Chapter Text
A cool breeze tousled Percy's hair as he sat on the wet sand of Camp Half-Blood's beach and let the waves wash over his feet. He released a deep breath and gazed out into the ocean with tired eyes; the water looked like ink in the dark of the night, only illuminated by the soft light of the half-moon.
It was probably around three A.M. It hadn't taken him long after that place to discover that sleep would often be something he'd rather avoid, given that a bit of exhaustion was much favorable to what would await him if he let sleep take over. He hadn't slept in there. He could go another day now if he had to.
But, demigod or not, he was still human, and humans needed sleep, however much he liked to deny it. Without it… well. Percy knew how bad it looked on him. Tartarus had done quite the number on his features. He didn't remember the last time he'd looked in the mirror and saw anything but bags under his eyes, his once ocean-green irises dark and stormy. A sickly pallor had replaced his usual tan complexion, and he had lost considerable weight and muscle mass.
But sleep? Sleep was destroying him inside and out. The constant exhaustion was the least of his concerns.
He was constantly regarded as the Camp's hero, the boy who survived two damning prophecies. But he knew he wasn't as courageous as they made him out to be. Annabeth, she was the real courageous one. She too knew that sleep meant nightmares, it meant being back in that wretched place, and yet she still braved sleep night after night. Sure, she woke up screaming and crying, but the difference in the caffeine intake between the two demigods spoke loud and clear about who was doing better.
He had essentially shut himself off from the rest of camp for the first two weeks after his return, and he would have stayed that way forever if not for the constant insistence of Chiron and his friends. It was understandable for a while, the isolation, but everyone had to pick their miserable, traumatized selves up at some point, apparently.
He was doing a little better now, if he said so himself.
But he really needed a break from the Greek world. He loved his friends, and camp and whatnot, but he was sure that it would only be so long before a random god would saunter up to his doorstep and demand that he go on a quest or they would take pleasure in smiting him.
He noticed Poseidon's presence moments before the ocean water morphed to the shape of a man, and the middle-aged fisherman appearance Poseidon loved so much materialized from the water. He had a concerned expression on his face, though Percy could see the sliver of hope in there if he looked hard enough.
“Hello, Percy.”
When he didn't receive a hello back, Poseidon opted to slowly walk over and take a seat right next to Percy.
“Do you have a moment to talk?”
Well, Percy thought, it's not like you'd go away if I said no. “Sure. Unless you want to send me on a quest, of course,” he settled for, his bitterness taking shape in the form of sarcasm.
Poseidon smiled awkwardly at that. “No—” he shook his head “—though I did want to ask something of you.”
Oh. Brilliant.
Again, seeing as there was no response, he changed topics, “How have you been, my son?”
A dark chuckle escaped Percy's lips. “Oh, just dandy. Life's been great!” He threw his hands up to emphasize his words.
Poseidon's face morphed into a rather tender and broken expression, and he arranged his position so that he was sitting a little closer to Percy. Slowly, he put an arm around his son's shoulder, which he flinched away from momentarily, before melting into the embrace.
“How have you really been, Percy?”
“Well.” Percy took a deep breath. “It's been… better, I guess. I'm trying to go out more; I've taken up morning runs. Chiron has forced Mr. D to hold weekly ‘self-healing’ classes for demigods, I think it's helped a lot of veterans.” He shrugged. “This type of thing doesn't just… disappear overnight. You need to give it time, Dad.”
“Percy, my son, I know how hard these past few months have been for you, and it shames me that I haven't been able to help out.” He turned towards Percy, a gentle smile on his face. “But, I have talked it over with my brother, and after much convincing, he has agreed to give you one final reward for your endeavors.”
Percy raised an eyebrow.
“The gods are all in consensus that bestowing you with godhood is a fitting reward–
The utter disbelief was very visible on Percy’s face. “What?” he interrupted.
Poseidon smiled, misunderstanding the connotation of his son's disbelief. “That way, you will finally be rid of your mortal struggles. You may live alongside me, underwater.”
Percy shot to his feet, startling Poseidon a bit, anger evident. “What the fuck! Do you want me to suffer forever? Without my friends, my family?!”
With a frown, Poseidon got up as well. “What are your kin underwater if not blood?”
“That's not the fucking same as family and you know it! So excuse me if I choose the side of my family that didn't try to kill me on multiple occasions. I'd rather die right now than live forever without them!”
Now, Poseidon's discontent had started to become more visible. “You should watch how you speak, young man,” he reprimanded.
“Or what?” Percy challenged. “Are you going to kill me? Well I'm already as good as dead, so go ahead, finish the job!” He opened out his arms indignantly, prompting Poseidon to smite him. “Do it. See if I care,” his voice hitched. He let out a shaky breath, tears welling up in his eyes. “Please, just…”
When the expected death didn't happen, he slowly lowered his arms, a tear rolling down his cheek. He stumbled back onto the damp sand and pulled up his legs, hugging them loosely. “I should have died in that hellhole,” he whispered weakly, voice hoarse.
“Son…” Poseidon's expression had shifted from fury to pity in a matter of seconds, now staring at Percy sadly. “I'm just trying to help.”
Percy let out a bitter scoff that sounded a little like a wet laugh. “Well, you're a god, and I'm not—and don't ever want to be. So stop pretending you understand what I need. I'm going to be fine.”
Poseidon sighed heavily, looking sullen. “Very well. Then, I shall take my leave. Take care, my son.”
And with that, Poseidon simply walked off into the ocean until he couldn't feel him anymore. Percy, however, sat there, wallowing in silence until the sun started peeking above the horizon, and he felt a familiar presence approaching.
“Hey, Seaweed Brain,” a voice that sounded equally as exhausted as he was feeling said.
Percy smiled. “Couldn't sleep?”
Annabeth perched next to him. She was wearing her regular orange CHB shirt over blue jean shorts, completed by a pair of worn down white Converse and owl earrings.
“I should be asking you that question. I never saw you go into your cabin tonight.”
“Yeah I… I needed to think a little bit.”
Annabeth sent him one of those looks that he always hated being directed at him: concern, understanding, and worst of all, pity.
“‘M fine, Wise Girl,” he muttered, looking away.
Annabeth sighed, a few strands of her blonde hair falling forward to obstruct her face. The dawn light reflected beautifully on her features, her hair sparkling like liquid gold.
“Alright then.” She nodded to herself and got up, extending a hand towards Percy. “Join me for a super-early breakfast?”
Percy smiled mirthfully, accepting the hand, but purposefully didn't make any effort to get up, making Annabeth pull his weight, until he got up suddenly and caused her to stumble back.
She smacked his shoulder playfully. “Damn you, Seaweed Brain!”
They both chuckled, falling into stride together as they made their way to the dining pavilion.
Annabeth plopped down next to Percy on the Poseidon table, setting down her plate—barely filled with food—down gently.
Only a handful of other campers were around, mostly Apollo kids, given the odd hour of the day. The air was still slightly cool and humid, the sun's rays escaping from behind the foliage providing small bouts of warmth.
After she settled down, Percy asked, in a serious tone, “Annabeth?”
She turned towards him, prompting him to go ahead.
“What do you want to do when the summer is over?”
Annabeth hummed to herself, mulling over the question. “I want to go back and finish school. Maybe… maybe fix things up with my family,” she answered finally. She jabbed her food with her fork as she spoke, turning her eggs around in her plate.
“That makes sense.”
Annabeth set her fork down, giving up on slaughtering her food. “Why do you ask?”
For a moment, Percy simply stared into the distance before responding, “Poseidon… he came to speak with me last night. Wants me to move in with him underwater—” he purposefully left out the part where he wanted to make Percy a god “—which is the last thing I want. But I don't want to stay year-round at Camp this year either. I want to get away from it all, in a sense.”
Annabeth's brows shot up. “Are you going to—”
“Yeah,” Percy nodded. “It's been so long since I last saw them… But, I thought that if you can fix things up with your family, so can I.”
“Percy…”
He shook his head. “My mind is made up, Wise Girl. I'm going to try and leave today, in fact.”
A solemn look passed over Annabeth's face. “Are you going to take the bus all the way to Gotham?”
He held up the keys to his baby blue 2004 Honda Civic. “I'm driving there.”
Annabeth had that expression she had on whenever the cogs of her brain were turning. She was looking down, brows scrunched, and her fingers were tapping against the table. “That's more than six hours, Percy.”
He shrugged. “Plenty of time to think about my terrible life choices,” he joked. “I'll be fine, I promise.”
“Okay.”
♠︎♥︎◆♣︎
It was around half past nine that same day when Percy arrived at the heart of Gotham City.
After his half-assed breakfast, he'd hurriedly gathered his things and shoved them into a suitcase covered in stickers and loaded them into his car. He'd taken a few minutes upon Half-Blood Hill to say goodbye to a few close friends before embarking on his six-hour long solo road trip.
That had gone as well as a road trip with one ADHD induced hyperactive demigod could have gone. The radio constantly switched between blaring as loud as the car would allow and going completely silent so that Percy could be lost in his thoughts. It was still rather therapeutic in a way; Percy debated with himself out loud, sang along to the tunes until his throat hurt, mulled over hundreds of scenarios of how his family reunion could go, listened to his own episode of Buzzfeed Unsolved, and tried to understand a movie in Italian.
As the lights of Gotham came closer and closer, Percy navigated his car towards the West End and found a suitable spot for his car. He'd rented a temporary apartment on the shadier side of town (listen, he wasn’t swimming in money, ok?), since the crime wouldn't be a bother. He parked much further away from that area, though, since he'd rather not have his car broken into. He would walk, it was good exercise.
It was quite interesting to see the somewhat safer neighborhood transition into the crime-plagued slums Gotham was infamous for. As he went deeper into Crime Alley, the amount of hungry looks sent his way increased gradually, but the wolf stare could only deflect so many of the desperate criminals lurking in the streets. It only took so long before a run-down group of men with more confidence than skill surrounded Percy.
His brain switched off into combat mode. Three with knives, two with guns. Easy work.
“Look,” Percy sighed, “I'm only going to say this once. I'm tired and in no mood to deal with this bullshit, so I'm going to give you five seconds to fuck off and leave with your bones still intact.”
The goons stared at each other incredulously before bursting into laughter.
“Yeah, right, runt!” one of them howled.
“That intimidation bullshit ain't gunna work wit us, kid!”
A cacophony of various other insults and jeers followed, but Percy easily tuned them out, setting his backpack and suitcase to the side.
“Well, that's ten seconds.” Percy shrugged, taking off his raincoat so as to not hinder himself.
One of the thugs with knives growled at his relaxed demeanor, launching forward to slash at his neck, which Percy easily sidestepped. He grabbed the man's extended arm and landed a precise hit with his elbow, making the knife rattle out of his hand. Before it could drop to the ground, Percy snatched it out of the air and examined it, letting out a pleased hum at the quality of the blade.
“Finders-keepers,” he said, brandishing his newly acquired knife.
The other thugs, apparently having recovered from the initial shock, started coming at him all at once, with the gunmen emptying their magazines carelessly. He dodged the onslaught of bullets and amateurish swings, using the pommel of his knife to strike the back of the head of the guy he'd gotten the knife from, causing him to stumble to the ground, blood gushing from his head.
He couldn't quite bring himself to care. He wasn't going to kill, but he definitely wasn't in a mindset to go easy on anyone as of now. The Pit had given him a sort of dark ruthlessness, and if that meant using these lowlives to release his pent up anger, then that was perfectly fine. He had warned them.
He moved around the two other knife-wielding thugs to the back of the pack, where the two others were reloading their empty guns. Percy grabbed hold of one of the men's arms and stabbed his knife at the wrist, causing him to drop the gun, which Percy kicked to the side. He pulled his knife back, turning around to kick the other goon in the stomach.
With the two most imminent threats immobilized, Percy moved on to the other two with knives, and it took next to no time for them to end up on the ground, unconscious or maimed.
Percy looked down to brush his clothes off, inducing a loud groan. “Should have been more careful,” he mumbled, inspecting the splotches of blood on his Camp shirt.
“I hear hydrogen peroxide helps,” a modulated voice from the rooftop next to him said.
Percy had noticed the heartbeat approach halfway through the fight, but had ignored it in hopes that they would just go away, but alas. Demigod luck.
Now that they were closer, Percy could feel something foreign, something toxic, running through the person's veins. It reminded him eerily of the River Styx.
But there was also something familiar about this heartbeat that he couldn't quite place.
The figure jumped down, and in the light, Percy could see the man better. He stood at a hulking 6’4, with a dark gray armored bodysuit with a red bat emblem on the chest, covered by a worn-down leather jacket. The signature piece of the outfit was an unnerving bright red helmet with white eyes that glowed slightly in the dark.
He set Percy on edge immediately. He was still sure he could take this guy if he had to, but Percy could tell he wasn't some easy-beating like the guys from before.
The mask-dude leaned against the grimy, graffitied brick wall laxly. “I was going to jump down earlier, but you seemed to have it handled. What can I say, you put on quite a show; couldn't help but watch.”
Percy raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms. “If you're here to finish what they started, get your little monologue about how you're going to beat me up over with so I can go home, I don't have all day.”
He was met with a bark of laughter. “I'm Red Hood. You new ‘round these parts?”
Oh, he's one of Gotham's vigilante people.
“I'm a tourist, let's say.”
“Well, Crime Alley isn't exactly the tourist's dream, as you see.” Red Hood gestured to the bloody aftermath of the fight.
Percy moved to grab his stuff from where he’d set them down before the skirmish. “Yeah. I'm just visiting someone.”
“Are ya hurt? The cops should be here any minute now.”
Percy shook his head as he moved to leave—he had no intention of dealing with cops.
As he did so, the man spoke up again, this time a tad bit hesitantly, “Say… where, uh, where did you get that white streak?”
Percy turned back to look at him. “Dyed it,” he lied briskly. He was in no mood for an interrogation, especially after that skit—it had brought up some bad memories. He hastened his steps, and the man didn't try to stop him as he left.
♠︎♥︎◆♣︎
That was weird, Percy thought as he plopped down on the worn-down couch in his rented apartment. It wasn't a big apartment, but it was still arguably decent for an apartment in Crime Alley, and it's not like the floorboards were rotting or anything. He'd definitely seen worse.
He'd been a little, perhaps unnecessarily, standoffish with Red Hood, but he still couldn't shake off the feeling that he knew him from somewhere.
It had gotten much stronger since the Pit, but Percy had always been able to feel each and every person's heartbeats. Everyone had a slightly different rhythm to theirs, and the ones he was closer to felt much stronger than strangers. But, then again, he hadn’t been in Gotham for over six years, so it made sense that he couldn't quite remember if he knew the person or not.
Percy shook his head, dismissing the thoughts.
Gotham was a grimy, crime-infested hellhole of a city, but being back felt a lot better than Percy thought it would. It was almost comforting.
He didn’t really remember his mother, but according to Poseidon, she was a queen among women. Though, considering it was Poseidon, Percy didn’t know how credible that statement was. He only had a brief idea of how she was; they weren’t memories, exactly, but more like impressions. He remembered a warm smile, glistening, deep-blue eyes. The taste of chocolatey blue cookies straight out of the oven. He remembered being wrapped up in her comforting hug after something particularly upsetting. And that was about it. The memories just… stopped after a certain point in his life. It was a blurry line in his mind between a small yet familiar and warm home and the cold, sharp lighting and hard beds of the orphanage that had springs that stabbed his abdomen if he laid on them at the wrong angle.
What he did remember distinctly, however, was his seventh birthday. Up until that point, his sense of time had been lost to the monotonous routine of the orphanage: wake up, breakfast, dull classes, lunch, outside time that wasn’t actually outside, dinner, bed. The days bled into each other.
He hadn't expected much for his birthday. He knew not to, lest he be let down. A few congratulations here and there from the few friends he'd made, maybe an extra cookie from the cafeteria if he was lucky. So, it was safe to say he was a little more than surprised when Ms. Jamison—the case worker that had initially brought him there, a lady in her early 30s with thin-framed glasses and blonde hair always slicked back neatly in a bun—had knocked on his door, saying that a very special someone was here and wanted to see him. He'd harbored a healthy sense of suspicion towards this ‘very special person,’ but he had followed behind the lady anyway.
It had turned out that the ‘very special person’ was some rich man named Bruce Wayne, but that hadn’t really mattered. He had brought his son with him. Jason, he'd introduced himself to Percy, was a few years older than him, but he had one of the biggest smiles Percy had ever seen. He was also extremely kind—Percy had rambled on about sea animals and his latest juice concoctions and lots of random topics while they colored together, and he hadn’t even told him to shut up once!
He didn't remember how long he had spent in the waiting room while Bruce talked with the social worker, but at some point he had been told to pack up his things, and the rest was history.
It had only taken so long before he met Dick as well, and despite his constant arguments with Bruce, he too had quickly endeared himself to Percy. He always knew the best fast food places in town, and took Percy swimming outside of Gotham sometimes.
It wasn't perfect, but Percy had liked his new family.
Only, of course, said family thought he was dead—and for three years, at that! And the reason why was one of the rare topics Percy took shame in admitting.
At the end of Percy’s first summer at camp, a form addressed to Perry Johanson had appeared on his bed in Cabin 3 asking whether he'd be staying year round or not.
He loved his family in Gotham. He really did. But they thought he was missing, and if he went back now, there would be questions, and Percy wasn't confident that he'd be able to hide the new big secret that had been dumped on his lap. Besides, if he went back now, he would be endangering them, having monsters sicced on them that they couldn't see, and even Percy wasn't sure he could handle whatever the Greek world threw his way while protecting four other people.
It was a valid excuse reason.
And year after year, he put it off. I'll go home next year, he told himself.
And when he'd blown up a volcano, going MIA from being on Calypso's island, the news of his death had spread to even the mortal world, and… well. It had been the nail on the coffin (haha).
It would be cruel to return to people who had properly grieved him and accepted that they would never see him again, right?
Well, Percy was desperate enough now to heal from the mental wounds Tartarus gave him that he was even willing to reopen old ones, namely, his ‘disappearance.’
He just hoped it would be well-received enough to not make him regret it.