Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Percy closed the trap door to the attic after he got off the last rung of the ladder. Unseeing green eyes watching the floor pass beneath him as he made his way back down. Of all things to see in a strange camp made for demigods, the ghostly green visage of his dead brother and the Joker spouting the prophecy at him wasn’t one of them.

The oracle version his brother looked too much like the real one. Only green and made of smoke. The holes in his suit from where the crowbar had hit him were where they were supposed to be, as was the missing pieces of his domino and missing shoes. The busted lip he had bled that toxic color of the Oracle and mixed with the smoke that poured form his mouth as he recited his lines of the prophecy. The only thing different were the eyes. 

There were no pupils in his smoky eyes. Nothing indicate that he was looking at Percy even though Percy could still feel his stare crawling over his skin. If he didn’t already have nightmares on the daily, he’d be sure that that would give him some.

He could hear Chiron, Mr D, and Grover in the main room from where he stood in the hall. Hushed whispers about him and of what the quest would entail. He can see in his head Grover’s face paling, reaching for a diet coke can to nervously chew on as Chiron listen all that could go wrong if he were to accept the quest. Does he want to accept the quest? 

Because why should he go on a quest to help his father who has cursed him to a life of pain because he was born? Why should he help they guy who abandoned him and his brother to the slums of Gotham without mercy? Why help the guy who didn’t even bother to save his mother, to save his brother? A part of him wanted to be petty and decline the quest. To spend the summer in his cabin as its sole inhabitant, train to use his sword with Luke and keep his hand-to-hand from getting rusty by picking fights with the Ares cabin. He could use the time to master his newfound water powers too.

But if a war takes place then his mortal family will be at risk. Gotham is close to New York and it’s on the coast, a perfect place to get washed out by a hurricane from his father or a wild storm sent by his uncle. Zeus could decide to strike back at Percy by hurting his family and they would be none the wiser, they wouldn’t even know why or how or when the heavens decides to smite them. 

Percy can see the headline now: Wayne Family Struck By Lightning, Fortune Up For Grabs!

Fuck. Why did he have to care so much?

He listened to the spiel Chiron and Mr D gave him. Pretended to think about his answer, put up a fake debate against him going, but he already knew the answer. Percy already knew he was going when they told him that he’d have to go to the Hades’s realm to confront him, and he was surprised that they were surprised at his lack of reaction. Did they forget who his dad was? Did they forget that Percy was raised by Batman and had access to files and videos of other planets and realms because Bruce was neurotic about everything and anything that could hurt him and his family?

Percy tuned them out when they began to talk about quest member. The underworld. The Land of the Dead. He was going to be in the same vicinity as his brother, as his mother. Maybe he could go and look for her, see what she looked like for the first time in his life. He could hear her voice and just talk to her. And maybe he could do what Orpheus couldn’t do for Eurydice, maybe Percy could find Jason in the Underworld (no doubt his big brother was in Elysium where all the heroes went) and bring him up to the surface to live again. 

Then Bruce wouldn’t be as upset as he is now, he wouldn’t have to grieve and push Percy away. And Dick would come back from his mission in space sooner, the three of them could finally be brothers. Alfred could have his cooking buddy again and Jason could go to college like he wanted. 

They could be happy again.

“So, Perseus,” He brought his attention back to Chiron in front of him. “Do you accept this quest?”

He looked at Grover once more, the goat boy one bite away from finishing the empty can of soda. 

“I do.”

Chapter Text

“Habibi,” Talia reached forwards, her hands cupping either side of Damian’s face as she brought him closer to place a chaste kiss on his head. Something must’ve gone well if his mother was showing affection this openly. Not even while they were in Nanda Parbat where the soldier obeyed her every command did she display her love for him with such ease. “You have grown since last I saw you.”

“Yes,” he stood straighter. “Todd confirmed my height to be five centimeters taller.”

“Wonderful,” She turned her head to the other two in the room with them. Dick wasn’t going to let Damian see his mother alone, their animosity kept them from seeing eye to eye with each other since he was Robin all those years ago. Damian doesn’t quite understand why, but he hopes that he will get over it. If this meeting goes well, Damian will have two brothers, officially. “Jason, it is nice to see you again. How has your mission progressed? Still vying to remove the clown permanently?” 

“B has him behind bars right now,” Jason grumbled. “But I know some his men that could help…move things along.”

His mother hummed in satisfaction. Damian knew that Jason was more than capable of infiltrating the asylum and disposing of the Joker, having done so on missions while under his mother’s care. But it seemed that his want of acceptance from their father, who was not present at the moment, was keeping him from completing his task. Had Jason begun his objective now, with father gone and Grayson as Batman, Damian had no doubt in his mind that the clown would have perished the first night Jason returned to Gotham.

“Who is this you have brought with you?” Talia’s green eyes shift from Jason over to Perseus, analyzing from the furthest most hair on his head to the beaten up Reeboks on his feet. How embarrassing. Damian remembers telling him to wear his Converse before they left the penthouse, at lease those were clean and the seams weren’t falling off. “He looks much like you, Jason.”

“This is Perseus, my little brother,” Jason clapped hand on his back, pushing him forward and into the scrutinizing gaze of Damian’s mother. “Biological.”

“Clearly.” Jason steps back even further as Talia circles him like prey. Her hand catches his wrist and brings his right hand forwards. “Callouses. From swords. You can fight?” 

“He is exceptional, mother.” Damian walks up to her, ignoring the pointed stare Perseus sends his way. “I had challenged him to a duel upon his arrival at fathers, he was able to best me in less than two minutes with a different blade than he is accustomed too.”

She grasped his chin, turning his head in her hands to view all his features. There was a certain look in his mother’s eyes when she saw the way the light caught Perseus’s own green ones, and if Damian had not been standing beside his mother when she did it twice, Damian would have missed it. 

Briefly, impercieveably so, there was a glow that lit up his irises. A soft green, like that of the glow in the dark stars Perseus placed in his room. How had Damian not noticed it before? Was it because he had grown accustomed to glowing eyes? His grandfather’s eyes glowed when he was particularly enraged, shining the exact shade of toxicity as the pits. Jason’s glowed the same color only when pit-rage consumed his mind, and his mother’s gave a soft luminescence in the dark. Enough to notice they were there, but not enough to clearly see it. 

But Perseus’s were quick flashes, gone as soon as they appeared in a color he had never seen before? He can’t recall his eyes glowing before his disappearance, so maybe this was something of a recent development. 

“What is your blade of choice?” Talia released his chin and walked back to her seat.

“Greek Xiphos,” Perseus answered. 

“Rather strange choice, not many exist in the world outside the realm of the Amazonians, no? I can’t recall a location or organization that uses those as it’s primary weapon,” Talia pointed out. “No matter. I shall test your abilities. See if they are as…exceptional, as my son says.”

“Woah, wait, I didn’t sign up for this,” Perseus argues as Jason hooks his arms around the older boy’s neck. “Jay! Jay! Let go.”

“Can’t, jellyfish, better to just do as she says now and ask questions later,” Jason laughs before dropping him on one of the training mats in the adjoining room. “And besides, you gonna pass up an opportunity to fight me?”

“No.” Perseus stole the wakizashi from Jason’s hand and discarded his sweater, tossing it onto the floor behind him. “How hard to do I go?” He looked to where Damian and Talia stood at the edge of the mat, their arms crossed over their chest like a mirror. His reflexes were quick to block the downwards attack Jason had begun with.

“Full send!” Jason yelled as he charged his younger brother. 

Damian had to contain the giddiness building inside him as he watch the two spar. The clashing of their swords ringing like bell tolls in the quiet of the room. He had never seen the two of them fight before, Jason either went against father or Grayson and Perseus against Cassandra or Drake. Keeping to their weight-classes it seemed., but the spar before him was nothing short of legendary. 

Jason was akin to a bull. Heavy attacks and devastating blows that on a lesser opponent would render them wounded, unarmed, or even dead. His feet were light despite his size, following the paths and placements that every assassins in the league had been taught and memorized. His left heel sliding back into sixth position to keep his balance with attack pattern twenty-three, the weight distributed on the balls of his right foot but not enough to hinder a quick change of position or dodge. 

His brother, however, was that of a snake, which, Damian hoped, his mother approved of. Slashes instead of stabs, his grip on the blade one-handed but no less weak as he stood strong with the shorter blade. Normally, people choose the longer weapons, using the extra length to aid in keeping their attacks swift and straight, as well as keeping a good distance from one’s attacker.

Perseus did not keep a good distance.

He kept himself as close as he could with the wakizashi, performing techniques Damian had never seen nor heard of before. And neither had his mother if her slitted eyes were anything to go by. His foot falls were light, his stance low, and his weight balanced between both feet as he moved wildly around his older brother. Damian tried to predict Perseus’s next moves based on what he has done already, but no matter how he believes the boy will go, he always does something completely different. 

For instance, Perseus had two opportunities to knock Jason down. Once when his right flank was left unguarded and he could have placed a swift kick to bring him to his knees, instead he ducked below the horizontal slash of Jason’s katanaand butted the handle into his sternum. The other was when Jason switched his hold on the blade from a two-handed, blade-forward position to a left-handed, blade-backwards hold to forced a more hand-to-hand combat approach. Even then, Perseus kept himself close and threaded his sword in the gap between Jason’s sword and his arm, twisting it out of his grasp.

It was useless and Jason simply reached for it with his right hand and continued to fight, but it was the fact that Damian had never known of a maneuver like that. It was surely taught to him by the demigod camp, the Greek style of fighting, while disciplined like the Leagues, was more open to improvisation and prioritized fluidity between attacks. He wondered if Perseus could take him to the camp to train him, after all, Damian can see through the mist. It is only fair. 

“What are your intentions on bringing Perseus to my attention, Damian?” His mother sat on the provided seat, legs crossed beneath her, heels above the floor to preserve the blade on the inside. “I can’t imagine it is to merely show off one of your father’s many strays.”

He turned to face his mother, hand in fists as his sides, attention shifting from the spar. “Perseus has no mother. She died early in his childhood, and seeing as how you consider Jason as a son, I thought you might consider Perseus as well.” 

“You think me your father? Collecting children into my care?” Talia hummed. 

Damian bowed his head, eyes wide and slightly fearful. “Apologies, mother, I did not mean to insinu—”

“I would say that…if I was not impressed with Perseus,” She cut him off and lifted Damian’s chin so that he would look at her. “You are correct, his abilities are something I have not yet seen before. Parts of it he has gotten from your father and are hard to break, see how Jason’s right foot swivels before he lunges? Both he and Perseus does it, as does Timothy, Richard, and your father. But there are maneuvers not even I have seen, and I have seen much.”

“So you will take Perseus into deliberation as your son?” Damian asked. He didn’t want to get his hopes up, but the way his mother was studying the spar wasn’t helping the fluttering of his heart in his chest. 

She didn’t respond, only stood up from her seat and waltzed into the fray and ended it. Jason, stayed on the ground, sweat dripping from his brow and his chest heaving for breath. The katana fell to the floor, as did Jason, along with a string of out of breath curses. It had been a while since Damian had seen Jason extorted from training. Which was never. Yes, he developed a sweat and his breathing grew labored, but never to this extent. Perhaps it was like this when he trained under Ducra? The woman was mad and like to push people to their limits. 

Perseus wasn’t fairing much better, it seemed, but his composure was kept under his mother’s stare. She once more ran her eyes over him, stopping at his beaded necklace. Talia took hold of the first bead in her fingers, lifting it off his shirt to inspect it before continuing to his face. The sweat didn’t deter her in pushing back the bangs that clung to his skin or from placing her hand against his cheek, thumbing over the small slice from Jason’s blade on his cheek. 

It was a gesture Damian knew was her preferred way to show affection to him and Jason, a motherly caress of the cheek to wipe away any tears, blood, or just because. Damian allowed himself to smile from where he stood, but never to walk over. Not until his mother allowed him.

“You cater to my appearance more than your brother does,” Talia said as her thumb did one last wipe over his cheek. “Perhaps we could convince that reporter of the Gazette that you are of my blood as well. What do you think, Jason?”

“You—” Jason gulped the air like a fish from where he collapsed. “You lost the custody battle for us…gave up rights for Damian. Wanted to visit.”

“Must you be so dramatic for a ruse?” Talia crossed her arms over her chest. 

“It’s my job.” 

Turning back to Perseus, the corners of her mouth tilted upwards. Not a full smile as Damian’s mother only did so when under cover, but enough to show that she had come to a conclusion. “You will address me as ‘mother’ from now on, Perseus. Damian is now your brother in addition to Jason, train him and protect him as you would have if he was blood. 

“You are one of mine, now.” She linked a little charm onto the necklace he wore from the bracelet she never removed. It was hard to tell which one it was but Damian was certain it showed that he was an al Ghul in all but blood, just the same as Jason was. (Jason had an earring with the al Ghul crest on it, but he hardly wore it. Not want it to be lost or stolen, but he did wear an emerald stud on certain days.) “Should you be in need of aid, shelter, or men to follow your lead, I will provide. If you should forsake Bruce and the path he wishes to lead you on, I will be there to offer others. You are an alGhul now, a grandson of the demon head, a spare in line for the throne, a prince of the League of Assassins.” 

She placed her hands beside on his cheeks like she had done for Damian when they first arrive. “You are my son, and I will always cherish my children.”

Chapter Text

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Chapter Text

He didn’t feel the burning in his throat when he took another drink. The taste of the alcohol nonexistent on his drunk tongue, but he kept drinking anyway. How much was left of the bottle, he couldn’t tell. When had he started, he wasn’t sure. Where had he gone wrong, that was hard to say, but Bruce had a few dates in mind. 

The floor was uncomfortable and the hardwood of the hall made his back ache, all the divots in the intricate paneling and floorboards were not meant to be used as a chair. It was cold in the hall way too, not that he could tell. the warmth of the bourbon kept him warm and his head fuzzy and he replayed all the regrets in his head. Blue eyes, half lidded as they looked at the rooms that lie across from him. 

Their doors open and moonlight streaming through it’s windows showing off the unused items and unmade beds of the two children that once lived in its’ walls. Clothes and shoes strewn about it piles that didn’t make any sense to him, books and homework on their desks never to be finished, pictures hanging on the walls and mocking him with their smiles. 

His teeth clanked against the glass when he took another drink.

He had it all, didn’t he? Three children he adored with every fiber of his being, children he would do anything for. A thriving enterprise that was making more money than he would ever need. A city he loved and protected to the ends of the earth. Where—where did it all go wrong?

His oldest hates him. Blames him for the death and disappearance of his younger brothers on top of whatever else he had done wrong to him to make him leave. His middle was dead. Buried six feet under ground in the family cemetery beside his parents. And his youngest, his baby, was missing. Ran away and vanished off the face of the earth to a place not even Superman or Zatanna could find.

He was a shit father wasn’t he? 

He looked into the room of his youngest, the photo of their last family outing framed on his nightstand, their faced bright with smiles and the re Gotham sun beaming on them. It was one of those few times his oldest had come down to stay with them before heading back to Jump City. His arms were looped and the necks of his brothers, pulling them close and laughing at their indignation of being dragged. His baby laughed along with him, his cheeks pink from a sunburn and laughing along with his brother. His middle had his nose scrunched and eyebrows furrowed, but a opened mouthed, lopsided smile painted across his cheeks as he tried to regift the noogie he was getting. 

And himself…he saw his past self with a fond smile the back. Looking at his reason for living with soft eyes and a full heart. 

He hoped the bottle will knock him out soon. He doesn’t think he can handle it anymore.

Chapter Text

“Alright,” Stephanie extended the pointer she stole from Tim’s bag. “Percy and I have called you all here for an important meeting that has been a decade in the making on Percy’s side.” Percy nodded. “The topic we wish to discuss: nicknames. New additions and explanations for those already in use. Percy? Would like to start us off?”

“Yes, thank you,” Percy stood forward, letting Stephanie take over control of the laptop. The projector was blinding but he could see everyone in their unassigned assigned seating in the viewing room. Bruce sat front and center, his notebook and pen in hand and Percy couldn’t tell if he was being serious by taking notes or if he was just playing along. On one side of him was Cassandra and Damian, the other had Tim and Barbara, and sitting behind them were Dick, Jason, and Alfred. 

That’s usually where Percy sat, too, he can see his seat still empty between Jason an Alfred. “We will begin with the definition for those of you who don’t know.” The slide changed behind them. “A nick name is a term of endearment placed upon a person by family and close friends. It can also be given by members of a team, group, or among strangers to differentiate a person from the other, not to be confused with the malicious definition of ‘name.’”

“You look like a nerd,” Jason said.

“A prime example of a malicious ‘name’” Percy called out, and with the most condescending tone he could muster he said, “Good job, Jason.” Which earned some snickers and quiet huffs of amusement. “We will now begin the segment of reviewing the current nicknames being used. First up—” A bad photo of Bruce in his robe popped up on screen. “Bruce. Oh, and thank you to Barbara who has supplied the pictures for this presentation.”

“I did everyone dirty.” She laughed.

They spent the next hour or so going over Bruce, Alfred, Dick, and Jason’s nicknames. Voting for which ones were allowed to stay and if there were any that should be used. Bruce and Alfred’s stayed the same, but Jason demanded the term ‘zombie’ added to the roster. It was not. 

“Next, is Tim.” Stephanie led the slide. Percy remembers the night the picture came from, it was the time Tim thought he could go against Condiment Man alone and ended up in a vat of Mayo. He laughed his ass of when he compared him to the Rainbow Dash Jar and Tim almost cried. “Before we get to the voting, I request an explanation of one particular name. The full explanation this time—” She looked to Tim and Percy. “Of the name ‘ducky.’”

“No!” 

“Yes!” 

“I call upon—Jason!” She pointed the stick at him. “Explain!”

“Jay, no, please.” Tim folded himself over the back of his chair, hands in prayer. Of all the nicknames he had, and he had a lot since his name was easy to mess with, this was the one he wished they could vote out. It was childish. It was demeaning. (He’ll never admit he likes it.) “Please don’t tell.”

Jason instead stood up from his seat, hopped over Tim, and took center stage. “So,” He clapped, “For those who don’t know, I was the one who started calling Timbit ‘ducky’ and there’s a very logical and simple reason for that, two, actually.”

“The first, his last name is a type of duck. Didn’t think much of it, I barely interacted with him until Percy started bringing him over after school more often,” Jason said. “When he did come over, the he would not stop following me when he wasn’t with Percy. No matter where I went, or where I hid, that stage five clinger was right there.” They turned their heads towards Tim who was trying to hide behind his chair. Percy, along side Jason, were outright laughing. “And with the knowledge that his name meant ‘duck’ I began to call him ‘ducky’ because he was following me like a little duckling.”

“I say we vote the name out!” He shot forward, ears tinted red from embarrassment.

“No! We are not voting out the name!” Percy defended. “It is a perfectly good name and encapsulates you in its’s entirety. And we can use it in public, unlike stalker, which is true as well.”

“I wouldn’t be laughing if I were you, bubbles,” Bruce smiled and Percy’s dropped, Jason’s growing even wider. He covered his mouth with a gasp, turning to face his little brother with the biggest shit eating grin he had, “I forgot about ‘bubbles!’”

Percy quickly found the edge of the makeshift podium interesting. “We didn’t have to bring up bubbles…” he murmured but it was ignored when everyone turned to Bruce to tell. 

“Yes, I did since it wasn’t on your slide,” Bruce said. 

“Explain bubbles.” Cassandra leaned forwards in her seat. Percy tried to interfere, but Jason was quick to put him in a head lock. His yells of protests went unheard to the main group as their play fight turned into wrestling. 

“This was years ago when I took them to the aquarium for their first birthday in my care,” Bruce began, recalling the memory…

The aquarium wasn’t very busy mid-august which was a surprise. Bruce would’ve thought that since it was summer, more people would be able to take their children or spend the day with their loved ones. Walking through the different sections and interacting with the creatures and animals without worrying about work or school. He supposed he was one of the lucky parents who were able to take a Wednesday off for no reason other than to celebrate his son’s birthdays.

Bruce watched from behind the line of children, all of them pressing into each other on one half of the sting ray touch-pool. He could spot his boys at the very front. Jason’s little hand in the cool water just barely grazing their fingers along the slightly smooth skin of the animal. 

Had it been other children at the front, Bruce was sure they wouldn’t be as nice to them as they should. Splashing the water, touching them a little too hard than necessary, or being too loud. He knows the children mean well, they were just excited to be able to interact with the string ray and didn’t really know how to channel it properly. But when he and the boys walked it, it seemed like it was the other way around. 

The sting rays were swimming faster in the shallow waters. Zipping around each other and towards whatever side of the pool Percy and Jason were, as if they were excited puppies waiting to play. When the two of them reached the edge, Jason was the only one brave enough to touch them, and the sting rays seemed to fight for his attention. That was strange. Why were they behaving like that? Even the aquarium attendants were confused, whispering and the abnormal behavior.

When they finally ventured out of the sting ray zone, and Jason’s mouth was rambling a hundred miles a minute about every kind of stingray and their specific attributes, they had traveled to the jellyfish exhibit. Percy seemed to light up at the sight of them, pressing his face and hands against the glass for each one. 

Bruce didn’t understand how jellyfish were the animal that captured Percy’s excitement the most. He could understand Jason with the stingrays, they swam, around and had cool tails and always looked to be smiling. But jellyfish? They were mindless creatures that did nothing but each plankton and bump into each other. Yet, when he looked at Percy’s bright face, smooshed against the unsanitary glass, completely enthralled and content to just stand and watch them for hours, he didn’t seem to mind that he didn’t understand.

Hours later and the aquarium explored thoroughly, Bruce and his sons left the building with bright smiles and a large gift bag full of gift shop items. Shirts and stuffies, plastic toys and postcards, bubble wands and a little tank that made plastic little jellyfish swim for however long Percy wanted. Did he spend an adsorbent amount of money on stuff? Yes, he did, it was for their birthday. Was he still going to buy them even more gift to make up for the years they spent without birthday presents? Absolutely. Bruce loves spoiling his kids. Dick wasn’t immune to that either, he constantly sends him packages filled with trinkets or objects that reminded Bruce of him. Percy and Jason were no different.

“Did you boys like the aquarium?” Bruce asked them as they walked to the car. They nodded their heads before blowing bubbles out of the wands he got them. Alfred was not going to like how sticky they were going to make things, but Bruce will take the blame. “That’s good. Tomorrow, Percy, you get to decide what we do for your birthday.”

His youngest titled his head, “I thought the aquarium was my birthday thing.”

“No, it was mine.” Jason corrected. “I wanted to go yesterday for my birthday, but they’re closed on Tuesdays because they clean the habitats. I asked.”

“So whatever you want to do, whatever you want to eat for meals, we will do because it’s your birthday.” Bruce poked Percy in the shoulder to emphasize his words. “We could go to the planetarium if you’d like?”

When Bruce had asked that, he didn’t notice Percy had taken out the bubble wand, the excess soap running down and over his hand, and was just about to blow. But instead of blowing out the air, in Percy’s excitement, he gasped. The sharp inhale of air that close to the wand made a bubble form into his open mouth, causing the child to cough and choke at the taste. 

Immediately, Bruce went into Dad mode™. Patting at Percy’s back to help, handing off the bubble wand to his brother, who was quietly (or as quiet and eleven year old could be) snickering at his brother. “I knew you were excite, but I didn’t think you’d try to eat the bubbles, bud.”

“Maybe we should start calling you ‘bubbles’ now,” Jason laughed.

“No!” Percy coughed. 

“Bubbles!”

“Stop!”

“Make me, bubbles.” Percy chased after Jason in the empty space next to the car, not fast enough to catch up as they circled the car ether. “Bubbles! Bubbles! Percy likes to eat bubbles!”

“You choked…” Tim turned his head to where Jason and Percy were a tangled mess of arms and legs. Jason’s arm was still wrapped around Percy’s neck, and Percy had one of Jason’s leg pulled back at and awkward angle. “On bubbles?”

“I was eight and thought only the super-rich could go to the planetarium!” Percy defended. “And like yeah, I knew B was rich when he took us in, but it didn’t click how rich till he said we could go for my birthday. But remember the context, Jason and I had only been living with Bruce for, what, two weeks, at that time?”

“No, not even,” Jason let go of Percy, who almost hit his head on the floor. “A week, I think, since he still needed to get the paperwork completed.”

“Oh, yeah.” He nodded his head. “I had been living in a crate a week before, of course I didn’t believe he was that rich!”

“The point still stands,” Damian looked at Percy. “You choked on bubbles.”

He dropped his head on the ground with a thud, groaning “Oh my gods!!” into the floor.

Chapter Text

“Hello Bruce,” Diana smiled and gave him a hug upon their greeting. He wasn’t much of a tactile person, reserving his physical affection for his children or his lovers, but Diana was a warrior goddess and Bruce was a mortal. He simply let her do as she pleases. “It has been a while since I’ve visited the children, how are they?” 

“They are well,” He led her through the manor to one of the many sitting rooms, this one was tucked away in one of the far corners of the manor. Some of the furniture still has dust covers over them and the air in the room was stale from no circulation. And he would chose a more used place to converse, those were more susceptible to listening ears. 

“Hopefully I will able to see them after our conversation,” Diana sunk into one of the old couches. “I can tell that this isn’t just a social conversation, is it?” He shook his head. “I thought so, go ahead, speak.”

Bruce paused for a moment, shuffling through the questions in his head to determine which one should be first. “Did you know my sons were demigods?” 

She nodded and took a sip of tea. “I knew your sons were children of the gods the moment I met them, I could feel their power challenging mine in a way I had not felt since I lived on Themyscira. Who their parents were, I do not know, but regardless,—” she set her cup down. “Had I told you who there were all those years ago, they would have been in danger that could have been easily avoided.”

“Explain.”

“Demigods live normal mortal lives until the age of twelve or thirteen, that’s when the powers their godly parent passed on to them begins to develop more rapidly causing a shift in their scent. It varies on the god mostly, but the stronger the god, the stronger the scent, even before the reach that age.” She said. “Once a demigod realizes their heritage, their scent grown stronger. It attracts monsters, and without the proper training, they could be killed.” Bruce opened his mouth. “And before you ask: no, mortal weapons cannot harm or kill the monsters. They are deemed unworthy and lesser than them, only celestial bronze can hurt them.”

Bruce absorbed the information for a second. Percy had told him this the other night, though not as detailed as he would have liked. He had sat them all down and told him what had been happening to him the past three four years and what was going to happen next summer. 

“If you were aware of his status as a demigod, why could you not have helped him on his ‘quests?’ Couldn’t you have gone with him to ensure his safety?” Bruce questioned. 

“If I was allowed to help him, Bruce, do you think he would have that many scars on him? If I was allowed, do you think he would have lost his brother? His friends? Do you think I would have let him or his friend hold the weight of the sky as they fought a titan?” Diana snapped at him. 

“By the gods, I wish I could aid him, wish I could enter the camp they stay at to help them train for the fight against Kronos, but I cannot!” Tears began to well up in her eyes and Bruce dropped his head in his hand. She was just as helpless as he was, wanting to go and protect them all, protect Percy, but they couldn’t. He was in a world they just could not enter. “And I love them Bruce, they are more than simple nephews to me, and it pains me as much as it does you that I am useless in helping Perseus, in helping Jason.”

“But I don’t understand why you could not tell me who they were. I’m their father, my job is to protect them!” 

“You cannot protect them Bruce! This life, the life of gods and monsters and all the things I face, what Perseus faces, you can not help.” Diana moved to sit beside him. “I know they are your children. I know you will stop at nothing to keep them as safe as they can be, but Apollo strike me should I lie when I say that you and I simply cannot aid him in the way we want.

“The life of a demigod is difficult, it is dangerous, and most often they die far too soon.” Diana cried. “We can help as much as we can when he returns from his quests, train him as best as we can, teach him as much as we can, but in the end we are meant to stand behind him as he rises to his glory.”

“What about Jason? He’s a demigod too, isn’t he? Why hasn’t he been attacked by monsters or sent to that camp Percy goes to?” Bruce stands form his seat, pacing in the light of the window. “What makes one child different than the other?”

“The difference is the prophecy and who the fates deemed worthy to take on that burden.” She answered. “It is also because of the oath the sons of Kronos had taken.”

“Percy told me about that before, but I don’t understand it. It is just a simple oath.”

She shook her head. “To swear on the Styx is to swear on your very existence, and to break that oath, the consequences are dire and extreme.” 

Bruce stopped his pacing. “If Jason is believed to be a son of Poseidon as well, then his death is most likely influenced by the Styx. The same of Perseus becoming the prophecy child and the death of their mother.”

“A god cannot be punished so it falls onto the others.” Diana wiped her tears on one of the napkins. “It falls on the mother for temping the god twice. Punishes the sons for the sins of the father.”

“So the death of my son and the sanity of the other are sacrificed because the god that fathered them cannot be punished?” she nodded and Bruce felt like punching the wall. 

He could feel his anger rising within him. A fire that burned in the pit of his stomach and channeled through his veins till in reached his hands. He knows his anger isn’t with Diana for she was held back like him, helpless against the cosmic forces that kept Percy and Jason an arm’s length away. His anger, his rage, the wrath he hasn’t felt since the death of his parents, was all for the sea god who forced his sons to live a life of pain and anguish. 

Bruce has fought gods. Bruce has battled against beings as old as time and stronger than any earthly deity. He wonders if Diana could arrange a meeting between him and their father. 

“So what can I do? How can I help Percy with all of this?” Bruce asked.

“You provide him with a home, remind him of his humanity,” Diana answered and gathered her things, making her way to the door. “You show him he is loved.”

Chapter Text

Percy lay on the deck of the ship, eyes closed and at complete and utter peace. The boat was heading towards their destination at a comfortable four knots, sails catching the south-east wind through the end of the sirens bay. Around him the ropes did what they needed. Tighter on the starboard side, undid at the bough, pulled back towards the stem. How the hell did he know these things?!

Was this just innate knowledge for children of Poseidon? Just naturally good sailors with perfect bearings? Like, the general concept of him just knowing things adults took years to train and learn. Sailors in the navy spending their whole lives on those giant war boats and submarines, figuring out how to count knots and guide by constellation in case power goes out, but Percy can just flick his wrist and the main sails falls and catches the wind. Fucking nuts. 

He wondered if Jason could do this, too. If what ever powers he inherited from Poseidon also included being a sailor, or was that a Percy exclusive?

“You look cozy.” Percy opened his eyes. Annabeth sat herself next to him on the deck, one of the old sheets in the Captain’s quarters wrapped around her shoulders to keep the cold ocean air away. He didn’t mind it though. It was nice, but that could be because he was in his father’s domain. 

“I think I could take the best nights’ sleep right here,” He answered, “What about you? How you holding up after the siren thing?”

“Better.” She traced the lines of the wood. “You know, when you tried to pull me out, I saw some of your family in the vision.” Percy sat up, intrigued now, because he didn’t. He couldn’t see anything besides Annabeth’s family and the perfect New York she built. “Your brothers, your dad, your butler.” She laughed but Percy couldn’t deny it.

“Why don’t you talk about your family? Or, at least, tell me about your family?” She asked. “I mean, I tell you about my dad and stepmom all the time, but I hardly know yours. And that’s even because they’re famous.”

He thought about it for a moment. He knows he can trust Annabeth, he wouldn’t be on this boat with her in he didn’t, but telling people about his family felt private. It was exposing a part of him that he tried to keep separate. 

Percy Jackson was one kid. He was the son of Poseidon, first in over a century, forbidden child of the prophecy, youngest master swordsman in camp. When he wore that neon orange shirt, he wasn’t afraid to curse or fight back, he dug into that street rat life he once had and wasn’t scared of the consequences for throwing the first punch. He was the kid who broke camp rules for leaving without permission, he talked back to Mr D and Chiron.

Percy Jackson was a demigod, through and through, and that’s who Annabeth knew. That’s whose on this quest with her. 

She doesn’t know Percy Todd anymore than what he’s told her because Percy Todd wasn’t a demigod. He watched Gray Ghost in the screening room with a bucket of popcorn with peanut M&Ms mixed in. He stayed up analyzing DNA samples and blood tests for serial killer cases and could recite the chemical compound for Ivy’s cuddle pollen by heart. He knew how to reset bones and how to stitch, suture, and extract bullets from an open wound. Percy Todd-Wayne was the son of the Bat, brother of Robin and Nightwing, young prince of Gotham. 

But, he knows Annabeth. He knows her better than anyone in the camp. Maybe, maybe he can be Percy Todd with her, too. Let her know more than just what Vicki writes in the Gazette or what the tabloids print. He’d be able to IM her from his room without worry that she tell people what she saw. He’d be able to invite her over during the school years to hang out, Percy knows that her and Tim would be great friends. Gods. The debates they would have, it’d be intense, but so entertaining to watch. 

“What do you want to know?”

Chapter Text

“Hey, you.” Percy lifted his head up at the call. That was a new voice, he’s never heard them before. Leaning against the couch across from him was a girl, blonde hair and a carefree attitude holding a notepad in her hand. “Do you prefer pancakes or waffles?”

He shifted his gaze around, confused. “What?”

“Pancakes or waffles, which one do you like more?” She asked, dropping her hands in exasperation. As if she was tired of the confusion that came from a sudden, one-sided conversation. “You gotta like one more than the other. That’s like, a regular human thing, unless your Alfred who said crepes. What are crepes?”

“They’re supper thin, a little crispy, pancakes that French people fold into a burrito filled with fruits, whipped cream, and chocolate syrup.” Percy answered, closing his book. He just started reading Jason’s Pride and Prejudice, wanting to know what made this book his favorite. 

The girl looked back at her list, mouth shifted to one side as her head took in the new information. “That sounds good—but not the point, you need to answer the question: Pancakes or waffles?”

“counter question: am I able to make them blue?”

“Why blue?”

“I have this running gag with my brother who said that blue food don’t exist, I’ve been truing to prove him wrong since I was nine.”

“How old are you now?” 

Percy thought for a moment. “Fourteen.” 

Whatever cogs she had in her brain whirred to life with every piece of information they traded back and forth. Who he was, who she was, and how exactly they were connected. Because they were both in Wayne Manor, and while Percy lived there, he didn’t know why she was there. He liked her though. She was fun to talk to and followed the same mental path he did when it came to conversations.

One moment they were talking about pancakes and waffles, then it shifted to their favorite places to eat them, which turned into their favorite places in Gotham. Percy answered with the aquarium which was how the topic of dumb sea creatures came up, and while Percy feels a little bad bad-mouthing his father’s subjects (and his technically) Percy has quite a few opinions on some. 

“Why are you so heated about this? It’s a fish!” She laughed, arms wrapping around her stomach as she fell over onto the seat.

Percy ran his hands through his hair, his own smile on his face, but determined to explain his answer. “It’s a dumb fish. It’s does absolutely nothing for the ecosystem! It just floats at the surface of the water, looking dead, and just does nothing!” He covered his face. “It’s so stupid.”

“What are you guys talking about?” Percy peaked his eyes through his hand. Tim stood behind the girl, hands stuffed in his pocket, looking between them. It had been a while since Percy has spoken with Tim like they used to, like how Percy and the girl were. 

“Sun fish and how they’re a stupid fish.” She answered him.

“Oh,” Tim nodded. “No, yeah, they’re the dumbest fish in the world.” 

“See! Tim understands, thank you, Tim.” Percy nodded in his direction. But Tim only rolled his eyes, in the most dramatic way ever by moving his whole head as well, “Only because you’ve told me about them since we were eight.”

“No, I haven’t. This is slander.”

“No it’s not. Has he told you about their growth yet?” Tim turned towards the girl who shook her head. “Or what about how they’re poisonous is consumed? Or about how they get killed most often by boat rudders? Or what about—”

Percy threw his pillow at Tim, cutting him off. “Keep running your mouth, ducky, and I’m gonna spill your secrets to your girlfriend over here.” Tim tightened his grip on the pillow, narrowing his eyes, as if he was contemplating whether or not Percy would. He would. Percy wouldn’t hesitate. He had Jason as his brother and Dick as their target, and Tim knew exactly how truthful and precise Percy could get. 

The girl covered her smile, turning back to look at him. “ ‘Ducky?’ Why’s your name Ducky?”

“Drake is the name of a duck,” Percy smirked and Tim’s eyes widened. “He also used to follow Jason like a little—”

“You shut your mouth!” Tim threw his pillow, cheeks red with embarrassment.

“Make me!” Percy chucked another at Tim. Before they knew it, they were caught in a three-way pillow fight. Tim on one side of the couch, Percy behind the chaise, and the girl—who Percy know knows her name was Stephanie after Tim yelled it when she hit him with Percy’s Nemo plush—took refuge behind the armchair. 

Percy missed this. Missed messing around with Tim and just having fun like how they used to. And he knows that it was his fault, he was the one who pushed Tim away and basically told him they weren’t friends anymore, but Percy was really regretting his actions. He should have just told Tim when he got back home last year, let him know right off the bat the shit that’s been happening and what’s going on and they wouldn’t be stuck in this awkward post-friend-colleague situation thing they have going on.

He should tell him. Yes. Percy should tell Tim he was a demigod.

How does one do that, exactly?

Chapter Text

He hopes he lost the skeletons somewhere behind him. The maze of solid concrete hallways and tubes lining the walls the further into the dam were making him lost as well, but he couldn’t afford to get lost. If he gets lost, he won’t be able to make it back to Thalia, Grover, Bianca, and Zoe—who were most likely unaware of the skeletons that had found them once again.

The footsteps of the skeletons matched that of the regular mortals in the underground tunnels. Shuffling feet, heavy boots. It was hard to distinguish who was who, but he kept his back to the wall, Riptide in hand as he made his way down the hall. 

In the corner of his eye, he saw a figure pop up out of nowhere and he swung on instinct. If it was a skeleton that would buy him some time to book it further down the hall to the elevators. If it was a mortal, he’d have to come up with an excuse real quick. His sword ran clean through the body he recklessly swung at, feeling no hesitation of any sort of flesh or reanimated bone. 

Percy, for a split second, wondered why nothing happened, but the head of familiar firey red hair caught his attention. “Dare?”

“Wayne?” She stared at him, eyes wide and mouth agape. “Is that—why do you have a sword?” 

“No time, I need to hide.” Behind him, Percy could hear the rattling of the skeleton monsters. They were closing in on him and he wouldn’t be able to make it all the way to the elevators if they spotted him. Rachel pushed him into the girls bathroom before he could say anything. Her voice, though shaky and uncertain, commanded the monsters to keep searching for him. Leading them away from the only exit he had. 

“Start talking, Wayne.” He stumbled out when the door opened. “What the hell were those things? And why do you have a sword?” His eyebrows furrowed when he looked down to riptide in his hands. 

“Wait, you—you can see this?”

“Yes! Now, explain, before I call your dad and ask him why you tried to slice me in half.”

He capped the sword, eyes wide as he wrestled Rachel for her phone. They had spoken a few times when she went with her father to a gala, looking bored as hell with a bag full of travel sized art supplies and contraband in the form of single-patty cheeseburgers from a local Big Belly Burger. Being the only kids in the venue, her, him, and Tim had stuck close together till Rachel had begun voicing her opinions on the vigilantes. 

Percy had no issue with it, often agreeing and building upon her thoughts, but Tim didn’t like it. Which would then escalate into them disliking each other and often antagonizing the other. And because Tim was his best friend and brother, he had to side with him when going against Rachel. 

“Don’t call him!” He yanked her phone from, holding out his arm to keep her from grabbing it. “Look, I’ll explain later, I don’t have time right now. I’ll tell you next time you’re in Gotham or I’m in New York, but I have to go and you can’t tell anyone what you saw or that you saw me.”

“What?! Your brother—”

“I know! I know he’s looking for me, but he can’t find me, okay? Trust me.” 

She looked like she wanted to argue more, to press further and get the answers she wanted now. But a flash of green lit up her irises for a split second, faster than Percy could register, and she seceded. Sighing as her arm fell to her side. “Fine. But if I don’t hear an explanation by the next gala I’m going to tell your dad. Give me my phone now.”

He handed it back and jogged down the hallway to the elevator. He didn’t want to leave her so suddenly with no explanation at all, but he was on a quest, a very time sensitive quest. But something in him told Percy that it wasn’t going to be the last time he saw the Dare heiress.

Chapter Text

Nights in the league were the only time Jason felt like he could think. There was no need to keep himself on such a high alert for Damian’s or his protection, didn’t need to train and keep himself in perfect condition. Or even keep up the act to Talia that he regained his memories, that he knew who she was and what she wanted from him. 

But he can’t deny how nice it feels when she shows him affection on the days where they could stay in Damian’s quarters. Damian would practice his art on the table, the sound of his brushes scrapping over the parchment and the crinkle it made as the ink dried. Jason would sit beside him, staring off into space as Talia sat behind him on the couch, her hands running through his hair. Oils and perfumes massaged into his scalp and her voice just barely loud enough for him to hear, would hum melodies Jason never heard before. Sometimes Damian would hum along with her, matching her voice with scary accuracy before he remembers that the kid could mimic voices with ease. 

Those moments were too domestic for where they were. Too calm. It sent him on edge because it shouldn’t be something that Jason should be experiencing there, in a compound full of highly trained assassins who would not hesitate to kill. 

Or maybe it was because Jason was missing the moments where instead of Talia it was Bruce and instead of Damian it was Percy. The nights they refused to sleep in their own beds for reasons Jason can’t remember and they would invade Bruce’s. When Percy’s laugh filled the quiet room when Bruce poked him in he side and Jason would steal Bruce’s pillow. He remembers the repetitive ‘whirr’-ing of the ceiling fan slowly putting him to sleep, knowing he was safe next to his dad. 

And in those moments, the lullaby his mom would sing to him would come back. Her voice soft and slightly muffled but there nonetheless. He hummed the melody, what little he remembers, as he stared out the windows of Damian’s room. 

He wonders if he’s ever sang it to Percy, let him know what it sounded like so that he could know a little bit about their mother. To give him more than the succinct information Bruce was able to dig up. But, will he ever see Percy again? Will he be even able to sing it to him? If he stays here, sure he’ll be treated like a prince and wont be in need of anything, but then he’ll have to listen to Ra’s and Talia. He’d have to leave behind Damian when he goes on missions and who know who he’ll run into when he’s out. If Dick or Wally or Roy or anyone he knew when he was Robin.

His eyebrows furrowed. Robin. Talia told him that a new kid took over, a younger, better kid claimed his suit months after his death. Who was it again? Percy’s friend, Tim, wasn’t it? The little boy who trailed after him in the galas, never too far from Percy’s side. The kid who badgered him with questions that never seemed to end and looked at him like he was his hero. That kid was Robin now. 

“Ahki…?” Damian mumbled when he felt Jason’s hand fist his sleep tunic. He had forgotten that Damian was lying on top of him, the weight of the child unnoticeable, but the kid was warm in the cold night air. He rubbed his eyes as he woke up, looking every bit the age of six as he did so. 

“Sorry, habibi, didn’t mean to wake you,” Jason whispered, not wanting to disrupt the peace that came only this late at night. “Go back to sleep.”

“I cannot. I have been trained to stay awake once I rise,” Damian said as he pressed himself higher on Jason’s chest.

Jason smirked as he ran his hand up and down Damian’s back, humming that same melody as before, knowing Damian wouldn’t stay awake for long. The steady motion, the vibration of Jason’s chest, and the undeniable security that came with him watching over Damian. He wasn’t surprised three minutes later when the kid grew heavier against him and his cheek pressed further, slumping comfortably knowing he was protected. 

He needs to go back to Gotham, he decides. He can’t stay in Nanda Parbat forever, pretending to be mindless when this entire time he’s been planning ways to take down the Joker. Ways to prove to Bruce the consequences of what happens when he’s not put under. Of what happens to kids who pretend to be someone they’re not. 

“Sing sweet…” He hummed, his attention returning to the slow moving stars outside. Had there always been that new constellation by Orion? It looks like a hunter of some sort. “Hi~gh above me.”

Chapter Text

Tim is sick. Point blank. No sugar coating it. Tim was sick with the flu and pneumonia and looked like Thanatos himself farted on him. 

Percy grimaced when another round of coughs racked through Tim’s weak body, trying to keep his lunch from running back up. Honestly he wanted to help Tim get better. He wanted to play nurse like he was used to and make sure he got the fluids he needed, but he kind of forgot that with the flu came nausea and vomiting. Percy can handle a lot of gross things, he kinda has to if he wanted to be Alfred’s medical assistant. But removing bullets from bodies and resetting limbs and snapping broken feet back into place was a whole different ball park.

“Perce,” Tim croaked. His voice rough and scratchy from the abuse his bile did against his vocal chords. If he could heal illnesses with his power, Percy would have done it yesterday, but it seems even his powers have limits. “You haf’ta be—” he paused, gaged, and steadied his breathing. “be Robin for patrol.”

“B can go without Robin for a few nights, ducky,” Percy adjusted the tightness of his mask around his face. He was not getting sick. No thank you. Demigods and sickness do not mesh well together. “He’s a big boy, he can play pretend by himself.”

He didn’t know if it was because of Tim’s stubbornness or the delirium, but the kid shook his head. “Plan needs Bobin…haf’ta go.” His hazy eyes fluttered shut. “Use…use my suit.” Aaand he was out. Mouth open, drool already beginning to build up and his nose wheezing with each congested breath. 

Yeeahh, no. Percy not going to use the sick-kids suit when he already has a suit himself. But as Percy closed the door behind him, discarding the mask and gloves in the disposal bin by the door, he wondered if Bruce actually needed a Robin for patrol tonight. Did he need the extra set of hands by his side and fighting along side him? Did he need another set of eyes to analyze and decipher whatever mystery that he and Tim had been working on?

A part of him was excited to be Robin, if only for a night. Yes, he’s told himself that he didn’t want to be Robin. That it was only for Jason and Dick and Tim, he found his excitement in the life of a demigod and was content to play the role of backup and medic. So then why had he designed his own suit? Better yet, why did Bruce agree to make it for him?

“B!” Percy jumped off the side of the stairs, skipping five steps, and scanning the cave for his dad. They were getting better, he liked to think. Some days were easier than others and some were like how it had been before Jason’s death. Percy felt like today was a good day (except for the fact that Tim was upstairs inches from deaths’ door.)

“Yes, pearl?” Bruce answered and he had to hold back a sigh. Diana had called him that when he was little, claiming Percy was too precious and that he should be protected like a pearl. It didn’t take long for Bruce to agree and soon both of them had called him by the nickname, though Diana had stopped shortly after he turned twelve and he didn’t quite know why.

“Ducky said you needed a Robin for patrol tonight,” he said, walking over to the garage where his dad was. 

“I do,” Bruce wiped away his sweat. “I needed him to crawl through an air vent to try and get the plans Dent has against Sionis.”

“Dent? As in, your ex-boyfriend Dent? The one from high sch—” Bruce tossed his dirty rag and hit Percy in the face, cutting him off. “Ew! That’s gross, dad! Yuck!”

“But, yes, that Dent,” Bruce chuckled. “Tim was supposed to get it while I created a diversion. I’d do it another time, but Harvey leaves town tomorrow with those plans.”

Percy kicked his feet from where he sat on the tool table beside Bruce. “What if…” he scratched at his neck, “What if I was Robin for tonight? Since Tim is sick and everything.”

Bruce turned to look at him, concern laced his features because he, too, knew that Percy never had an interest being Robin before. His dad seemed to think about it for a bit before answering. Percy knew that if he put on the suit, any variation of it, he’d look a little too much like Jason. The mask would sit over his eyes the same way and the cape would hang over his shoulders just like Jason’s suit had done for him. 

And maybe Bruce thought he was ready to see Percy in the suit, if only for a night. He had gotten over the drinking (which Percy didn’t even know he had done) and allowed Tim to be Robin, to bear the same name as Jason. But was he ready for Percy? For his youngest? 

“Are you sure? I don’t want to make you do something you don’t want to, son,” Bruce said setting down his tools. Percy only nodded his head. No turning back now. “Alright. Suit up. We leave in thirty.”

Percy didn’t need to be told twice. He leapt off the table, making a few tools crash to the floor, a made a beeline for his locker. Did he need a locker? Not really, he didn’t have a suit nor did he go out on patrol—at least that’s what Bruce knew. 

There were a few times since his return that first summer that his restlessness had gotten worse. He couldn’t sit still in the cave anymore, and no amount of going through Dick’s high bars or going against the hologram training was going to settle his bones. He needed to run. To sprint and dodge and maybe stop a mugging or two while Bruce and Tim were out doing Bruce and Tim things. So with Alfred’s help, Percy had his own “uniform” to wear while he went out. Armored, camouflaged, and with at least three trackers sewn into it to make sure he was safe, Percy was ready to go out and kick ass.

He didn’t have to wear that suit tonight, thankfully, it was getting a little tight. But the Robin version of that suit fit perfectly, and Percy couldn’t help the smile that stretched across his lips when he saw it. Compared to the three previous Robins, his suit was different. He stole the idea of green pants from Tim, as well as the two sided cape so he’ll have to thank him for that when he’s not actively dying. 

He slipped on the green gauntlets as he ran to catch up with Bruce, mask being the first thing he had put on. Percy smiled as he skirted to a stop, “Ready.”

After living with Bruce for most of his life, he’s gotten pretty good at noticing the small twitches and silent body language the man shows off. A tightened jaw mean he was angry or frustrated, a slight movement of his jaw was him trying not to smile or laugh. A twitch of the eyebrow was him trying to not let his frown, be that of grief or of disappointment, show. Percy had money that it was the former, but he knew why he had that reaction because Percy had the same one in the mirror. 

Bruce didn’t let the frown show, he simply slipped on the cowl, letting the Batman take over, and nodded. “Let’s go.”

Chapter Text

“Woah.” Percy’s head snapped to the voice behind him, eyes wide and panicked. It wasn’t that he didn’t know who they were, no, but it was that that voice shouldn’t be heard here.

“Nico?” He looked the batcomputer and nearly sprinted to the son of Hades trying to face him away from the cave. “What are you doing here? How did you find here?!”

“Where is here? This place is so cool!” Nico slipped out of his grasp, stumbled at little because he had just shadowed traveled, before running amok in the cave. It made Percy’s heart squeeze watching him gasp in awe and question everything, bringing back the memories of a younger version of him. He wondered if Nico would have stayed that awe-struck and wide-eyed had Bianca survived?

He might’ve become a little bitter towards the hunters, his sister especially, but Percy knows he would’ve followed him like a puppy ever since. He most likely would have wanted to go with Percy at the end of the summers, follow him all the way to Gotham. And knowing Bruce, he would’ve taken Nico in, since he can’t help himself when it comes to an orphan in need. He would be confused and concerned why he doesn’t legally exist, but Bruce has the resources to change that.

“Nico! Get down from the dinosaur!” Percy climbed up to the trophy area, hands on his hips like an angered parent. A part of him wondered if this was how Bruce sounded when he first brought Dick into the cave. Did they have the dinosaur at that time? Because it was here when Jason and Percy got here, so maybe it was brought in while Dick was still Robin.

Carefully, Nico slid down the spine of the statue, eyes still taking everything in. But Percy was quick to grab his attention, “Why are you here?”

“Huh? Oh, right,” Nico snapped back into the broody, more serious persona he adopted this past year. “I know how you can go against Kronos without dying.”

“What? How?” Percy said. “No, no, y’know what. We’re takin’ this conversation upstairs.”

“Upstairs? There’s an upstairs?” Nico followed him out the cave, and once again, just like last year, his mouth never stopped asking questions. Thought this time, it was aimed more towards Percy himself and not at the demigod world in general. “Where are we, Percy? Who exactly are you? You’ve told the whole camp that you live in New York with your mom, that you didn’t have anyone else, that—”

“Ah, Master Percy.” He felt Nico bump into his back at the sudden stop. “I wasn’t aware you were having a guest over. This late at night as well.”

“Sorry, Alfred,” he said. “It was a…surprise visit.” Nico’s cheeks dusted with pink at the call out and under Percy’s stare.

“I see.” Percy couldn’t stay mad at Nico, and he was entitled to the questions he has about him. After all, he has been lying to nearly the whole camp, except for Annabeth, for years. And Annabeth didn’t even know about the other side to his life. “Well, I shall prepare some tea while the two of you converse. The sitting room is free, and I expect you be sharing whatever information the young lad has with Master Bruce.”

“Yes, I will,” Percy said. “And thank you.”

They stood in the hall for a few seconds longer, watching Alfred disappear down the stairs. Nico tuned to him, “Who was that?”

“My butler.”

“You have a butler?!”

Chapter Text

Early morning in the aquarium was Percy favorite time to go. There were no crowds, no screaming children, or pissed off parents. The animals were all super chill and waking up alongside the mortals that took care of them. Some, like the octopi and the tiger fish, were awake already. Swimming about in their tanks and coming as close as they dare to the glass to see him. And like every year before, the fishes and aquatic sea life wished him a ‘happy birthday,’ performed a small display of gratitude before going about their day.

He’s been coming to the aquarium for his birthday every year since he found out about being a demigod. Spending the quiet morning alone with his father’s subjects, the only clean saltwater around Gotham for miles, and letting the world fall away for just a moment. Just a short moment.

Because sitting alone in the middle of the walkway, the glass that separated him from the water bending above him, with the lights dotted along the bottom, Percy could believe he was sitting in his spot beneath the waves at camp. His little reef shelf that was far out enough to not be spotted by camp, but not so far out that it was alert any sea monsters or his father. (Though the moment he steps into the water his father knows, he’s just glad he doesn’t visit him while he’s there.)

Percy can pretend he was sitting amidst the tall sea grass and seaweed, the bits of coral and barnacle that were too stubborn to travel farther south where it was warmer. If he were to lay back on the bench he was on, watching the invisible man-made currents above him, looking at the soft blue, purple, and green lights that made the tank seem other worldly, he could believe he was watching the sun dance across the waves above. Bending and refracting in ways Percy could never replicate himself.

He wondered if he was like that—like the sun against the sea. Folding over its self, contorting it’s rays against the harsh and unforgiving water. Trying desperately to stay together in one piece, only for the currents to change it against its will. Becoming something new and different to accommodate others.

He took a breath and the scent of salt and abalone washed over him. Beside him, Poseidon sat on the metal bench, eyes watching the sea life before him swarm and flock to the glass. The Hawaiian shirt he wore today wasn’t as loud, and the shaggy sailor look he usually had was trimmed and a bit more proper. But the god still had the same crows feet in the corners of his eyes, the smile lines on the sides of his mouth, and the sunspots and freckles both his sons inherited.

“Father,” Percy said carefully. He was always a bit confused on how he should feel towards the god. On one hand, he was his father. His ichor flowed through his veins and gave him powers and life he has. But, he gave him this life. One full of pain and sorrow, lost friends and family, cursed the moment he drew first breath. What was the meaning of all his magical strengths if he could not use it to save the ones he loves most?

The god didn’t say anything at first, simply pulled a little gift out of his many pockets and handed it over. It was a sand dollar. White and a little lopsided, and a hole where he could string it along his camp necklace. “I wanted to give you this for your birthday.”

“Thank you,” he said, “But why?”

“You will need it next year. It is better to be overly prepared than not at all,” Poseidon answered. Percy understood that. After living with Bruce for years, it was drilled in him to make sure he was prepared for anything and everything that could go wrong. But why then was his father here? Now? After everything that’s happened in the past few years, why did he choose to wait until the morning of Percy’s birthday to visit?

Seeing him when he was twelve was different, as was last Christmas break when they went to stop Atlas and find Artemis and Annabeth. He had gone to Olympus because it was part of the quest, he had seen his father there because he was on the council, but not once has Percy seen him just to see him.

Poseidon shifted his gaze from the school of fish to him. “You have something on your mind, what is it?”

“Jason’s birthday was two days ago.” He saw his father’s eyes closed as if the reminder hurt him. “Why don’t you see him? Why just me?”

“If I could go see him, Percy, I would. If I could see you more than I do now, I would, but the fates and the ancient laws forbid it,” The god straightened his posture. “If I could have saved your brother from his death, whisked him and you away to camp or to Atlantis with me, we would not be here having this conversation.”

“Why didn’t you save Jason?”

“You understand that we gods cannot be punished by the Styx for breaking the oath, correct?” Percy nodded. “Well, Styx still wanted me to understand the severity of it, to inflict whatever kind of punishment she could place against me, and that was to see my son die. To see you bear the fate of the world, to threaten you with the prophecy.”

“When he returned, I was…lost, which is difficult for a god to become,” He said. “I was elated that he was alive again, what father wouldn’t be? And it didn’t matter to me what he had done, what he is doing now, I care not for that. But I was worried that Hades would come and take him back, that he would be enraged at me for not saving me, for putting you in danger every summer.

“I was terrified of the guilt I would feel by seeing Jason in person.”

Percy stayed quiet. He felt like he was caught in the crossfire between his brother and father. The messenger between them like Hermes. He wanted to yell and get mad at his father for not visiting or helping Jason, helping him. But he knows that when it comes to them, their father is just as helpless as they are. He is forced to watch and rarely intervene, sitting upon his throne with his hand tied, as him and Jason and all his other children are put under duress.

“If I tell Jason who he is,” Percy began, “Will he get attacked? Would he…?”

“No.” Poseidon answered. “The waters that revived him made it so that he is both apart but separated from our world. He is still my son, the sea in still within him, but his scent has disappeared. He no longer attracts monsters.” He looked at Percy again. “And that means he is, and has never been, the child of the prophecy. The moirai destined your brother for this fate, and have placed this fate upon you.”

“So if I tell him, tell them all, nothing would change?”

“It will be as it should.” Poseidon faced Percy. His father’s hand was warm on his cheek, calloused from centuries wielding his trident, but soft as he ran his thumb over his cheekbone. “Happy birthday, Perseus. And remember, I am proud to call you and your brother, my son. Never forget that.”

In a blink, his father was gone. Lingering in the air was the salt and abalone and in his hands was the birthday present he gave him.

Chapter Text

It was June first. The summer had officially began. And while Gotham prep didn’t officially let out until June sixth, Bruce was able to pull some strings to have him leave early. The camp and Percy needed as much training as they could get before his birthday in two and a half months. Any and all campers they had and-or found began their training as soon as they could, the camp itself was set up with traps and defenses. The entrance to the labyrinth was guarded and trapped to all hell should Kronos’s forces try to enter though there again.

All cabin leaders surrounded the ping pong table. The snacks were out like they always were and not one touched them. Clarisse and Annabeth sat next to each other, pencils and drafting paper in hand as they came up with various plans to use in the up coming battle. Beckendorf was finding with a miniature trebuchet, Travis beside him rambling about all the different ammunition they could use while Connor was talking to Pollux and Katie about the hypotheticals of using their plants like Poison Ivy. As well if they could used like that.

The only one who wasn’t in a conversation with anyone was Selina. She was quiet, staring at the can of cheese whiz with a faraway look, fiddling with a charm on her bracelet.

When Percy sat down, they began to plan for the fight. Strategies, alternate routes, contingencies. If Percy closed his eyes, he could pretend he was listing in on coms in the Batcave or a mission for the League. It was so familiar to him, the paranoia and a fight, the planning a head and taking everything into consideration, that for once, Percy was leading the charge. He brought up the ‘what ifs,’ he countered their propositions. He knew it was making Annabeth a little annoyed, but he also knew that she liked the challenges he was giving her, forcing her to rethink and reanalyze. She was having fun.

“We also need to up the training,” Clarisse pointed out.

“More? We already have them training in two hour blocks,” Michael countered. “Any more than that we run the risk of exhaustion and muscle strain that could affect us later on.”

“Not with weapons, idiot! Hand-to-hand,” she clarified. “Not everyone at camp has magic weapons that return to them like Prissy does, and what if your cabin going to do when you all run out of arrows? If we supply everyone with a bare knowledge of hand to hand, with a small blade to accompany the training, we can keep everyone safer longer.”

Percy never thought about having everyone trained for melee, hand to hand at that. Maybe because they were already training close up? Swords and daggers with only bows and spears acting as mid and ranged weapons. Or maybe because he already was quite skilled at hand to hand that it never crossed his mind that those other than the Ares cabin and him could stand a change when it comes to a non-weapon fight.

“We can cut the already allotted time in half, the first hour still can be used for weapons, or maybe we push it back to the second half,” she suggested. “But I would like to have everyone, the littles especially, trained on how to fight with out a weapon for emergencies.”

Beckendorf looked up from the trebuchet. “You’re talking at least four classes a day, on top of that weapons.” She crossed her arms, head tilted back as if in challenge. “Your brother Felix is the only other person in camp whose good enough to teach hand to hand, but he sucks ass with a sword.”

“I know that,” she said. “And he’s doing one on one with Kenny the whole time we’re in block.” She ran her hand through her hair, retying her ponytail.

“And you can’t do all four classes, because, again, you’ll be out for the count the closer we get,” Michael said.

They were quiet. “Percy can help.” Everyone’s head shifted back and forth between him and Annabeth. He wished he hadn’t told her about his family. “He’s pretty good at hand to hand, I’ve seen him fight and you know he can hold his own.” Clarisse looked away from Annabeth to him. “Percy can take half and you can take the other.”

A Part of him didn’t want to train others. His own training is very specific and tailor made by Batman, and was better than any of the campers would believe. Percy also knew that if he did it, everyone at camp would be suspicious. Where and when did he learn to fight like that? Who taught him those moves? But he looked at Clarisse, the daughter of Ares whose been a frenemy since day one, and relented.

Batman’s mission, the mission he follows though he isn’t one of them, was to protect those who could not protect themselves. Red Hood’s mission, his brother’s mission that Percy follows to heart, was to protect the children. To save them from the bad that had happened to them. Percy remembers being a kid and scrambling against a man much bigger than him, dirty and soaking wet, hungry and alone while Jason was gone. How helpless he was in defending himself.

He doesn’t want that for anyone else.

“I’ll help.” Clarisse gave him a rare smile. “Just let me know if you wanna have everyone start or finish with it and I can help come up with a regimen to follow. Assuming everyone is just barely starting, the two months will at least give us a good chunk of time to teach how to properly do a right hook.”

“I wanna spar before that, need to see if you’ve kept up your game, Prissy,” Clarisse challenged.

This time, Percy lifted his hand behind his head and smirked. “You just wanna get your ass kicked, but okay.”

Chapter Text

The winter after Bruce left was the coldest that Gotham had ever been. It was like the city was mourning it’s knight, keeping the worst away by freezing it in place until he could come back. And usually snow storms like this waited until at least January settle in. When it was in the middle of the season, the coldest it was going to be for the year, so that when spring came, it was greener and warmer.

This year, however, it blanketed over county right after thanksgiving. Artic air swept through the streets as a warning during the holiday, letting the homeless and less fortunate gather meager supplies they could or find shelter before the sleet and snow buried them.

Percy felt bad for the kids out there. The little toddlers and tweens shuffling in midcalf length snow, holding tight to the threadbare blankets and too big donation trash. All them huddling together in puppy piles for some semblance of warmth, their stomachs growling in tandem from days without food. He remembers his own times on the streets, thought not as vividly as Jason does, but he remembers the cold, the wet, and the miserable long nights in their crate.

He watched the trackers blink lazily on the screen. The green dot a few roof tops away from Dick’s Nightwing Blue™ one. It was still crazy to think that Dick was Batman now, that after years spent trying to remove himself from Bruce’s shadow, he had to go right back in. To take the burden that their dad carried for decades. He’s still mad at Dick for driving Tim out, for saying what he had. And he knows he’s apologized, but Tim is the one who deserves the apology, not Percy.

His eyebrows furrowed at the motion of Damian’s tracker, bouncing along the square of the building he was on in a way that showed it was a fight.

There was a part of him that wanted to join his brothers out on the streets, if only to be back up and to make sure they go home safe every night. To dress up in that tac-gear he and Alfred made for himself even though they know it does nothing since he still has the Achilles Curse, it was merely for show. But he knows that if he goes out with them, he’s not going to want to stay behind.

He’s gonna follow them on his own bike, racing through the streets, chasing them on roof tops and alleyways. Swinging between buildings with the grapple he knows how to use but has never once had to. Percy confined himself to the cave like a fish in a tank. Viewing the world through the glass he placed between them all those years ago.

And it made sense back then, it made perfect sense. Each day was spent fighting back monsters during lunch and after school. Afternoons were lost reading over collections of stories from his world, inverting the colors on the tablets and laptops so he didn’t get a headache too fast. Patrol did not mean leaving the cave, it meant scrubbing up to learn how to stitch flesh and wrap burns, settling bones and retrieving bullets. Weekends were studying the differences between the different variations of joker toxin, fear gas, and Ivy’s pollen. Synthesizing new antidotes and testing old ones.

Summers were spent training for war.

But now that it’s all over, now that Percy can breathe knowing the fate of the worlds wasn’t in his hands.

And yet, here he was, watching as his little brother and big brother fight crime and circle the city to keep it safe while he was in a cage of his own volition. But it wasn’t like he wasn’t needed in the cave. When Barbara couldn’t be on coms, he stepped up and took over. He was the only medic in the family when Alfred wasn’t here and Leslie’s clinic was too far away from the auxiliary cave to be of help. His job was to be background support, to oversee from the sidelines, to step in only when things get dire.

“-zoa, come in, Syphozoa, do you copy?” Dick’s voice brought him back to reality. Whatever thoughts he had pushed to the side as he slid into his Bat mindset.

“Responding, Batman,” Percy’s hands were on autopilot as he brought up the vitals and coordinates of his brothers. “Report.”

“Prepare medical, Robin down, unresponsive, ETA twenty.”

“Any prominent injuries?”

“Possible concussion, six inch wound on left upper extremity, four inch on lower right.” He switched to the headset so that he could prepare the med bay. “Interaction took place at the harbor, Robin took a swim.” Shit. “Estimated seven feet below sea level when I arrived, unknown time spent under.” Double shit.

“Medical prepped and on standby, proceed with patient.”

“Copy. ETA five.”

He flipped the mic out of his face as he wiped the examination bed clean. Percy knows it’s clean, he disinfects it every day even if it wasn’t used. Alfred drilled into him to keep his area spotless and tidy, especially in the med bay were contamination could mean illness or a virus spreading. And on extreme cases, death.

The roar of the batmobile’s engine made him rush out of the room. It screeched to a stop on the loading deck, rear end, spinning out and tires rubbing against the metal. But Dick climbed out of the car quick, Damian limp in his arms. They beelined for Percy’s domain and once Damian was laid on the table, Dick backed off. He had been the recipient of Percy’s ire when he tried to interfere as he sewn up Harper’s shoulder, trying to tell him own to close the wound. He stopped after that.

“Remove his outer layers while I get the wipes.” Percy ordered and dug for the wound cleaning wipes. He tried not to use those as often since they make more of a mess on small wounds, but they’re great at cleaning up the mass amount blood around the area. Depending on how deep the cuts were, he might need them.

The clatter of Robin’s chest plate hit the floor behind Dick as he undid the clasps and zippers and latches that made up the closers on Damian’s suit. Percy’s gonna have to talk to him about how many there. He understands that the kid doesn’t want his uniform to fall off and to protect his identity, but Percy can’t do his job if it take twenty minutes to remove his tunic.

Percy pushed Dick away, placing his hand over Damian’s chest. He hasn’t tried this yet since he had only thought of it when he came back home. And he wasn’t sure he could even do it in the first place, it was a theory based on a hypothetical question Jason asked months ago.

“What are you doing?” Dick asked after to tossed the tunic outside.

“Shh,” Percy furrowed his eyebrows.

“Percy—”

“Shut up! I need to concentrate.” He channeled the feeling of the saltwater in the harbor, the sludgy and waste bin of various toxins and whatever else. There was that feeling in his stomach. The weight in his abdomen near his navel that tugged him forwards ever so slightly.

Beneath his fingers he could feel the water in Damian’s lungs still. The swallows of the contaminated water that had yet to leave him when Dick brought him out of the water. In his head he can see them, small palm sized orbs gathering in each lobe. Percy had to be careful—extremely careful. He had to pull the water that did not belong but not the water that did. He couldn’t touch the natural moisture within Damian’s body, just the excess.

Slowly began to move his hands upwards, up the path of his esophagus. He felt it combine in the junction between Damian’s lungs, it was bigger than he thought it was, but he continued. Distantly, he saw Dick follow his hand, confused and amazed at whatever Percy was doing. The bubble pressed against the skin of Damian’s throat, a too big bulge of water that shouldn’t be there.

Percy sighed in relief when it floated out of Damian’s mouth, swirling innocently above the still unconscious boy. “Gods, that was like surgery.”

“What was that? What’d you do?” Dick turned to Percy as he flung the water bubble to the sink.

“I got the bay water out of his lungs so he doesn’t get pneumonia,” Percy stated, “Now I can work on stitching the other wounds and bringing up his body temp. Can you take his suit out of here and clean the mess up?”

Dick looked at the pile of wet clothes, the puddle of murky water staining the white tiles of the room. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll do that, but—” He looked a his little brother who had finished the second stitch on Damian’s arm. “Did you know you could do that?”

“Would I be in trouble if I said that that was my first time?”

“Yes because you could’ve put Damian in danger if you didn’t know what you were doing.”

“Then yes, I have done it before,” He lied. “Now get out, let me do my job.”

Chapter Text

Damian eyed the blonde girl with a scowl. Who was she and why was she so familiar with his brother? She held no visible weapons on her and helped herself like a warrior, much like Percy. But it was different, more guarded, ready to attack at a moment’s notice, much like him.

Maybe it was her eyes. Startling, inhumanely gray that pierced right through him. he could tell that she was analyzing him just as he was analyzing her. Deciphering the other to know if they were a threat, a thing of harm to subdue and end to protect those they care about.

“Beth!” Perseus smiled and brought the harlot closer for a hug. his brother’s mood lighted in her presence, literally. The air felt fresher and a lot more comfortable compared to the stuffy humidity of autumn in Gotham.

“Percy, hey,” she pressed a kiss on his cheek, pulling his hand in hers. “Who’d you bring with you?”

“Annabeth, meet Damian, he’s my little brother.” Her expression widened with surprise before a smile stretched across her lips. it wasn’t the sickly sweet one she used towards Percy, the one that showed she was infatuated with him and loved that he was near. This was polite and hopeful. Excited to interact and get to know him because he was dear to Percy. “Damian, this is Annabeth. My girlfriend and a daughter of Athena, so be careful. She’s stronger than she looks.”

Had he said that because he knew what was going through his head? Had Percy taken one look at Damian and just knew that he was apprehensive of her, but not so much because Percy trusted her.

“Nice to meet you,” She extended her hand to him in greeting, face free of any misconceptions and opinions that would indicate her learning of him before their meeting. Her hand was calloused like Percy’s, like Damian’s. Thicker on the tops of her palms and the last section of her fingers. Extra padding that came from years and years of training.

“And you, as well.” He answered with his own polite nod of his head.

Percy stood next to the two, mirth and joy on his features. He took both of their hands in his, squeezing them tight, “C’mon, let’s go have some fun.”

Damian had never been to a “fair,” and he’d rather not to Joker’s Fun-land. (Even though native gothamites declared that it was safe to go to during the day, Damian did not trust it.) He’s heard of them before. Jason would tell him about them when they were in the league. Incandescent lights and sugary sweets, hay-covered floors, and rigged games. Laughter and music and slightly questionable rides that creaked a little bit more than they should.

Weekend nights running up and down the lines of the stalls, playing the games, and winning prizes. Dick outperforming the acrobats and dancers, Bruce cheating at the bottle toss, and Alfred with the BB-gun shooter games. Jason always said he and Percy were always good at bobbing for apples or catching the goldfish games, how they could stay under the water a little bit longer than they should and the fish just wanted to be caught by them. it wasn’t until they figured out who they were that they realized they were cheating.

Damian listened to Percy and Annabeth talk beside him. His brother’s hand never once let go of him while the other talked animatedly with Annabeth. Something about a stuffed bear being held hostage in the camp they frequented and how Percy couldn’t cheat at the water games while they were here.

he felt like a third wheel next to them. The annoying little brother who imposed on a date that should’ve just been them two alone. Who kept things awkward when they tried to do things. Perhaps Damian should’ve stayed home. Remained alone in his room while the others ventured on patrol, leaving him behind. They would’ve interacted with him when they came back, and Perseus might’ve brought him something back. He would’ve been grateful that Perseus would have even thought of him at all while with his significant other.

But Perseus gave his hand a tighter squeeze, tugging him closer to him, and motioned for the tilt-a-whirl ride. He sat between them, metal bar over their laps to keep them from flying out. And when the ride began, he couldn’t help the smile that etched its way across his face the more the ride spun.

After the ride, they went on more. A flying chair ride, a death drop, and the Ferris wheel thought they were saving that for the end.

Each game was fun in its own right, and Damian could confidently say he was the best child who played the balloon-dart game. He didn’t have to try too hard to hit them either, neither did Percy. And Annabeth was the best at the trivia stalls, beating the high scores and setting an impossible record.

“Look a photo booth, let’s take some pictures, yeah?” Annabeth dragged Percy and him along, which Damian found surprising. Wouldn’t she have wanted just Percy to join her? Surely, she wanted a strip of just them two to commemorate the moment. But no, she placed him right between the two of them again, smiling brightly when the prompts appeared on the screen.

“I’m keeping them, and you can’t argue with me, seaweed brain,” she took the strip from his hand.

“What? No! That isn’t fair!” he tried to snatch it from her.

“Yes it is, but I might let you make a copy if you buy me and Damian a funnel cake?” Annabeth bargained, pulling Damian to her side. “c’mon, you really wouldn’t keep him from having his first-ever funnel cake?”

“What is funnel cake?” Damian furrowed his brows and turned to both Annabeth and Percy. “Is it some kind of confectionery?”

“Now that’s unfair, I was going to get him one anyway,” he pointed a finger at her.

“With strawberries and chocolate drizzle and whipped cream and everything?” She tilted her voice, gray eyes begging him to comply with her wishes. And for a moment, Damian thought that Percy would say no. With the way his arms crossed and lips turned into a pout, Annabeth gave him a nudge and a pointed look, and Damian knew just exactly what she wanted him to do.

Damian jutted his bottom lip out a little and upturned his eyebrows, hitting Percy with the same kind of pleading look Annabeth had. Only, hers looked like an owlette. Big eyes, wide and unblinking and curious.

“Wha-you can’t! Don’t team up against me!’ Percy shouted, but there was no anger in his voice. His ‘frown’ wasn’t a frown when he spoke, the corners of his mouth twitching up. He wanted to stay upset, but he couldn’t. Not when it was Annabeth and Damian he was losing against. “ugh, fine!” Annabeth smiled widely, a victorious glint in her eyes when she looked at him. “But you guys better score us a good table, I don’t want you guys to drop it if you’re trying to eat it and walk.”

With that, he walked off, towards the food booths, the line for the funnel cakes the longest. “As if he doesn’t have the money to buy more,” Annabeth scoffed, but still, she smiled and gestured to the open seating around them. “C’mon, let’s find a table.”

They sat for a bit, two pairs of intelligent eyes scanning the area around them for danger. “What do you like to do, Damian?” Annabeth looked at him. He was never one for small talk, the needless use of a conversation to fill awkward silence. But there was no awkwardness between them two, no tense energy radiating off Annabeth as she sat beside him.

“Training,” he answers. “I am to be my father’s heir, the next Batman. i must become the best of all my siblings to prove to my father who the best candidate is.”

“I get that,” she said. “But that doesn’t answer my question; what do you like to do? Music? Sports? Art? Or do you like books like Jason?”

“Art, I suppose.” Damian shrugged his shoulders, responding as if it was a truthful answer, but it was. He loved to draw. To pause life as he saw it on paper for others to see. It was one of the few things his mother allowed him to do that wasn’t violent, but even then it was short and fleeting. His pieces were hidden beneath floorboards and rolled under roof tiles, the supplies thrown out the window the moment she believed Ra’s had a suspicion.

Damian didn’t know if his father would allow him that luxury, the pleasure he had when painting. How simple and easy it was for the world to fade away around him, living for only each stroke of paint on the canvas.

“That’s cool, Percy and I have this friend, Rachel, she’s an artist too. she’s also the oracle, so her stuff always has this dejavu, realism to it and it’s breathtaking each time,” Annabeth replies. “I’d bet you make some really good stuff one day, I can’t wait to see when you do.’

“Yeah! Percy has told me about you when we got home after the war,” she smiled at him. ‘he was so excited after you guys made up that he was gonna have a little brother, well, another little brother. He loves Tyson, but he’s always down in the forges with his father, so he has you now and he’s so pumped about it.”

“Truly?”

“Of course! And, if I was being honest, I think you and I’ll get along better than the others.”

“Why do you say that?”

She leaned in closer as if her next words were a secret, “Because you’re not scared to use your status as Percy’s little brother against him. I use my position as his girlfriend for my benefit all the time.”

“How so?” Damian cocked his head to the side.

“He’s buying us funnel cake, and we’re sitting waiting for him,” She said smugly.

“Oh, I see,” Damian nodded his head. “You’re using him as your servant and bank.”

“See,” Annabeth ruffled his hair, he found he didn’t mind it. “I knew I’d like you. Now, let’s have you try funnel cake for the first time.” Not like when his other brothers or Stephanie do so. Their hands would disrupt their hair and push his head down, hurting him by digging their palms into his head. When Annabeth did it, she merely scratched at his scalp and combed his hair back into place from where it had gone awry in their time at the fair.

“Alright!” Percy set the food down, which was a lot more than just a funnel cake. “Damian-” He gave him a plastic fork. “Dig in!”

Chapter Text

Gods do not cry.

Crying is only for mortals, for those whose hearts wretch themselves in anguish and pain. Who bleed red and sweat salt, whose bodies that are both easy to break but can withstand tremendous torment. Who’s skin sags with age and wrinkles with time till it crumbles, unable to continue.

Crying is for the mortals whose emotions could not be held within themselves and had to be expelled in some way. The gods do not cry for they do not experience the heartache that mortals do, they are above that.

The last time a god had shed a tear, Triton had sunk the city of Atlantis due to the death of his daughter. Murdered by a young goddess who was a sister to her and another daughter to him, who had grown up in the safety and care that could only be provided by an ocean deity. A young goddess that did not cry when her spear pierced the other and she took her name upon her last breath.

The last time a god had shed a tear, Apollo had scorched the earth at the death of his lover. A young mortal man who had enraptured the god so truly that it seemed the fates had woven their strings together, but had fallen at the hands of the sun god. Impaled by the disk he threw and immortalized as a flower from the blood that was spilled.

And Poseidon loves his children, more so than any of the other gods should, but he’s never cried for his children. Yes, he felt upset and saddened when each of them passed. The monsters and demigods alike twanged his heart when they were slain, all loved by him in their own, special way.

But then Jason died, and he’s never loved his children more than he loves Jason and Percy.

So when he’s helpless against his son’s death, held back by the divine chains of the fates, the fiery explosion that buried his son beneath concrete and metal, Poseidon couldn’t help the feeling in his chest. The hollowness that came with the utter wrongness that was Jason not being alive, of not feeling the ocean and ichor he bestowed his child thrum with life, was not something he expected to hurt as much.

It consumed him. Writhing within his chest where a mortal’s heart would be. Aching, throbbing, and painful in a way that flesh wounds could never replicate.

The feeling burned behind his eyes, stinging in the corners. As if he were being pierced by a fine needle from within. His breath ragged with every breath he did not need, chest feeling heavy with the weight of his dead son buried beneath him. How did mortal parents handle this? How were they able to ignore the thought, the pain of burying their flesh and blood?

Poseidon looked at the gravestone before him. Wet and slick from the rain he caused, perfectly straight and carved with ultimate precision, marking the site of where his second youngest lay beneath the ground. His son’s name was written on the front. The time between his birth and now, which was far too short, dug guilt within Poseidon’s very being. It brought back that stinging within his eyes.

He had done this.

He had caused his son’s death.

Poseidon loved him so much, loved his brother and his mother, but he had placed this terrible fate on him and Percy. A fate he wished was never made, one he wished the fates never wrote, but he loved his children far too much to never wish for their non-existence.

“My son, I’m sorry,” He whispered to the body hidden in the earth. “I did this to you. I can never forgive myself for what I’ve done, and I wish I could have seen you one last time. Jason, my darling boy, I am sorry.”

He collapsed to his knees at the foot of the grave. Mud soaking his shorts and his clothes sagging from the rain, but he did not care. How could he? His child, his baby, was dead.

A sob wrenched itself from that ache in his chest and roared in time with the thunder in the storm around him. His despair was almost tangible, it rolled off the sea god like the waves he controlled. His cries reflected the crashes of the water against the harbor. And it is from this anguish that a singular tear sprung from his eye.

It was small. Tiny, and pearlescent, but filled with divine power like no other. It glowed in the dark, a minuscule light among the rampaging howls of the wind and slamming of the rain’s heavy falls. Compared to the world around him, the tear made no sound as it rolled down his face and hit the tilled dirt of Jason’s grave.

Poseidon stopped his wallowing, the hollow feeling within him flickering like a flame in the wind. It was there, but it was not. As if the magic that connected him to Jason was trying to decide if his son was alive or not. Which wasn’t possible. His son had been dead for days, the explosion occurring two days ago.

But there—the faintest of warmth. Of a mortal heart beating once again. Of blood and ichor and ocean running slowly through cold veins, heating a body that had gone still.

Could it be? Has Jason…?

He leaned over the dirt, straining his ears to listen below, to hear the beat, however slow, of his son’s heart. Thump…thump, thump, but it was too deep, too wooden and hollow to be Jason’s heart. It was more like the lid of the—

Poseidon dug his hands into the dirt and removed handfuls of it. It got trapped beneath his fingernails, stained his clothes, lodged in his hair, and made a mess of the graveyard around them. He did not care. How could he? Jason was alive under six feet of dirt, trapped in a wooden casket where his oxygen was slowly diminishing.

Jason was alive.

Dressed in his burial suit and his hair springing back to life under the touch of rain, Poseidon held Jason tight to his chest when he finally freed him. He was cold. His body had still yet to be back to what it was supposed to be, and his eyes and mind were blank. His son’s blue eyes showed no sign of consciousness or self. That could be fixed later, his son’s mind could return to him when it was needed, when his body deemed itself alive enough to regain himself once more.

His brother, Hades, has surely noticed his absence in his realm. The number of souls within the earth is reduced by one and the occupants of Elysium missing its newest resident. Soon, his brother would be here to correct this transgression, to remove his son from his arms, and place him back into the safety and security of the afterlife. Hades had always been fond of him and his children, the benefits of being close with one another, and would ensure Jason’s safe travel to paradise.

But he didn’t want his son to go there, he had been returned to him and Poseidon was not about to let him go this easily.

He had to hide Jason. Place him somewhere his brothers nor other pantheons would find him. Where its magic consumed everything and kept everything out. But if he should place his son there, in his sight but beyond his powers, his son would never return the same. The whispers of death and corruption in the very stones that built such a place will eventually poison Jason’s mind, and invade his senses till all he saw was that acidic, unnatural green.

And yet, despite every fiber of his divine being telling him not to, Poseidon knows that this is what the fates have chosen for his son. Short bursts, small visions of the near future flashed within his head, of Jason grown to his full potential. Tall and strong, looking more like him than his mother, but with eyes too green to be the blue he once had. Moments where his son scowled instead of smiled and his hands dripped with the same red as the clothes he wore.

Poseidon also saw another being there with him, a small child just barely able to walk and could hardly speak his own name. A mere babe with green eyes like his Percy and black hair like his children that would keep his son’s mind from drowning too far into the death water that ran in the child’s blood. A little boy belonging to the lover of Jason’s mortal father.

Truth be told, Poseidon did not care much for the mortal that had taken in his sons. He was grateful the man brought his children into his home and made them feel loved. Provided them with a warm bed and plenty of food to eat, gave them all they wished for, and more. But the man himself, Poseidon did not care for at all. The only reason the god hadn’t killed the mortal after Jason’s death was because Percy was still under his mortal guardian’s care, and he did not want his youngest to return to the streets he once lived in.

In the blink of an eye, Poseidon found himself in the room of a high-luxury hotel room in the skies above Dubai. The metropolis glistering with thousands of electric lights and speeding cars, a false night sky placed precariously on earth. Poseidon much preferred the true stars in the heavens above and the iridescent lights in his realm below.

The woman before him looked much like the babe he saw, with straight black hair and skin the color of the Arabian sands. Green eyes parted by a strong hooked nose and glaring at him when he appeared in her room, her hands holding twin blades that must’ve always been on her.

“Heal him, then return him to the Bat,” Poseidon said simply. “Should any harm befall him, death will be a mercy you will not be granted.” Talia didn’t speak, only nodded her head, silenced by the divinity of the father and son mere feet in front of her.

Leaving Jason would be difficult, especially after having returned for less than an hour, but this was the only way. Poseidon can keep him safe with them, can keep him alive with them, and that is all he wants.

He places a blessing on his son, one that will ensure the awakening of the powers never once had the chance to use. A promise that the water, no matter where, will always heal and help him. That as long Poseidon is in power, and as long as ichor flows in the gods’ veins, Jason will forever be protected by him. Even when it doesn’t seem like it, when the years apart feel as if he does not care, Poseidon will do all that he can for them.

For he’s never loved any child as much as he loves Jason and Perseus, and Poseidon loves them very much.

Chapter Text

Jason wasn’t one to get jealous, especially about his little brother. And one could say he was being slightly overprotective of his as well, leaning a bit too much into the learned behaviors he picked up from Bruce. The need to sit this stranger on the other side of a table, and press her for any and all information he deems important. Her family situation, her motives. Any threats that could go after Percy to get to her? What’s her blood type, her godly parent? Does Jason need to worry about getting smote if he presses too hard?

Probably, but to their world, he doesn’t exist. He’s technically dead.

And, just because Tim knows and trusts her, doesn’t mean he does. He still doesn’t like Tim all that much. Yeah, sure, they’re not gunning for each other anymore, and they can work together to make sure Percy isn’t being targeted by monsters as much. But Jason still doesn’t like that Tim stole Robin from him (even though Percy also stole the title as well, but what Jason doesn’t know won’t hurt him.)

Either way, Jason sat cross-armed in one of the formal sitting rooms as his little brother and Bruce went and retrieved the girl. Dick was catching up with Stephanie on the other couch, talking animatedly about something Jason could care less about. Tim was giving Cassandra a short intro about the girl before they got there. Trays of tea and snacks in their hands, the lemon loaf looking two slices too short of full.

He doesn’t know how Tim could trust this girl so easily. They’re only spoken through the magic video call, never in person, but he talks of her as if they were best friends. As if Tim was just as close to her as Percy was, which didn’t make any sense. They’ve only known each other for roughly a year. So unless they’re talking with just them, without Percy, then Jason doesn’t trust her all.

He knows his brother likes this girl, even if he doesn’t realize that he likes her. Jason can tell by the way Percy talks about her. The way his brother smiles and flushes when he gets a little too animated about her, especially when his face hers beet-red when they question his feelings for her. How he vehemently protests the idea of liking her as anything more than a friend, that she’s just his “best friend.”

“If you keep glaring like that, you’ll set Alfred’s favorite couch on fire, " Tim sat on one of the love seats near them.

“Shut up.” Jason spat but did not stop glowering at the poor furniture.

“What’s got your panties in a twist?” Tim kept talking, uncaring of the stink eye sent his way. “Is it Annabeth? I swear she’s nice, a little blunt, but it’s not so bad.”

“I’ll decide if she’s ‘not so bad’ myself,” he said and stood up, needing to move around. “But I don’t understand why he had to tell her about the family business. How can he just trust her with that so easily?”

“She’s saved his life?” Cass questioned. “Multiple times? And Percy trusts her, that’s enough for me.”

Of course, Cassandra would trust Percy blindly. She was able to tell right off the bat if Annabeth was good based on their brother. Percy was smart and his intuition was sharp, he knew to stay away from bad people even when they hadn’t done anything bad yet. He wouldn’t make Annabeth his best friend if she was, and he wouldn’t be advocating for them to meet her.

Also, if they were good friends, and if Percy does like her a lot (no matter what he says) how does Jason know she’s good enough for his brother?

God, (or is it gods, plural now?) he feels like a dweeb doing something a normal older brother would care about. Jason knows Dick has to integrate Kon when Tim finally told them they were seeing each other. (Officially, because everyone knew they were already together before that.) And whenever Cass or Steph decide to date—and if the relationship is serious enough to introduce the potential partner to the family—Dick and Jason, even Tim and Percy, would integrate that poor sap. Maybe even threaten them, who knows?

“You just want to give the girl a shovel talk, little wing,” Dick grabbed a scone.

“As if you don’t, Dickwing,” he said, but the oldest just shrugged his shoulders before jumping into whatever conversation Steph and Tim were having.

So what if he wanted to shovel-talk a fifteen-year-old girl? Jason just wanted to make sure his brother was gonna get his heart broken. Lord knows it’s already been broken so many times before, he just doesn’t want that for him. Especially if Percy really likes her. Jason’s had his fair share of heartaches and bad breakups and he’d rather not have Percy go through that. Even though it’s a normal experience that everyone goes through at least once in their lives, Jason doesn’t want it to be so close to when they’re fighting their titan of a grandfather in less than a year.

Muffled voices cut his brooding short. Annabeth stood by Percy’s side, gold coils pulled into a messy updo and she was wearing a Delphi Strawberry t-shirt. She had a matching beaded necklace like Percy’s, only she had a few more beads and a college ring hanging from the leather strap. She took a few hesitant steps into the room and she realized how many people were waiting to meet her. Grey eyes scanned the room, analyzing everyone and everything within it. Just like they all do. She relaxed when she saw Tim, giving a small wave to the other middle child.

Annabeth was tall for a fifteen-year-old, easily five-foot-nine with room to grow. A perk from having a goddess for a parent, it seemed. And besides Percy and him, Annabeth was the only one with a healthy tan. “Guys, this is Annabeth,” Percy said once Alfred joined the group and a sheepish smile spread across her face when she turned to them, “Hello, it’s nice to meet you all.”

Conversation flowed easily after the awkward introductions, aided by both Tim and Percy. Bruce picked her brain about architecture and she exploded with information. Spewing formulas and dates and words Jason didn’t know. Like, what the fuck is a ‘spandrel?’ Somehow, the topic of the architecture of the manor shifted to talking about the Hall of Justice in Metropolis and how/what changes she’d make. Ways to make it feel welcoming and how it could still be used as a base of operations.

About how to improve the overall structure and how to ensure that it can withstand Superman and his “disregard for public buildings. Like, does he really have to use a main support pillar in a building to stop a villain? What about all the people inside the collapsing building, the people on the ground? They’re now all at risk because he likes to make unnecessary collateral damage.”

Jason can’t argue with her about that one, he wonders about that, too. This was why Wonder Woman is his favorite.

“So, you’re a demigod? Who’s your godly parent? Did I say that right?” Stephanie asked her. “Like, do you have powers like Percy, or did you get the short end of the magic stick?”

“my mother is the goddess Athena, so while she didn’t pass on any magic to me, I am good at battle strategy and war games and the loom,” She answered. “And, yes, I know she’s a maiden goddess. I was born like her, a meeting of great minds and delivered in a golden basket—But! I do have a baseball hat that can make me invisible! My mother gave it to me.”

“You can fight,” Cassandra tilted her head to the side, her eyes clocking the way she moved in her chair. Even as she was sitting, cross-legged and politely in the seat next to Percy, Jason could tell, too. She was trying to move with the grace of a lady, full of poise and elegance that she was never taught when everything inside her was telling her otherwise.

Her hands shook when she tried to lift the tea cup and saucer without spilling. Never mind the hesitation to drink it. Alfred’s tea was delicious, so that must mean that she was just not a fan of the drink, or she wasn’t used to drinking it so fancily. But, like his sister, Jason can see the guard that she never let down, even in the safety of the manor. The muscle that was hidden beneath the sleeves of her shirt and the dagger in her boots.

This chick was always prepared for a fight and Jason can respect that. He has his own knives tucked on him as well.

“I have to.” She answered. “Demigods are hunted down by monsters every day of our lives; if I can’t fight, I’m dead.”

“How good are you?” Were the first words Jason had spoken to her since she arrived.

“I like to think I’m decent, but then again, we’re all self-trained and the oldest of us is barely seventeen.” She looked at him.

“Would you be willing to spar?” He asked, ignoring the pointed glares from his dad and brothers. What? He was curious. It wouldn’t do for his brother’s best friend to die because she couldn’t fight off her opponent. That way, if she needed, they could help train her, in which she could train the camp. And if she trains the camp, then it helps Percy in the fight against Kronos. It’s a win-win!

“You? Want to spar with me?” Annabeth blinked, looking to Percy and Tim for guidance. “why?”

“Yeah, Jay, why?” Percy narrowed his eyes.

“I wanna know how good she is, shit,” Jason held his hands up. “And don’t fuckin’ look at me like that just because all y’all are too chicken shit to ask her yourself!” He huffed. “Besides, it’s not like fighting isn’t how we fuckin’ bond with each other in this stupid family.”

Their silence confirmed his statement, which made him smug as he continued, “So, Blondie—” her Grey eyes hardened at the name. oh, he made her mad, that’s fun. “what’d’ya say?”

She turned to Percy, a silent conversation between them. Green eyes darted back and forth between him and Annabeth as if he were imagining who would win. kind of rude that his own brother doesn’t have any faith in him. And what makes him think he was going to go easy on her to make it fair? she’s a battle-harden child soldier like the rest of them, Jason can tell. This kid can throw hands, and throw them dirty. But Jason has a solid hundred pounds or so on her, as well as half a foot, so the odds were stacked in his favor.

“What happens if I win?” She turned away from whatever debate they had, Percy sighing in defeat.

“What’d’ya want?” He asked.

" a favor.”

“for what?”

“I’ll call for it when I need it.” Extortion. He likes it.

“Okay. Let’s go,” he jumped out of the chair he sat on and walked the way to the cave.

Ten minutes later, Jason has one foot on the mat before he is flipped and pinned down. She had her elbow pressed between his shoulder, her hand lifting his arm in an awkward angle that would hurt after a while. Her knee was against the small of his back, digging into the nerve and the edge of her boot pressing into the crook of his knee uncomfortably.

“What the fuck?!” Jason roared, face held against the mat. “Didn’t even give me a fuckin’ chance!”

“Isn’t that the point?” She said behind him. “That’s how we spar in camp.” Annabeth helped him there till Percy tapped the mat and declared Annabeth the winner. “And besides, in a brute strength match, as well as one where we both start at the same time, you would’ve won. My only chance was to catch you off guard with a takedown that uses your weight against you. Simple. Almost like fighting a cyclops.”

“Smart.” Dick chuckled. “i would’ve leg tackled him, then tried for a headlock, landing a few kidney kicks for good measure.”

Cassandra shook her head. “Black Widow leg headlock. Use their momentum to bring him down in the twist.”

“How does that work?” Annabeth climbed off of Jason. Without a word, Cassandra walked to where Bruce wasn’t paying attention, a tablet in his hands. A short jump onto his shoulders, legs wrapping around his neck, knocking him off balance in the first maneuver. While using the momentum, she swung herself to the front. he stumbled forward, and Cass lent back with all her weight, making him fall face down. Before she could get squashed beneath her dad, her right leg, which was on his leg shoulder, swung out and hooked under his right arm, pulling it back. Bruce collapsed with a groan, tablet pinned uncomfortably against his sternum and the floor, with Cass grinning on top of him.

“Cassandra, sweetie, excellent job on the takedown, but can you use one of your brothers as a demonstration next time?”

The other girls were in quiet awe before they ran up to her, asking to be taught the leg.

Jason rolled over, an unamused face to combat Percy and Dick’s smirks above him. He sat up and turned to where Annabeth spoke, “Oh, and I’ll call for that favor when I need it.” She grabbed Percy’s hand and dragged him over to where Stephanie was using Tim as her crash dummy. Jason did not want to be them right now.

“You got your ass beat by a fifteen-year-old.” Dick laughed beside him. Jason had no qualms against dick shots, so as he rose off the floor, he gave his older brother a hit to the crotch. Satisfied when Dick flinched forwards.

Jason supposed Annabeth was alright, he just feared what a daughter of Athena could have the Red Hood do for her.

Chapter Text

Three soft knocks at his door shook Tim out of his thoughts. He had been hunched over his laptop for the better part of forty-eight hours watching the penthouse footage of the day Percy decided to leave. He saw him leave his room in nothing but his Finding Nemo pats and the chunky yarn blanket Jason had in the manor library and walk outside in the falling snow. He knew Percy wasn’t able to feel much of anything since he had gotten dipped in the Styx but he didn’t think he would go so far to feel something.

“Drake? May I enter?” He whipped his head to the door. Was that Damian? Tim tried to stay clear of him since he came back, their last few interactions were less than savory and Tim didn’t have Percy nor Dick here to wrangle the kid away from him. But from what he could tell so far, Damian wasn’t like how he used to be. He was a bit more mindful of what he said, a bit more respectful to everyone.

“Um,” He took a quick look around. There were no easy-to-reach weapons in his room if Damian was here to hurt him. “Sure.”

Damian entered his room quietly, one hand holding a skateboard behind his back while the other closed the door once he walked in. Percy must’ve given Damian his hoodie before he left because it seemed like Damian never took it off, besides his school uniform. He didn’t step away from the door once he entered, respecting Tim’s space and waiting for him to begin the conversation. Who is this kid and where was Damian??

“Perseus told me that your skills when it came to skateboarding were exceptional,” Damian said. “I am to inquire if you could teach me how to skateboard as well.”

“You want me to teach you how to skate?” Tim let his confusion wash over his face. “Why?”

Damian hesitated before walking further than the threshold. The underside of the board he held was decorated in swatches of green and gold, swirling in ripples of waves that only Percy could see. Sparse pops of colors in the form of fish “swam” through the water, blending in and out of the paint and almost swimming out of the board itself. It was beautiful. A stark contrast to the scraped and rubbed raw designs on the bottom of both his and Percy’s board.

“Perseus said he would teach me, he got me this for Christmas, but he was already gone by then.” Damian didn’t meet his eyes, finding one of the wheels interesting as he spoke. “He referenced your skills often whenever I asked him about it, saying that you were the better of the two, despite him introducing it to you when you both were young.”

Tim couldn’t help but smile at the memories. They were probably Damian’s age when Percy first wrangled Tim into agreeing. Chunky knee and elbow pads, a slightly too large helmet, and gapped tooth smiles from missing baby teeth as they slowly rolled down the long Wayne Manor driveway. They spent hours just going up and down, not even turning, just down to the gate and back to the front door. Alfred chastised them when they finally came inside, their hands all cut up from the asphalt, but they went right back at it the next day.

He wanted to counter Damian’s statement and tell him that Percy was the better skater, but then he remembered the days spent at the skate park. Headphones in, the world turned out, and his frustration channeled in the kicks and tricks that lasted from sun up to sun down. The days after Percy lashed out at him for bringing Robin, the days Percy spent missing, the days Tim didn’t have his best friend. In those hours it wasn’t prodigy son Tim Drake, it wasn’t the third Robin, it was just Tim. Tim and his anger and his racing mind.

“I understand if you do not wish to teach me, I have done nothing to regain your trust and I apologize for my actions upon my arrival.” Damian looked up at him and Tim didn’t have it in him to stay mad at the kid for that, he wasn’t even mad about it anymore! He forgave Damian months ago because he knew the kid was brainwashed into doing it. He was upset that it was only Percy who defended him when the others could have stepped in as well. “But I was hoping that, by teaching me, perhaps the two of us could become brothers. Like how you and Perseus are brothers. I wish to have that with you as well in honor of Perseus.”

Tim remembers telling Percy back when they were kids how he wished he could be a big brother. He wanted a younger sibling to dote and tease and laugh and mock like how Percy and Jason were, someone to be his friend when Tim went back to Drake mansion. Someone to make the quiet nights not seem too quiet. Percy told him, too, that he wanted a little brother. Someone for him to care for and protect like how Jason did for him.

When Damian first arrived, Percy was on a quest but Tim was internally jumping for joy. Finally! Finally, he and Percy could be the brothers they wanted to be. He knew that Percy would take one look at the kid and claim him as one of their own, forcing Tim to fight back and give his own affection when Percy couldn’t.

Gently, Tim tugged Damian close to him and wrapped his arms around him. The hoodie he wore made the kid seem bigger than he was, swamping him in Percy’s extra-large jacket that could be wrapped around Damian five times over, but he was warm and small and fit nicely in his arms. Tim squeezed Damian tighter when he felt Damian grip his own jacket as if Tim would disappear like Percy if he let go.

“I’d love to teach you to skate.” Tim smiled, not wanting to let go of Damian too soon. “And who knows, maybe you’ll be better than him whenever he comes back.”

“You think I could?” Damian asked.

“I do, I really do.”

Chapter Text

They sat in the galley, stolen gold plates and goblets from camp passed around the small group of teens as they ate their food. It was quiet. Not suffocating or tense like it was when they first began their journey to the ancient lands, but a silence that was understood between them all. Where they didn’t need to talk to know how the others felt, the already knew.

Piper studied her siblings in arms. Traced every scar she could see on the exposed skin of their arms and faces, she wondered where they had gotten them from. Which ones came from their world and which ones didn’t. The slightly crooked fingers and noses, lopsided lips and clipped ears, slightly singed ends, and close-call scars hidden in the cropped sides of the boys’ hair. They all looked rough but somehow it enhanced their charm.

She didn’t want to be the stereotypical child of Aphrodite, commenting on people’s looks and appearances, but it was kind of hard when everyone in the room looked like models. Herself included, though she loathes to admit it. But of them all, Annabeth and Percy had the most pull to them.

It could be because of their experience being demigods, muscles and quick thinking from years of quests and battles making them look like they were blessed by her mother. And by that logic, Jason would have the same kind of attraction they had, but he didn’t. He was handsome, don’t get her wrong, but there was just something different about Percy and Annabeth.

Piper’s eyes followed the sharp lines of Percy’s profile, the look of it familiar. She had seen him before the quest. Before she found out he was a demigod. But from where? The same with Annabeth, she’d seen her somewhere before all of this. The gray of her eyes and the lithe figure of them both, surrounded by flashes of lights and decorated like high society.

She bit a forkful of her salad. “Hey, Percy,” she broke the silence, “What’s your last name?”

“Jackson. Why?” Her eyebrows furrowed. That didn’t sound right. She was sure it was something else, “Are you sure?”

His face twisted in confusion, “What do you mean ‘are you sure?’ Why would I not know my own last name?”

“Because I swear I’ve seen you and Annabeth before all of this.” She noticed the quick glance he made in the blonde’s direction, the other girls’ arms crossed as she worked her way through her grilled cheese.

“Maybe in a picture in the big house at camp, but I dunno.” Piper clocked the accent he spoke with, the tilt in his voice when vowels were too close, or the way the 'r's in a sentence rolled on his tongue. When she first heard him talk, she was sure it was a New York accent like Annabeth said he had. Why would Piper question it? But he wasn’t from New York, no, his accent was a Gotham one.

“Pipes, why you grilling him?” Leo asked, his hands a dirty mess of mechanical grime and birria, but she just ignored him. Piper leaned forward, head resting on her hands, and she wracked her brain for any information that would bring up his real origins. Once more she scanned him over, taking any little detail that she might’ve missed before—

There. On his beaded necklace. A signet ring.

A knowing smile etched on her face. Of course. How could she not see it before? Dark hair and colored eyes, a Gotham accent, the front cover of a teeny-bopper magazine.

“You’re a Wayne, aren’t you?” Percy dropped his burger on his plate, hands reaching up to cover his face. “I’m right, right? I knew it! My dad has been trying to get into a Wayne gala for years so he could talk to your brother about teaching him some gymnastic moves so he could land more roles. Why didn’t you say you were a Wayne?”

Leo turned to face Percy. “No way! Dude, I have so many ideas on how to make some Wayne tech demigod-friendly, like the W5 XL phone would be the perfect model to incorporate celestial bronze to keep the signal from alerting monsters. If I give you the blueprints, do you think you can give them to Mr Fox? His work is phenomenal! I bet he’s a son of Hephaestus, or like a legacy or something, that guy is too smart for a mortal!”

“Tell that to his brothers and sisters,” Annabeth said.

“You knew?” Piper turned to her.

“I’m his girlfriend, of course I knew.” She picked up the other half of her sandwich. “If he didn’t tell me after being together this long, we wouldn’t be together.”

“Really?” He lowered his hands. “You would leave me because I didn’t tell you I was a rich boy?”

“I thought you said you were a street rat and not a rich boy?”

“I haven’t been a street rat since I was like seven,” he leaned back in his seat, “I think I’ve lost that title since it’s gonna be a decade since I got adopted by Bruce.”

Leo turned to Jason beside him and clapped a hand on his back, “Sorry bro, but I think Percy being rich makes him better than you.” Jason simply gave him a deadpan look.

Piper ignored the side conversation they were having, keeping her attention to Percy. “Why don’t you tell people who you are?”

“I don' want people to kiss my ass or treat me differently because my dad is Bruce Wayne,” Percy said. “I already had that happen when they figured out my father was Poseidon, don’t wanna repeat all that. And besides, ‘Jackson’ is my last name, that’s what it was before I got adopted.”

“Why’d you change it, if you don’t’ mind me asking,” Hazel asked.

“My mom died when I was like three? Four? Then I got adopted by Catherine and her husband Willis, then he got thrown in prison and Od'ed, and then my brother and I got adopted by Bruce,” Percy answered. “Don’t ask for any other details, that’s all you’re getting.” He stood up and gathered his goblet and plate, dropping them in the dishwasher Leo installed in the kitchen. “I gotta go, it’s my shift for look out.”

Percy left them all in a state of shock with his history, though Annabeth was unfazed as she made her way through her second grilled cheese. Whatever it was Piper was expecting, it wasn’t that. She thought that maybe Percy was just a kid Bruce Wayne liked at the orphanage and took him home, another kid to fill the empty spot on the publicity shots and family portraits. Not that—that his mom died and the other overdosed.

Piper looked at Annabeth, her mouth a agape and eyes wide. But the girl simply shrugged and deposited her plate and cup where Percy had, “You asked,” and left the other five to their thoughts.

Leo blinked a few times as if his brain was rebooting before breaking in the momentary silence, “What. The fuck.”

Chapter Text

“You don’t have to go inside if you don’t want to,” Annabeth slid off Mrs O’leary’s back. Tim and Mr Wayne had returned to Gotham almost a week ago, and Annabeth was anxious to return. The last time she had been to the manor, it was the beginning of the school year when she got to spend time with Percy and Damian before Percy disappeared.

The last time Nico had been here, it was because Percy needed his brother’s blessing for the curse of Achilles. He couldn’t believe it then, and it was hard to believe it now. Nico always forgets that Percy was rich. And not rich like how Piper or Rachel were rich, but like, wealthy. This-family-built-this-city rich. And had Nico not accidentally shadow-traveled into the Batcave that one time, he’d be none the wiser that this was his family.

Nico stared up at the manor before them. Old wood and stone, older than many other buildings in the city. He could feel spirits inside. Staff and servants long past dead, Mr Wayne’s deceased family members walking through their home. Nico doesn’t want to freak Percy’s family out more than he has already by saying Mr Wayne’s parents follow them everywhere, or that they want Nico to pass on a message.

“I think I’ll stay out here with Mrs O’Leary,” Nico patted the dog’s side, stepping away from the building.

Annabeth nodded and told him not to get into any trouble before heading inside. For being Gotham, the weather was pretty nice. The summer heat hadn’t yet fallen over the city, and the spring humidity had left, making a brief, peaceful cool that held back the impending doom of summer ahead.

There was a part of him that didn’t like to keep Camp Jupiter a secret from them. A part of him felt guilty for keeping it a secret not only from Annabeth and Jason, but from Percy’s family, too. He’s seen them search tirelessly across the country and out of it as much as they could, but to no avail. He’s seen the hope slowly die out as time moved on.

But he can’t tell them about it. He doesn’t know why, he just can’t.

“di Angelo!” Nico sat up at the sound of his name. He had been lying on Mrs O’Leary while she napped in the large estate’s garden.

Standing on the patio was Damian, eyes wide and mouth agape. Nico had to admit that he kinda liked the kid. They shared the same type of dark, blunt humor. Both were interested in swords, and Nico finally had someone to play Mythomagic with again. (He’s still upset he burned most of his cards last summer. They were collector cards, too.)

The ten-year-old hardly paid Nico any attention, his gaze focused on the giant dog. “Oh, hey, Damian.”

“This dog is massive. Are they yours?” He asked, getting closer.

“This is Mrs O’Leary, she’s a hellhound,” Nico gave her side a scratch, making her wake up a little. “And, no, she’s not mine. She’s Percy’s.”

The air shifted when he said that. Damian’s excitement dwindled slightly, but he was in love with the large dog. His hand was slightly smaller than her nose, and Damian was quick to dive into her fur for a hug. And maybe Mrs O’Leary could smell Percy’s fading scent on the kid, or that Damian was important to the son of Poseidon, but she wasted no time bringing him closer. Trapping him under a paw and licking his hair out of the gelled style it usually was.

His laugh was contagious. A smile stretched across Nico’s face as Mrs O’Leary had a new victim to bathe. Damian questioned him about her. What breed was she? How much and what did she eat? How did Percy get her? Could she shrink so that Damian could take her inside? Nico answered them to the best of his abilities, chuckling when more was asked. Every answered question was replaced by another.

His smile dropped. Memories he wished he had forgotten resurfaced.

Damian was the same age Nico had been when Percy took him to camp.

Nico was a year older than Bianca had been when she joined the hunters when she died. He was closer to Percy’s age when they stormed the military school for them than he was to his sister’s.

The thought drowned whatever good feeling seeing Damian had brought. It was sad to realize that time moved too fast, that everything and nothing had changed. Nico was still running from his problems, keeping those he cares about at arm’s length away. All his secrets to himself. But at the same time, he acted his age when he hung out with Damian, he spent more time at both camps, and he had friends at both camps.

He forgave Percy for his sister, and now here he was. Bring a kid with his little brother.

“You wanna see something cool, Damian?” Nico asked.

“That depends,” Damian climbed atop Mrs O’Leary’s back, scratching at the fur beneath her collar. “Will I get in trouble and or hurt if I follow whatever it is you’re scheming?”

“Maybe, but I won’t know unless we go,” Nico looked up at him.

Damian thought for a moment. “Alright, I will join you.”

“Great,” Nico smiled and climbed in front of Damian. “Mrs O’Leary, take us home!”

The large dog stood up from her spot, barking in response to the command. After a stretch, she turned to the woods at the far side of the estate. Where the old canopies created shadows on the forest floor, dark and gloomy, and perfect conditions for travel.

All at once, she sprang into a sprint. Head first to the first shadowed tree she saw and in a blink the three of them disappeared.

Jason blinked from his spot on the patio, a plate of snacks falling to the floor as he tried to comprehend what he saw. “That was a huge fucking dog…” He bent to pick up the plate before he realized, “Damian was on that dog! Annabeth!”

He ran back inside, plate forgotten.