Chapter Text
Percy knew this day was coming. It had been circled in bright red ink on the January page on the calendar for months. It’s been spoken about with no nonsense voices that proved that it’s totally unavoidable. He glares at Jason’s neat, teacher-like handwriting on the calendar. ‘Percy’s introduction gala’, it reads. ‘Death by human interaction’, Percy interprets.
“Guppy. You have to eat your breakfast.” Bruce scolds, likely picking up on the still-full bowl of cereal in front of his youngest.
Percy looks over at the Cheerios floating in the milky sea. He swirls his spoon around, and the metal screeches against the fancy bowl. He isn’t sure he’ll ever get used to how fancy things are at the manor.
“Look-” Bruce is interrupted by Percy dragging his spoon yet again against the sides of the bowl. He knows he hates loud, shrieky noises, so he does it another time. “Stop that, please. Percy.”
Percy completely ignores him, eyes still locked on his bowl. The milk is sending the cereal spinning. He wonders if he can make a whirlpool if he stirs fast enough, like the one in the story Jason has been reading him, Charybdis. Percy doesn’t really like that part of the story. Couldn’t have Odysseus have gone around the big monster and the whirlpool? Couldn’t no one have died?
“Percy. Either you stop now and listen or I’m grounding you from the cave.” That one works.
“What?!”
“You heard me. No training, no assisting on patrol.”
“Fine.”
“Good. The gala starts at 6:30 so-”
“So I have to be ready by 5:45. I know. You’ve told me a bajillion times. Why do I need a recap? I’ve got this.”
“I’m just trying to remind you. Repetition is important for kids with ADHD, remember?” Percy rolls his eyes so hard they feel like they’re going to fall out of his head.
“I know.”
“And right now what is also important is that you eat all of your breakfast.” This comment backfires, sparking Percy to return to creating god awful screeches with the spoon and bowl.
“Percy…” Bruce warns. Another screech rings out in defiance. He sighs, moving off of his seat next to Percy’s to Jason’s empty one across from him. “This,” cue another screech, “is about Poison Ivy, isn’t it?”
“Yup.” Percy confirms before dragging his spoon around the china again.
“I’m sorry, but you can’t visit her, Percy. She’s an eco terrorist!” Ugh. Bruce had kept using that word like it actually meant something and wasn’t just the mildly unfortunate occupation of his friend.
Percy speeds up his spoon, enough that little drops of milk spray out. When he looks up, he can see a white droplet on Bruce’s nose.
“I don’t care. She’s my friend.” Percy says, maintaining eye contact before continuing on with his cleverly crafted torture.
“That’s it. I warned you, Percy. You’re grounded from the cave for a week. No sparring, no helping on missions, no designing your suit.”
“Are you kidding me?” The spoon drops from his hand, making a plunk.
“I said if you didn’t behave you would be grounded.” Percy stares up at those icy blue eyes, unshakeable.
“But the reason I’m not behaving is that you’re not listening to me! It’s bullshit!”
“Language.” That word, uttered in that posh, old movie voice is enough to send Percy’s already boiling temper through the roof.
“That’s what it is, B! I know you don’t want me hurt or whatever, but you need to listen to me. Listen to me!” The last sentence comes out a little too smoothly, like they were pushed from his mouth and not spoken. Bruce’s eyes glaze over, and he nods.
“Okay.”
“You’ll actually listen?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Um,” Percy’s eyes fall back to the counter. It’s hard to get the words out. Like, he wants to talk, but he can’t find the strength to. Something about it feels wrong. He would never talk to Gabe like this.
But this is Bruce. Bruce, who despite being emotionally constipated and a bit out of touch, is the closest thing Percy has ever had to a dad. That’s something sons do with their dads, right? Talk? Listen to each other?
“Ms. Ivy is my friend. She’s nice to me, a-and she cares about me. It doesn’t matter that she’s a ‘rogue’ or whatever, because she’d never hurt me. She told me so. She promised. You made that same promise, remember? That you’d never, ever hurt me? I-if you really meant that then you’d avoid hurting me this way too.”
Bruce is silent for a bit. Percy keeps his eyes fixed on the counter.
“I have an idea.” Percy perks up at this, meeting Bruce’s contemplative gaze. “I still think there’s a big risk, so I don’t think going back to the park is a good idea, but there is another way you can stay in touch. I will allow you to send letters back and forth. Is that okay?”
He listened. Bruce actually, really listened.
“Yeah, yeah! That’s great!” Percy stands and runs over to Bruce, hugging his neck. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
“Alright. Just, just eat your breakfast. And you’re still grounded, got it?”
“Fine,” Percy mumbles through a mouthful of cereal. It’s so soggy by now it’s practically inedible, but he shovels it in his mouth. He doesn’t have much time before he has to get ready for the gala, and it’s been six whole months, so he has a lot to tell Ms. Ivy.
“Jay, can we leave?” Percy asks, adjusting the tie that is currently strangling him like a silk python.
“Sorry man, we have three more hours of this.” Jason seems genuine enough, but it must be easy for him to say. He doesn’t stick out like a sore thumb like Percy does; Jason looks put together and, quite simply, rich. Percy took one look in the mirror before he left, and might as well be wearing a neon sign that reads “charity case”.
“I’m going to escape.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Yes, I will. I’m gonna swing from chandelier to chandelier like Tarzan.” For some reason, the joke dims the light in Jason’s eyes, and he makes this weird face, like he’s melting. His eyebrows are pinched and his smile is twitching.
This face has popped up more times than he can count in the past months, and not just on Jason. Every time Percy nails the landing on a somersault in the cave, or makes a bad pun, one of his new family members will wilt. It’s creepy.
“You know what? Let’s see if we can find someone your age, okay? Maybe that will make it more bearable.” Jason’s new, plastic smile and shiny proposition seem like a distraction, but Percy decides not to poke the bear. (Or is it bat? Bird, maybe?)
“Fine. But if we run into another pack of trophy wives who want to pinch my cheeks I’m going to rip up your annotated copy of Pride and Prejudice.”
“You wouldn’t.”
Percy raises his eyebrow in a challenge, unable to see that he looks about as threatening as a seal pup.
“I would.” Jason just shakes his head at that, cupping his hand on Percy’s neck and leading him through the ballroom. He expertly dodges gaggles of old women, shark-toothed men, and reporters, one of whom Percy thinks might be Vicki Vale.
After about five minutes of searching, Jason is able to locate someone by the dessert table. She looks around Percy’s age and is taller than him, as everyone seems to be. The girl has straight red hair, pale skin, and emerald eyes all which clash terribly with the yellow and hot pink dress she’s wearing. Percy thinks she looks like she’s being eaten by a frilly version of a 1980’s MTV wardrobe.
“Hey, um, I’m Jason Todd, and this is Percy Jackson-Wayne. We were wondering if, um…” Despite his bubbly personality, his older brother tends to struggle with social interaction. He prefers words on a page, even if he somehow loves people. Written people are easier to understand than real ones, he says.
“Your dress is really ugly, y’know.” Percy blurts, desperate to help out Jason.
“Percy!” Jason exclaims, “You can’t say that!” Stupid, stupid, stupid, Percy berates.
“I know!” The girl says, eyes wide and relieved. “I look like a laser tag target!” Percy giggles, guilt melting away.
“An easy to hit target.”
“Yeah! And my dad made me straighten my hair! It hurt so much.” She gestures to her hair, which greatly contrasts the puffiness of the dress.
Jason laughs awkwardly and shuffles back. “I’m gonna go check on B. Um, keep talking.”
Liar. He’s going on a smoke break.
“My name is Rachel,” the girl sticks out a freckled hand. “Rachel Elizabeth Dare.”
“Percy. My brother already said that, but a lot of people seem to be getting that wrong today. You wanna eat some candy until our stomachs explode?”
Rachel grins. Her teeth are really white. Rich kid, his mind supplies.
“Uh-huh!”
Rachel Elizabeth Dare, Percy learns, is not just a rich girl. She’s funny, artistic, and hates galas just as much as Percy does. Maybe even more.
“And my dad said I had to go, even though last time another kid dumped the punch bowl on me.” She says through a mouthful of raspberry tart. “He’s so bossy.”
Percy nods sagely as he chews and swallows a blueberry macaron. “He’s got Rich Asshole Disease.”
“Tell me about it.” Rachel seems to prepare to start another rant, but pauses. “Percy?”
“Yeah?” He looks up from the plate he’s stacked with petit fours.
“What if we make a deal?”
“What deal?” He asks, popping one of the squares in his mouth.
“That every gala, or rich person party, we go together. A united front against the,” she looks side to side before whispering, “rich assholes.”
“Deal.” They shake on it, and Rachel nods seriously.
“It’s agreed, then. Every gala, we meet here. And we-” Rachel is interrupted by the tragedy that is the stack of petit fours landing softly on the ground. “Percy? You okay?”
He nods, but his legs have turned to jelly. Only a couple feet behind Rachel, chattering to a flushing socialite, is Dick Grayson.