Chapter Text
The information I have about DCU is from fanfics only, so sorry if any of the information is wacky because of that. It's also been ages since I've read Percy Jackson so that will also be a bit wacky.
Dick’s knuckles went white on the steering wheel when the manor came into view.
Dick glanced over, only to be met with a dark blue hoodie as the boy stared out the window, duffel bag in his lap.
The manor looked as imposing as ever, the dark stone seeming to swallow all the light as the gargoyles stared down from their posts. He parked, killed the engine, and climbed out. Perseus followed, the car door slamming behind him. Dick may not be able to see his face, but the white‑knuckled grip on his duffel said everything.
Dick sighed, walking up the steps, gravel crunching underfoot. The boy followed, a silent shadow. He knocked on the wooden door, the sound swallowed up by the sheer enormity of the manor. He could, of course, just open the door, but the boy should meet Alfred first.
Silence stretched. Dick’s clothes itched as he ignored the scrutiny of the boy next to him. Finally, the door opened, letting Dick see Alfred's face, the older man looking as impeccable as always. Alfred smiled warmly, ushering them inside.
“Master Richard, Master Perseus, please come in. Here, let me take your bag.”
Perseus lifted his eyes for the first time since Dick had picked him up. He shook his head sharply, hands tightening even more on the worn strap of the duffel. “It’s Percy. And I can hold my own bag.”
Alfred inclined his head. “Of course. In that case, let me show you to your room. Master Richard, the others are in the sitting room.”
Dick nodded and stepped inside fully, letting the door close behind him. The manor’s familiar warmth pressed in, polished wood and faint citrus from Alfred’s cleaning routine mixing with the distant hum of the old heating system. It should’ve felt comforting. Instead, with Percy standing stiffly just inside the threshold, it felt off. Like the house itself was holding its breath.
Percy didn’t move at first. His eyes flicked across the foyer, taking in the chandelier, the portraits, the staircase. Not with awe or fear, but with a sharp, calculating focus that made Dick’s skin prickle. He was mapping the place, noting exits and obstacles.
Only after a long moment did he step forward, the duffel still glued to his side.
Alfred walked ahead at an easy pace, voice calm and steady as he spoke. “Your room is just down this hall, Master Percy. Fresh linens, a private bathroom, and if you require anything at all, you need only ask.”
Percy didn’t answer, but Dick saw the slight twitch in his jaw and the way his shoulders hunched tighter under the hoodie. He wasn’t used to kindness. Or maybe he didn’t trust it.
Dick swallowed, watching the two disappear around the corner. For a second, Percy glanced back, eyes dark and unreadable beneath the hood.
Then he was gone, swallowed by the hallway’s shadows.
***
Dick braced himself for the usual chaos that was his siblings. Voices carried down the hall, loud and familiar, a tangle of insults and laughter that always sounded like a storm about to break.
He opened the wooden door to the sitting room and took in the scene. Damian had a knife leveled at Jason, who was laughing as if the blade were a joke. Tim sat slumped on one of the couches, coffee cup in hand, eyes sharp despite the exhaustion. Steph perched on the arm of another couch, practically vibrating with curiosity. Duke and Cass watched from the edges, amused and alert in equal measure.
They quieted when Dick stepped in. Steph was first to pounce.
“Sooooooooooo, there’s a new guy? What’s he like? Does he have black hair? When can I meet him?”
Dick sank into one of the ridiculously comfortable couches and let the springs take him. He might as well get this over with. “His name is Perseus Jackson. He prefers Percy. He’s seventeen. His mother was killed in a home invasion a week ago.”
That sobered the room for half a second.
He let that hang for a beat, then added, “He has a stepfather and a younger sister. Both clean. B suspects Percy of being involved in a cult with terrorist inclinations and wants us to keep an eye on him.”
Tim was the first to react. “Is this the same Perseus Jackson who was a wanted terrorist when he was twelve?”
Jason’s grin spread. “Finally, someone interesting. It’s been a while since this family’s been any fun.” He leaned forward, eyes bright. “So what’s the story? Explosions? Secret lairs?”
Damian flicked his knife in a lazy arc. “Tt. He will be unimpressive.”
Tim sat up straighter, coffee forgotten. “You’re telling me we’re dealing with a traumatized cult member who blew up the Gateway Arch when he was twelve? What does Bruce actually want us to do—just watch him? Dick, the boy’s a terrorist. And are we going to tell him about our nightlife?”
Dick dragged a hand down his face. He could feel the old irritation coiling under his ribs. Damn Bruce, leaving him to do everything. At least Bruce could have made a believable excuse for not picking up the kid he’d taken from his family. Instead, he’d left it to Dick.
He wanted to punch Bruce, then go to bed. Instead he said, “Be nice. Don’t push. We don’t know what he’s capable of, so make sure he doesn’t do anything illegal. We want him to recover and remove himself from the cult. And no—he will not know about our nightlife. Be careful. Got it?”
They all nodded, some more convincingly than others.
Damian huffed. “If Jackson has suitable caregivers, why is he staying here? Surely he would want to be with family after his mother’s death.”
“Bruce did some weird legal‑maybe‑not‑legal thing to get custody,” Dick said. “His stepfather couldn’t fight it. So Percy doesn’t really want to be here.”
A few faces tightened at that.
“So when do we get to meet him?” Steph asked, excitement creeping back into her voice.