Gray Sisters have nothing on her stomach-turning anxiety. (Besides, riding in a car going twice the speed limit and weaving in and out of traffic is practically enough to lull her to sleep these days.) 

A fight against Chaos. Against a Primordial god . Against someone older than time in the literal sense . Just her and Tim against Chaos, against someone powerful , and she’s just going to have to… just going to have to do it. Fight him, put him to sleep with her power, pray he doesn't kill her and Tim with a single blow which he is very much capable of, and then, y'know, destroy the whole world. 

Maybe her nausea has nothing to do with the taxi after all. 

First, she grabs armor from the armory that’ll roughly fit Tim. It’s the middle of the night so no one is out and about, except a grumpy harpy who can’t eat her for being out this late because she gets a special quest exemption (suck on that!). Maybe the camp security harpies and her don't get along super well, but that's a her problem. 

For the sake of simplicity, she grabs armor for Tim that’s similar to her own. A hardened leather turtleneck with an open back for their wings, metal arm bracers for protection, a pteruges (Greek armor mini-skirt although the Hephaestus kids hate it when she calls it that), and metal boots. She has to guess on the helmet size pretty strongly, so just in case she grabs two so Tim has options. He has a baby head, so finding a helmet that'll fit is a struggle. 

Then there’s the matter of grabbing her own armor. Her armor, which is in her cabin, which is going to have her siblings asking questions about why she’s picking up her armor in the middle of the night. She sighs, slinging the armor over her shoulder. 

Better to just get it over with. 

Her cabin looks so much more inviting this time of night. If it weren’t for the adrenaline flooding through her system, she imagines she could just curl up on one of the hammocks on the porch and sleep the night away. She could curl up on the hardwood and sleep sometimes, she’s really not very picky when it comes to her home . 

She takes a step up onto the wooden stairs, and she leans forward into the welcoming space. The eternal poppies, which one of the Demeter kids recently texted her to inform her are apparently weird monster poppies that aren't supposed to bloom year round but due because of weird Hypnos kid magic, lean forward invitingly. Also, apparently, they aren't supposed to be able to eat whole frozen mice corpses within a single week. Also another weird monster poppy thing that the Demeter kid was freaking out on her about. Always fun to learn that she and her siblings accidentally managed to create an entire new species of flower by attempting to honor their dad. 

As quietly as she can manage, she pushes the door open. The cabin is dark, illuminated only by the soft glows of the stars stuck to the ceiling and the warm hearth ever crackling in the center of the room. The soft scent of lavender and poppies hits her nose, the sound of a crackling fire and the dripping of the poplar branch is music to her ears. The urge to just slump over onto her bed grows. If she had the time, she'd take a quick nap here, just to get the rest she needs for the fight ahead. Reset herself, before she fights to stop the end of the world. 

She pushes the urge aside and reaches underneath her bed for her armor case instead. It’s a bit dusty without her using it every night for war games, but it’s there and that’s all that matters. She slings the strap of the bag over her other shoulder, careful not to disturb Tim’s armor. She might even be able to make it out of here without waking her siblings, without letting them know what she’s going to do. 

It's probably a bit cruel, Charlie knows. Sneaking into her own cabin, being so close to each of them sleeping so soundly, grabbing her armor and going off to a fight that will very probably kill her- all without saying goodbye. But, she also knows... well. She's never been very good at goodbyes. And this one isn't very final, is it? If she dies on this mission, it's not like they'll never see her again. If she wakes them, they'll just be up with worry for however long this mission takes until she either lives or dies and gets sent to their dad's cave for a while. 

There's no sense in worrying them, is what she means. This is her burden to bear, her quest to partake in. She's isolatory by nature, unwilling- unable to push any kind of burden of her own onto someone else. Alley kid, born and raised. She's been forced, by nature of this quest, to rely on others, but it's still intrinsically tied into her nature to say I can handle this. Even with fear creeping up her throat, even with a desire to hide in Clovis' arms for just a moment, even with anxiety over the twin's reactions over not being able to say goodbye to her, she wants to run. 

And so, she tip-toes across the floor as silently as she can. She sneaks, attempting to get away without waking any of them from their slumber. All she needs to do is get to the door and high tail it out of here and she’ll be scott-free- 

Her shoulders move wrong, and Tim’s armor clatters loudly against itself. In an instant the energy in the room shifts. The soft twisting movement of dreams coming from her three siblings cuts out, taken over instead by the jarring of three people waking up. Damn, even Clovis is jumping up from his bed to investigate the noise. 

Illuminated by the hearth, trying to sneak out of her own cabin, armor slung over her shoulder and probably the sheepest look she can possibly muster on her face, she looks guilty as hell . Even before Cal is finished rubbing the sleep from his eyes and Clovis is fully awake, June is marching forward with fire behind her eyes. Tiny gremlin. 

Caught red-handed and confronted by her sister, half her age. This is really the lowest she's sunk, huh? 

“You- you were just gonna leave without talking to us!” June shouts, stomping her little foot on the ground. If Charlie had any less anxiety in her gut she'd giggle at how cute the sight is. “And- your armor! You’re doing something dangerous! Clovis, tell her she can’t just go off to do something dangerous without telling us!” June demands, whirling on the still half-asleep boy stumbling his way across the wooden flooring. 

“Uh…” Clovis mumbles. He blearily blinks around, taking her, the armor, the sneaking stance she was in, and the guilt written plainly across her face. He frowns severely, such a strong disappointed look that she almost crumbles right then and there. “Charlie?” He asks softly. Far too softly . Gods, he’s good at this. 

“It’s not-” Her breath hitches. Cal looks near tears, June looks ready to both stab her and cry, Clovis is doing his ‘I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed’ look that makes her want to cry, and this isn’t how she wanted this to go . “I just… I didn’t want to wake you up,” She tries weakly. 

Stupid armor. Stupid shoulder. Stupid dad who probably let all three of them wake up easier than they would've otherwise just to catch her. 

“Bad Charlie!” June cries. The little girl launches forward and wraps her arms so tightly around Charlie’s waist that all the air gets punched out of her. Cal is quick to join his sister, squeezing her so tightly her ribs creak and groan dangerously. 

“Don’t sneak away,” Cal cries. His lip is wobbling, his eyes shining, and- damnit , he’s crying, sobbing really into her shirt. And now she wants to cry too, how is this fair ? 

“You didn’t want us to worry,” Clovis corrects her. He walks forward, concerned and disappointed and too much - and he sets his hands on her shoulders, as close as he can get with the twins around her waist. “Charlie, you know better than that. No secrets, yeah?” 

Her lip wobbles dangerously. 

( “No secrets, yeah?” Clovis, thirteen and barely settling into his role as her older brother says. His pinky is outstretched to her, offering a silent and childish promise. 

Tears still streaming down her face from the nightmare she’d tried to hide, still snotty and gross, still so scared that she’s trembling- she reaches out and weakly wraps her pinky finger around his in turn. She nods weakly. ) 

“No secrets,” She responds quietly. Her voice cracks. 

In the Hermes cabin, when she'd been terrified of the new place she'd been taken to, when Clovis had still hardly felt like a friend let alone family, when she was still getting used to the idea of people not hating her, when she was getting used to how camp worked and not the alley- 

No secrets. No keeping things to herself, no bottling things up, no trying to hide and hide until she crumbles into dust so Clovis is left to pick up the pieces. She's never been very good at following that rule, but Clovis has been getting better at spotting it. Back then, he'd made it to stop her from hiding her nightmares and injuries, to help her hide snacks in her sleeping back, to stop her from being so scared. And now, it feels so much bigger, so much more important. 

In an instant, the dam falls. She’s crying, crumbling, falling apart in front of her siblings. All she can do is weakly hold June and Cal against her, lean into Clovis’s arms, cry and sob and break down while she still has the chance. 

This is too much for her to take on alone. It’s too much for just her and Tim. But they’re going to have to be enough, because that’s all there is. It’s only them, only her and Tim, against a primordial and she’s so scared . But she can’t call for backup, she just can’t and everything feels like it’s falling apart all around her . 

So for now, she cries with her siblings and lets them comfort her, as selfish as it may be to cling to them like this. Weak and scared, if only for a moment. 

No secrets, not between them.

She's not meant to bottle things up until she crumbles apart, but whenever she does anyway, her siblings are always willing to help her pick up the pieces. 

Chapter Text

In the end, Charlie chickens out and just leaves a note for Nico and Will explaining that she and Tim are going for the final confrontation soon and that she’ll send out a distress beacon if they need help. After a good cry with her siblings, she feels marginally better on her way home. The taxi ride doesn’t help, but she doesn’t throw up, and that’s all that matters. She’s hardly keeping food down with the bad Mist hanging around, losing anything that she’s managed to eat would be a pain in the butt. 

She sneaks back into the manor through a window like a proper teenager, checks in with Tim, and then they both pass out for the night. They’ll need all the energy they can get for the confrontation drawing near. Final battle , her mind whispers, like some kind of horrible omen. 

Final battle, and it feels far more foreboding than it should. 

-|-

Charlie is feeling distinctly out of sync the next morning. Out of sync with her body, out of sync with the world, out of sync with… just about everything happening around her. She’s nauseous, both from the impending battle and the Mist deciding to ramp up its weirdness up to a hundred today. It’s bitter, and it’s making her want to throw up long before she gives up on even considering breakfast. 

With dread building up along her spine, she dresses for war. She puts her camp tank top on, she presses her beaded necklace underneath it for good luck, she pulls her armor on, she ties her hair away from her face, and she clips the little leather pouches Tim made last night with emergency supplies to her belt. For the sake of disguising wearing literal armor out of the house, she pulls a coat over the whole ensemble and then loose sweatpants over the leg armor. 

She feels hot, kind of stuffy, ready to throw up, and distinctly not ready by the time she meets up with Tim in the halls of Wayne Manor. He’s dressed much the same, weird oversized sweatpants and coat to cover up the armor and all. He looks just as queasy, too, so she doesn’t bother leading them towards the kitchen. They look a little ridiculous, but in the face of a showdown with Chaos, she imagines style doesn’t matter so much as survival. 

They both trudge toward the door of the manor like they’re marching toward their deaths. They might as well be, for all that they knew about what they’re going into. No matter how much armor they have, no matter what kind of weapons they have, no matter how much they prepare , at the end of the day, Chaos is a Primordial. There isn’t enough preparation in the world to prepare someone to fight that . She’d know; the first time she went about it, it was a disaster . Can she just go five years without some world-ending crisis please?

“Are you-” Tim starts. 

“Nope,” She interrupts him, letting the rest of his question hang empty in the air. She tries for a grin, but it’s really more of a grimace. “Are you?” 

He shudders. “Not even a little bit.” 

It’s astounding how bad of a decision the Fates made this time. Sending her, child of Hypnos who’d rather be doodling up a storybook for her younger siblings than playing capture the flag, and Tim, found out he was a demigod like three weeks ago, was a massive mistake. They’re going to flub this mission and everything's going to be terrible . Who let this happen ?

Don’t think like that . 

Just... confidence is key, right? If she thinks she's going to lose, she's already lost the battle, or however the saying goes. Sure, she and Tim are weird choices for the job. But maybe Tim is the right choice after all! He's stopped the world ending plenty of times as a vigilante, how different could this be? And she's not, like, the worst choice. She's just... y'know. Awful at lying, not great at fighting, bit of a mess, fairly passive, and more of a napper than a fighter! 

But, for the sake of the mission, she supposes she'll do. 

She forces her feet forward, one foot in front of the other, despite the doubt creeping into her mind. Anxiety is a sharp and heavy force at the back of her mind, weighing her down. Her knees are weak and wobbly, protesting at being forced to hold up her weight and the weight of the world at the same time. But, it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter, because they have to keep going, they have to do this, they have to- 

“Where are you going?” 

The list of expletives that rush through Charlie’s mind is long, multilingual, and graphic enough that if Nico heard them he would likely faint from shock. Luckily, because she’s used to Nico’s polite little ‘do no wrong around adults’ act, her moment of cursing like a sailor is entirely internal. Externally, all she does is yelp like she was stabbed and jump a solid foot into the air. 

(Impressive air time, honestly. It usually takes someone trying to stab her to get her above about six inches off the ground.) 

Mr. Wayne. Mr. hardly present around his own house. Mr. Batman himself, standing across from them, looking mildly curious about their attire and mildly anxious about something or another. Mr. Wayne, who she very much does not have time to deal with right now. Mr. Wayne, who only looks a little bit guilty about startling her so bad. 

“I have work,” Charlie says flatly. 

Unfortunately, at the exact same time, Tim says, “We’re going out to get breakfast.” 

She shoots him a scathing glare. He returns it just as fiercely. She starts debating the pros and cons of brawling him in the middle of the manor entryway right before one of the potentially fiercest battles of her life. His fingers start twitching like he’s reaching for the knife hidden underneath his big heavy overcoat. 

“You might want to get your story straight, there,” A new voice pipes up. Jason strolls into the room like he owns the place, a casual half-smirk on his face. “You two sneaking out? This early in the morning? That’s a first. Don't you usually wait until night time?” 

Mr. Wayne shoots Jason a look that reads something along the lines of ‘these two have been sneaking out?’ with a lot of stress behind it. Maybe they haven’t been as obvious about leaving and coming back way later than they ought to be as they thought they were. She thought that everyone was in on it and just didn’t particularly care. 

It wasn’t like they were being particularly sneaky. Sure, she used the window mostly out of habit, and Tim followed her because he’s a vigilante and vigilantes are allergic to doors. But it’s not like she ever used the Mist to cover them up when they passed other windows or to erase the security feed. Honestly, she’d been about as obvious about it as she could’ve been. 

“...We’re going out to breakfast and then Tim’s dropping me off at work,” She finally manages. Jason smiles like he doesn’t believe her, zombie bastard.

“Why don’t I drive you two?” Mr. Wayne offers. She visibly stalls out. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you a bit more about- uh, the camp that you talked to us about. Would that be alright with you two?” 

Right. Cult camp thing. She almost forgot about that, what with the whole Chaos thing happening. She has more important things to worry about than who does and doesn’t think she’s in a cult if she’s being honest. Like the end of the world. Awakening primordial. Ringing any bells? She really doesn’t have time for the cult she accidentally went along with out of sheer panic. 

“Got any ideas?” Tim whispers to her under his breath in Ancient Greek. Both Mr. Wayne and Jason raise their eyebrows at the language. Well, at least this way she and Tim can have a somewhat private conversion right in front of them. Hurrah to dead languages and all that. 

“None,” She responds, frowning. “Our best bet is probably to just sit through it and split off when he drops us off at some random breakfast place. Just direct him to one that’s not close enough that he’ll get caught up in everything, yeah?”

Tim hesitates for a moment longer. Shifting from foot to foot, frowning, fidgeting. Finally, he huffs out a sigh and slumps forward. “Yeah, sure, whatever. I don’t care.” He shrugs as if to enunciate, but the effect is ruined by how tightly wound up his shoulders are. He looks close to snapping if she’s being honest. Not that she’s much better. 

“Perfect!” Jason cries out like he’s at all a part of this conversation. He walks over to them both and slings his arms around their shoulders. She doesn’t stab him in surprise, but it’s a near thing. “We’ll make it a road trip. You don’t mind if I tag along, right B? Charlie here’s my neighbor, you see, so I have a bit of responsibility for her.” 

She sniffs. Responsibility or he wants to murder her and eat her brains. Whichever, at this point. She’d take zombie over misplaced concern, honestly. At least she knows how to fix zombie. Crazy, not so much. That’d be more Mr. D’s kid's wheelhouse, and she’s not particularly in the mood to try and smuggle Diet Coke onto campgrounds to bribe them into fixing her neighbor that she’s been meaning to fix for months now. 

Mr. Wayne, on the other hand, looks halfway to collapsing. His jaw is flexing dangerously, and he’s practically drilling holes into Jason with how hard he’s staring. If he was a Super, she imagines there’d be lasers coming out of his eyes right now. “...Of course, Jaylad,” He finally says, slowly and almost through clenched teeth. There’s a history there, for sure, but honestly, she couldn’t care less. People to fight, and all that. 

World to save. 

“Can we get a move on? My shift starts soon,” She prods. World to save. Wayne's to brush off because they're really not all that important in the grand scheme of things. She shrugs Jason off of her shoulder because he's starting to be a bit weird. He grins, far too brightly for her liking. 

For some reason, she’s getting the distinct feeling that she’s making a mistake. Tim looks like he’s regretting his choice already. It’s too late now, and they’ll be out of the car and dealing with this soon enough. All she has to do is field a couple more rude questions about the cult she isn’t in, and then they’ll be home-free. After Chaos is dealt with, she can just slip away back to camp and Tim can visit over the summers. 

Or… however this will end up going. She’s still not entirely sure. 

They all walk to the car. The tension is thick enough to cut with a knife. It’s only about half as heavy as the weight of the Mist twisting and thinning and acting horrible all around her, so she hardly pays it any mind. All she cares about is getting a move on. If she doesn’t accidentally stab someone from the tension mounting all around them, she’s definitely going to be sick from the weird Mist. Just in case, she eyes both Jason and Mr. Wayne the whole way like they're suddenly going to grow fangs and bite her. 

Tim definitely gives her the eye for her suspicion, but she thinks it's warranted. They're the ones acting like psycho's right now. 

They pile into the car easily enough, Mr. Wayne and Jason in the front with her and Tim in the back, and they’re on the road. Notably at the speed limit, which seems strange to her. Maybe the ‘playboy Brucie persona’ is less of a persona than she thought it was. They pull off the side road for the manor, onto a weird gravel road for a bit, and then onto the highway. There's a bit of a tense silence for a bit that she imagines is for the sake of 'settling in' that does exactly nothing to make her feel more comfortable. Everything's far too tense, both with Mr. Wayne, Mr. Zombie, and with the Mist acting like it's attempting to strangle her. 

Finally, Mr. Wayne breaks the silence. “Look, Charlie, I just wanted to say- everyone in our family is here for you. We want to support you in leaving the cult that you were forced into, whatever that may mean for you,” He says slowly and deliberately. 

She sighs, long and hard. Resisting the urge to bash her head into the car window until she either dies or breaks it enough to escape out of is difficult, but she manages. She’s already had this talk with one person who understood exactly none of the situation, she doesn’t need it a second time! But explaining is ultimately useless because not only has she dug herself into this hole by saying that she was in a cult, the truth is even more unbelievable! 

Impossible to explain. That’s why she just went along with it in the first place, and now she’s severely regretting not coming up with a better lie. She's been at camp for way too long now, and she never really had to figure out how to come up with cover stories there. Her ability to lie is ass, and now she's suffering the consequences to her actions for never learning that clearly vital skill. 

“Bruce, I don’t think it’s a good idea-” Tim starts. 

“No, Tim, you both need to hear this,” Mr. Wayne interrupts firmly. “Cults like this are extremely dangerous. Moving away from them can be difficult, not just emotionally but safety-wise too. We need to discuss both your emotional safety nets and security measures we can take around the manor-” 

"Shut up," Charlie hisses. She doesn't see what Mr. Wayne's response is, doesn't see what kind of reaction such disrespect earns her, can't really, because suddenly-

Suddenly, she can’t hear. Suddenly, there’s a ringing so loudly in her ears that everything melts away. Suddenly, the nausea in her gut rockets up. A stone settles in her gut, rocking side to side like she’s on a ship in the middle of a storm. It feels like every nerve in her body is suddenly alight, at attention, ready in a way that she can’t quite put her finger on. Like there's something pointing at her, attention focused on her, like the point of a needle jabbing in her direction or an eyelid peeling back or a spot light flickering on to illuminate her form on a stage-

Tim, next to her, lets out a sharp howl of pain, hands coming up to clutch at the sides of his head. His fingers twist into his hair, tugging against the agony he’s surely experiencing. He’s always been more sensitive about these things than her, if she feels this terrible she can’t imagine what it would feel like for him. She hunches over, gagging, body convulsing horribly. If there was anything in her stomach, it would be long gone. Tim screams, and she barely hangs on to the seat in front of her for dear life, and everything feels like too much all at once. 

Tim looks at her, frantic and scared. There’s shouting, she thinks, but she can’t hear it over the ringing and the wrong-wrong-wrong running through her head. All she can focus on is Tim, her brother, staring at her with wide eyes, rapidly paling, mouth hanging open and so terrified that all she wants to do is fix it - 

“He moved ,” Tim hisses. 

The door of the car next to me bursts inwards with force, pain crashes through her body like a tidal wave and a bolt of lightning all at the same time, a horrible screeching sound and a roar of anger echoes all throughout the road, the car is thrown. She gets a moment of agony, a moment of blinding white awfulness before the impossible tightness growing in her chest snaps . Crashing, roaring, screeching as a monster crashes into the side of their car and sends it skidding off the road and into a grass plane. Metal cuts into her, dented car, she can feel bruises blooming and the sharpness of the car trying to slice through her armor. Cracking and popping that makes her feel sick.

For a moment, in a busted-up car and with molten hot pain blooming across her side, all she can do is sit and feel . All she can do is writhe in agony, writhe in the horrible feeling filtering through her body. All she can do is sit , and it’s awful . 

The metal door, pressing against her side. The blooming bruises all across her arms, pressing against her skin, against her aching ribs that are sure to bruise within the hour. Her brain, rattled from the Mist and from the force of the car being thrown such a distance. Her ringing ears, the roar of the beast. Tim's scream, still echoing in her mind like a horrible rising melody to their coming battle. 

And then her vision clears up and the feeling of wrong washes away to make room for frustrated anger. Why focus on the horrible feelings in her body when instead her mind can focus on directing it outwards? 

“You fucking jinxed us!” She shouts before her brain can catch up with her mouth. She rips her seatbelt off her body, out of the wall she thinks in the back of her mind, throwing it away from her. Tim is scrambling to get out of his seat, shoving against the broken and half-crushed door in an attempt to get out. Mr. Wayne and Jason are shouting, asking after them, trying to get out, failing and she couldn’t care less . 

“A fucking katoblep ! Tim I’m going to kill you! ” 

With one sharp jerked movement, she kicks her door clean out. It sails through the air and crashes into the katoblep, forcing it a pace away from the car, giving her and Tim enough time to potentially scramble out and fight it. Half demigod strength gets it to sail so far, half adrenaline from just how shitty this situation is. Damnit , this is why everything always needs to be treated with caution! 

Oh, it’s so rare, you’ll never run into it because Frank Zhang killed most of them. Fucking idiot ! 

“This isn’t my fault!” Tim cries. He rips his seatbelt straight out of the car as well, ignoring his own door to chase after her and get out the kicked-open side. 

“Tim, Charlie, stay away from that thing!” Mr. Wayne shouts uselessly. His side of the car is completely crumpled, completely locking him inside of it. Jason is dazed, firmly stuck inside too and barely able to claw at his seatbelt or the door locking him inside. Neither of them will be getting out any time soon to interfere with the fight, at the very least. They're also both panicking over what is very clearly a monster, which is not the usual kind of crazy they deal with, so they haven't quite picked up on the fact that she and Tim aren't really freaking out. 

A growl falls out of her throat. The monster is shaking off the stunning from the door, looking half-crazed, half-furious, and fully ready to rip both of their asses to shreds. She doesn’t waste time- she rips her coat off, throws it to the side, and shreds her sweatpants to get them off her body. “Shut up , Bruce,” She hisses. Ignores the feeling of wrongness that comes with speaking to an adult like that. Bruce makes a startled noise- though at her rudeness or the armor, she can’t tell. 

“Tim, going to be real with you, unless you want to figure out if you have poison immunity, I would recommend staying out of this fight,” She calls out. She wraps her hand around her spear and draws it, metal shirking down next to her. Bruce makes another startled sound, so she tunes him out instead of listening to whatever shouting he’s going to start doing soon. 

Damn Mist not doing its fucking job . 

“I think I’ll try my luck,” He returns. Tim steps up next to her, sans coat and pants, wielding his own spear at his side. He’s grinning, but it looks so feral that for a moment she doesn’t see a green behind the ears demigod- she sees a comrade, ready to fight by her side. 

She returns his feral grin. 

Standing tall together like this almost feels natural. Charlie and Tim, in their leather and metal plated armor, weapons held tightly in their grips, shoulders squared and matching crazed grins. This, this is what it means to be on a quest as a demigod. This is what it means to fight as a half-blood. 

The katoblep stares at the both of them, a purple twisting mist escaping from its twisted jaw, its jagged bone-crushing teeth. It paws the ground with a hoof that could crush her with a single blow, readying to charge again. She readies her spear at her side. She’s not immune to poison, not by a long shot, but she’s gotten poisoned frequently enough to know how to fight it off. Or at the very least ignore the symptoms until she can take a quick nap about it. 

Will wouldn't approve, but he's not here now is he? 

“Kids, don’t-!” Bruce cries. 

The katoblep charges and it doesn’t matter what Bruce is doing anymore. She and Tim split off, leading the monster away from the car and towards the other half of the open patch of grass. She runs, not quite faster than the beast but agile enough to duck out of the way when it gets close enough. It’s too big to make sharp turns like she can, so she has the advantage in terms of maneuverability. It tries to reach out and spit its poison onto her, so she jams the butt of her spear into its head to force its mouth to snap shut. It hardly even flinches at a blow that would break any other monster's skull. 

“Fucking enhanced monsters!” She hisses. She jumps high in the air, over the beast and around to its back, getting out of the way of the poisoned gas cloud it blasted at her. Tim shouts his agreement, winding around to its side and jabbing out with the bladed side of his spear. It hits, but the katoblep is yanking itself away from him before he can do any proper damage to it. 

A small bleeding wound in its side. The first injury they’ve gotten on it, but not enough, not by a long shot . For a normal beast the wound might've done more damage, but with a quick assessment, it's only a flesh wound. Didn't hit anything major, barely made it past its thick hide, hardly even bleeding. This thing is going to be tough. 

The monster twists around sharply, face to face with her. It looks enraged . For such a small wound it shouldn't have any right to be, she thinks, but it doesn't listen to reason.

She raises her spear above her head, panicked, and the beast opens its maw, enraged. She thrusts down, it spits.

The poison cloud, a purple noxious thing, twists and winds through the air like a viper, out of the mouth of the katoblep in an instant to fill the air around them. It's spit directly into her face in half a moment, onto her skin, into her eyes, up her nose, and, without much time or permission from her, an unwilling breath is sucked into her lungs. She can feel the bitter burning poison sink into her lungs like acid, for just a moment a blinding inferno against her throat and lungs, flooding pain that promises to slowly pick her apart until there's nothing left to give. 

And then, the moment passes, and thunk. Charlie drives her spear down into its head and pins the katobleps skull to the ground, blade driven through the top of its jaw all the way through to the dirt. It squelched first, blood shooting up and out, splattering across her face and her armor. The beast roars, screeches with pain, scrabbling to get away from her, but even to a beast powered by a primordial this isn't a blow it can overcome. Its pain is short, and it erupts into a flurry of golden dust. 

She coughs bitterly, her throat and lungs burning. 

Tim rushes to her side just as she collapses. Her knees hit the ground hard, jarring against the soft grass beneath her. She coughs wetly, wincing when it’s blood that comes up into her hand. Is it just her or is the earth spinning dangerously? She just... needs to take a nap about it? Is that right? Right... a nap about it. Except she's on the grass, and she very much does not have the time to take a nap about the poison currently attempting to pick apart her organs one by one. 

“Charlie you- fuck, okay, what do I do? Do I call Will? Do I have healing powers? Do you have healing powers?” Tim rambles. He’s frantic, waving his hands around her and fluttering like that’s going to do any good. All his first aid training is just about out the window the moment magic comes into the picture, huh? 

She weakly pats at the bag on her waist. He snaps to attention, ripping it open and pulling out the baggie of ambrosia inside. At least their first aid lessons are somewhat paying off, even if those lessons were more ‘feed the wounded a little bit of ambrosia and hope they don’t die from it’. Once he gets back to camp and has proper classes with the other campers he'll get an actual first aid lesson from the Apollo cabin, but she imagines a lot of it will be repeat information from his vigilante era. 

Jason makes a loud shouting noise from the car, but she couldn’t care less what he thinks right now. All she cares about is ripping a tiny corner off one of the squares and eating it as quickly as she can. The familiar burn of ambrosia floods through her system, but it won’t be enough, not for a while. It halts the poison in it's tracks, stops it from doing more damage, but it won't fix anything until a good night's rest. 

Her breathing is still ragged. Her chest is still tight, still hard to breathe through like there’s an immense weight pressing down on it, wrapping it all up so harshly she can hardly move. She won’t die, but she’s not going to be in great shape until she sleeps. But, based on what just happened… 

“ Fuck ,” She curses empathetically. 

“Fuck,” Tim agrees. He shoves the baggie back into her pack, still kneeling at her side, still wielding a pinched expression and looking so unsure that it rattles her. 

Everything is feeling worse and worse . 

This is- his first quest. This is Tim’s first time out on the battlefield taking on monsters and magical enemies, his first time facing down the BS that is being a demigod. He’s been a vigilante for who knows how long (roughly four years and counting), but experience like that isn’t enough . Not when they’re thrown from their car on their way to the fight, not when his family is sitting in the car shouting at them and asking questions they can’t answer, not when the Mist isn’t cooperating and hiding them . 

This is a bullshit quest . 

This couldn’t have gone worse. (Piece of cake. Jinxed.) 

“Tim,” She rasps. His gaze snaps up to her, searching, pleading for you to do something about the situation at hand. What is there to do? Stay and explain, risking getting attacked again while they’re distracted? Run from this situation and hope for the best? Walk and talk mentality? Call for backup, which is certainly what a blond-haired nurse would want her to do? 

All of those decisions feel wrong . They itch at a part of her that wants to hide , wants to run and take Tim with her. All of them don’t fit , and she finds herself lost in making a decision. 

Because- she's in charge here. Somehow, someway, the passive kid that sits in the back of war games doodling in a notebook the whole time is in charge of a quest to stop the end of the fucking world. Tim, a vigilante, someone who knows how to fight in the blood he's spilled and the memories he's carved into his bones, can't lead here. He knows how to fight, but at the end of the day, that only gets him so far. He's still, completely and unequivocally, new to being a demigod. 

The responsibility here falls to her shoulders. Charlie needs to take charge. 

“He knows,” She settles on saying instead of the millions of other things she wants to. 

Tim twitches, lips coming up into a half-quirked smile. “ Obviously, ” He replies sarcastically. To be fair, she could’ve chosen a better opening to her attempt at a choice- it’s a given that Chaos knows they’re coming. He’s known for a while, and the monster attacking them on their way over isn’t a coincidence . Coincidences don’t happen to demigods. 

Still, rude. She punches his arm weakly, still fighting against the residual poison in her body. The ambrosia will take its time to work, and in the meantime, she has to deal with buzzing limbs and vague weakness. Lucky for Tim and his desire not to have a bruise on his arm in the shape of her fist. 

“He knows, and we have to get moving,” Charlie finishes. We have to get moving, we have to find him, we have to defeat him, we can’t fail here-

Tim glances back at the car. Back at Bruce, who’s in the process of trying to kick out the door thoroughly dented inwards and making it just about impossible to get out. Back at Jason, who abandoned his door in favor of trying his best to wriggle into the back seat and out the door she kicked out. Back at the family, who keep shouting to stay in place and don’t move a muscle . 

“They…” Tim starts, trails off. 

He doesn’t need to ask. It’s obvious; what about them ? The Mist didn’t cover them this time, Bruce and Jason saw everything . They saw the monster, they saw them both draw their weapons, they saw them kill it and explode it into golden dust. Any explanation they could give would have to be damn good to not involve magic of any kind. 

An explanation isn’t in the books. Whether a lie or the truth, they don’t have time . Not to explain everything and hope they believe them, not to come up with a lie that gets them off the hook and heading further into the city. Their time limit is shrinking, and they need to move now . She hates that its come to this, but right now- right now she needs to take charge, and they don't have time, and they need to move.

“Leave them,” She says. Tim flinches, looks to her aghast. “They won’t be attacked by the monsters. They’re not after mortals, they’re after us. Honestly, they’re safer away from us than with us.” 

“But they-” Tim hesitates for a moment, swaying in the wind. “But they deserve an explanation, don’t they?” 

“We don’t have time .” She forces herself to her feet, ignores the way her legs wobble dangerously and her vision clouds at the edges. Tim scrambles up next to her, arms out and hovering just in case she collapses again. She waves him away, scowling. “We don’t have time to wait and explain anything to them. This is happening now . We need to move .” 

Tim hesitates again. Looks back at Jason, who’s about halfway out of the car but dealing with part of the car crumbling in the center and blocking his path. Looks back at Bruce, who’s getting a whole lot more violent with the door. They look more frantic, almost as if they know just how ready she and Tim are to run off and complete this quest. They’re still shouting, but she’s gotten good at ignoring them by now. Little rude on her part, but she's pretty sure at this point 'ignoring authority figures yelling at you to stop running into the danger' is just a trait all demigods have at this point. Or just teenagers, actually. Maybe it's a vigilante thing and she caught it from Tim like some kind of contagion. 

“We need to move,” Tim finally agrees. He nods his head sharply, turning to meet her gaze. His eyes, a shining and piercing blue, always so prominent and striking, something so Tim - flecked with a familiar honey gold. She grins at the sight. 

“Come on, Guide. Lead the way,” She orders. She points her spear forward, a declaration of war against Chaos. Tim readies his own spear in his hand, squaring his shoulders in preparation. 

“Charlie! Tim!” 

Tim takes a moment to slip his eyes shut and scan their surroundings with his magic, continuing to ignore the other two. While it’s pretty obvious that Chaos has moved a bit from where he was yesterday, where exactly he is now is still kind of up in the air. She gives him a moment to scan, letting him take his time. She keeps her spear clutched at her side, unwilling to let it go for even a moment just in case Chaos sends another monster to them. For some reason, she's getting the feeling that Chaos is just awake enough that he's going to be able to send another one sooner than either of them would like. 

It's an unpleasant feeling. One that's surely jinxing her, so she's trying to ignore it best she can, actually. 

“Hm.” Tim tilts his head to the side, frowning. “He’s drifted more to the edge of Gotham. Closer to us. I think it happened overnight, while we were preparing and stuff.” He opens his eyes, turning his head to face down the road that they’d been on before being thrown off by the ketoblep. “I can navigate us. It’ll suck until we can get to something like a bus stop or something, but it shouldn’t be too far.” 

“Right,” She replies, nodding. Charlie lets him pull into the front of their little ensemble as the one who actually knows where they’re going. He starts towards the road, preparing for a long hike towards the outer edges of Gotham. 

Only to be interrupted by a voice that’s a whole lot closer than it was less than a minute ago. 

“Oh no you don’t!” 

She has half a second to yank her and Tim out of the way before Jason’s hands are coming down onto where their shoulders were just moments before. He turns to them with a glare so fierce that she imagines she’d be on fire right now if he had the capability. Bruce is jogging up behind him, apparently also abandoning getting his door out in favor of getting out her door. They wear matching expressions of barely concealed rage, confusion, and concern (well, concealed on one of them. Jason is straight up glaring at her right now, he's not even attempting to hide it). 

In the back of her mind, she’s a little sad that she didn’t at least get to see Bruce struggling from the front seat to the back to get out of the car. That would’ve made a funny image for someone who pretends to be as dignified as Bruce does. Would’ve at least made him less intimidating in her books. Unfortunately, she missed it and now he’s here in all of his frustrated glory. Idly, she wonders if he's pissed enough to straight up try and punch her or something stupid like that. 

“You don’t get to just run off after- after whatever that was!” Jason shouts. She takes a step back, subtly pushing Tim partway behind her. Is this a zombie moment? Is he about to try and eat their brains? 

“Children, what is going on? Tim, you need to explain,” Bruce says once he’s close enough to, far calmer but equally as nerve-wracking. She takes another step back. This. This she doesn't have any clue what to do with. 

“ Hey, Tim, get ready to catch Jason. I can catch Bruce ,” She whispers in Ancient Greek. Her fingers twitch at her sides, gathering up leftover dredges of magic in her body to knock out the two men in front of her. A bit more difficult since they’re both wide and awake and not even remotely tired, but ah well. Making them fall asleep and then cherry-picking out their memories is probably the only way she and Tim can get out of this in a timely manner. 

“No!” Tim shouts. He very purposefully grabs her hand that isn’t holding her spear, holding it in the air and far away from them both to stop her from gathering her spell. She shoots him a glare, but he returns it just as ferociously. “You can’t just make them pass out and erase their memories, Charlie.” Both Jason and Bruce twitch. “We can explain while we walk. We have the time, yes?” 

“No,” She responds flatly. “We have the potential of getting attacked along the way as well. Additionally, should they decide our story isn’t believable enough and try to arrest us, it is going to be a pain in the neck to make them pass out at that point. Just let me do it now.” She tries to jerk her hand free to draw up her magic again, but Tim only tightens his grip and sharpens his glare. 

“ No ,” He says, firm and final. She frowns. “We can walk and talk. They’re either going to listen, or they’re going to go home and wait for a proper explanation. Alright with you two?” He finishes off by shooting sharp looks at Jason and Bruce as if daring them to disagree with him. 

“Of course we’ll listen, chum,” Bruce says, with so much sickly sweetness in his voice that she nearly gags. 

“It better be a damn good explanation for whatever the fuck that was,” Jason adds on. A lot more reasonable, she figures. For some reason, though, Bruce sends him a sharp look like he was the one who said something weird. 

A little aggressiveness is only fair for the context they have at this moment. Honestly, Bruce is the weird one for trying to keep up this false display of calmness. It’s completely unbelievable. She’d honestly take yelling over him just… weirdly trying to pretend he isn’t pissed. 

Regardless, Charlie genuinely debates it for a long moment. On the one hand, it’s smarter to just knock them out here and now and erase their memories. Call someone to pick them up, blame concussions and memory loss on the accident. She and Tim can just deal with Chaos, come home, and claim they got in their accident after dropping them off. Maybe even throw in that they all had epiphanies about her cult so they’ll finally stop asking questions about that. 

Unfortunately, that’s only if Tim agrees to her plan. If it’s just her, all Tim has to do is shake Bruce and Jason awake the moment she escapes and makes them pass out. Editing memories on awake people is beyond difficult, and not something she’d like to practice right before a battle against a primordial. She’s always been better with the sleep magic than the memory magic, after all. 

Contingencies? 

Explaining to them is going to be hard. There’s a solid chance that they won’t believe her, and she’ll have to either whip out actual proof or go with plan A anyway, just with them keyed up and trying to fight her on top of everything else. In that scenario, though, at least Tim will be helpful. Unfortunately, she’s way too far away from camp to pick up any of their pamphlets on ‘So you’re kid is the child of a god’ to explain easier. 

Winging the explanation, hoping they believe her and Tim, and then hoping that they back off enough for them to do their job. What could go wrong? 

(Genuinely everything, but at least this way she can blame it all on Tim.) 

“ Fine ,” She grits out. She rips her arm from Tim’s grip, scowling furiously at him. “If this backfires, you’re helping me get rid of the problems.” Again, Bruce and Jason twitch at her slightly violent language. Good. They’d better get used to it if they’re going to be tagging along on this quest. 

“Of course,” Tim answers, which earns another twitch from the peanut gallery. What are they expecting from them? Tim used to stalk them and blackmailed his way into being Robin and they think she used to be in a cult. What were they expecting their responses to threats would be? Cupcakes and rainbows? 

Charlie turns to Bruce and Jason, their new official tag-alongs, and glares with the same glare she leveled at Octavian when he was invading camp. She doesn’t earn a flinch like she did that time, but she does earn a tightening in Bruce’s jaw and a half-aborted movement for a gun from Jason. Solid considering they’re both vigilantes. “We’re going to walk and talk. If we come across another monster, you’re going to stand off to the sidelines and not get involved. If you interfere, I’m going to hit you across the back of the head and you better pray that’s enough to knock you out.” 

Tim places his hands on her shoulders and steers her away from Bruce and Jason, grinning his famous Gala smile that makes it feel like she has bees under her skin. “She doesn’t mean that. Just- uh, we’re dealing with some enemies that you two can’t fight. Like, literally your weapons will do nothing. So please hang back if we get attacked, yeah?” He asks oh-so-sweetly. She mimes gagging. 

“Tim, I don’t think-” Bruce starts, but Jason interrupts him. 

“Okay.” Bruce sends Jason a bewildered look, and the man shrugs. “What, you think that your fist was going to do anything against that weird poison cow? This is clearly something magical in nature, something me and you are not equipped to deal with.” 

Bruce sighs, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. He looks vaguely distressed. She tries not to grin sharply in victory at the sight. “...Fine. But you need to explain everything ,” He relents. 

Charlie starts walking without waiting for the explanation to start. Tim follows quickly in step, taking his place again as the person leading the charge. Jason and Bruce scramble to follow them, barely staying in step with them. She doesn’t roll her eyes at the both of them for simply existing, but it's a very near thing. 

“Well, it’s sort of a long explanation,” Tim starts, somewhat awkwardly. He visibly gears himself up for what’s likely going to be the most complicated and dangerous explanation of his life. “I guess- uh, well, the short version is that I’m technically actually a-” 

A mighty roar from further down the road rips through the air, cutting off any kind of explanation before it starts. Birds flee from the forest, trees waver and shake, the crunching of broken sticks, animals screeching, that roar - Horribly, Charlie recognizes it. Just as she recognizes that she and Tim are not equipped to deal with this . 

Her grip tightens on her spear. Jason’s fallen into a defensive stance, a gun appearing from seemingly nowhere. It won’t do any good, and neither will Bruce’s fists held in front of him. Tim’s spear is held out at the ready, and she’s the only one she can congratulate in this instance. Unfortunately, she’s not sure if they’re going to make it out of here to berate the two grown-ass men behind them. 

She turns to Tim, a grim look on her face. “Do you happen to have a lighter on you?” 

“What?” Tim turns to her, bewildered. “Of course not, why would I have a lighter?” 

A hydra bursts through the forest line and onto the highway.

Chapter Text

Every single demigod and every single monster has a perfect match-up type of moment. 

Some demigods are perfect counters to certain monsters; for example, Sphinxes avoid Athena kids like the plague because of just how easily they can solve their riddles. Sirens tend to avoid Hephaestus kids because they’re way more likely to have hearing damage and thus have the siren’s songs not work on them. Ordinarily, griffins avoid fighting Hypnos and Thanatos kids due to the whole wings situation. 

On the other hand, certain demigods are pretty much ineffective against certain monsters. Sure, they can slash and fight all they want, but at the end of the day, they’re effectively useless. Their powers might not work how they want them to, maybe brute force just isn’t the answer, or maybe their strategies just aren’t feasible for the situation at hand.

For Charlie, she's always considered her achilles heel to be the hydra. 

The hydra is a pretty solid counter to most demigods, to be fair. You need a pretty specific skill set to be able to do any substantial damage to it; fire of literally any kind. Not something most demigods have. But, to some extent, demigod powers are still somewhat functional against the hydra to buy time until someone can find a torch or something. 

The fun thing about Charlie is that she’s exactly useless against a hydra. 

She can’t fight it physically without any kind of firepower. Cutting off its head just leads to more heads and stabbing it with her spear is like stabbing a regular human with a needle- technically she could kill it that way, but she’s pretty sure it would die of dehydration before it died of her stabs. Punching it and kicking it would wield just about the same results. 

And, most damning of all, she pretty much can’t use her magic against it. Theoretically she can, in the way that Nico can theoretically shadow travel everywhere he wants to instead of walking. It’s just- well, for each head, there’s a brain. For each brain, that’s basically a monster that she has to put to sleep. A monster that’s wide awake, trying to eat her, actively fighting, actively pumping adrenaline, actively, well, active - 

Right before a battle against a primordial god , exhausting herself to that extent is basically suicide. And, very technically, likely going to kill her if she tries. At the very least make her pass out and put dragging her to the battle against Chaos on Tim and praying that she wakes up on time to deal with that whole shit storm. 

So, when the hydra bursts out of the forest with a roar that shakes her down to her bones, there’s pretty much only one reasonable response she can give to this situation. One that, frankly, she feels like she’s been giving a lot lately. 

“Fuck.”  

What in Nyx’s name is she supposed to do to get out of this one? 

“What the fuck is that thing!?” Jason shouts hysterically. His guns have fallen out of his hand and hit the road below him, probably realizing exactly how useless it’s going to be in this fight. Even if regular bullets could actually hit a hydra, it’d be like throwing pebbles at a dinosaur. 

(That or he’s in so much shock his body’s stopped listening to him. That’s probably more likely. It’s not every day one encounters a multi-headed monster the size of a building. The first time she saw one herself she shed half her feathers on the spot in fear.) 

Bruce makes a very distinct punched-out noise that kind of sounds like a dying goat. His expression is so blank and serious that she’s pretty sure he’s lost the ability to function at this point. Blue screen moment. She felt that way the first time she saw a monster bigger than a house, so she can imagine what the poor guy is going through since he didn’t even know house-sized monsters exist . 

“Um, Charlie?” Tim turns to her, wide-eyed and frantic. “You said that the only way to defeat that thing is fire, right? We don’t have fire. Neither of us have fire. Are we about to die?” 

Probably not. Uncle Thanatos will probably just keep our mangled bodies safe for the next couple of decades until Chaos’ plot blows over and then let us reintegrate into society until we’re a more reasonable age to die. He says his limit is thirty-five, you know.

However, that explanation is exactly zero percent helpful in this situation and words are failing her miserably. All she can get out is a long, vaguely distressed noise that sounds more like a pegasus asking to be let out of the stables than she’d like. Her eyes are glued to the hydra, already wielding six heads, writhing and stomping and roaring with the kind of fury that she doesn’t freaking need right now . 

This is starting to very much feel like something she is not prepared to deal with on her own. Neither she nor Tim are equipped to deal with a monster like this. If her wings were still out she’d imagine that they’d be anxiety shedding right now. Is her heart trying to climb out of her throat right now or is that just in her head? 

“It was nice knowing you, Bruce and Jason,” She manages to force out of her mouth. They turn to her like she’s grown a second head- okay, bad analogy, they look at her with bewildered expressions. “Really, it was cool knowing you. Jason, I’m sorry I couldn’t fix your weird zombi-ism.” Jason makes a strangled noise. “And Bruce, sir, I’m just sad I didn’t get to punch you in the face at least once for causing me so much misery as a child. I’ll make sure to visit you both in the afterlife before me and Tim get returned to this earth.” 

“ What? ” Bruce hisses, high-strung and stressed.