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Chapter Text

It had been working, nearly too perfectly. Leo, Jason, and Piper were dealing with Gaia. Hazel, Frank and Reyna were stopping the Romans from attacking the Greeks and making sure they fought against the monsters. Annabeth and Percy were back with the Greeks, who'd rallied to Percy as soon as she shouted her iconic "Greek, let's fight stuff!"

And then it fell apart.

First, Gaia was way more powerful and Piper's charmspeak wasn't strong enough. Sure, her charmspeak was unnaturally powerful, but against a primordial goddess? Hah, it was nothing.

Jason tired too quickly and fell with Piper, the two would've died had two Pegasi not caught them on orders of Percy.

With Gaia back on the ground, Leo was easy to stop and both he and Festus were slammed away. Percy worried, but she saw Leo rising again, so she breathed in relief.

And that was how Camp Half-blood, the Greek, and the Roman demigods were going to be defeated. Gaia was a primordial goddess and gods, Percy wanted to literally drag the gods through Tartarus for making them do this alone.

She found herself back-to-back with Frank, the two working together nearly seamlessly.

"We're losing," Frank muttered, almost amazed at the prospect.

Percy scoffed, but didn't say anything. She turned, slashing the head off another monster and stabbing the second.

"I have a plan," Frank said.

Percy twisted around Frank, her sword a whirlwind as she cut down seven more monsters with one swing. "I'm listening."

"To storm or fire," Frank quoted. Percy nearly rolled her eyes, but she didn't, nor did she say anything. Frank continued, "Lord Jupiter isn't called the Stormbringer, hell he's mainly known as the god of lightning, but..."

"My father is the Stormbringer," Percy finished. "Gods, how have we been so stupid!" Percy exclaimed, facing Frank completely this time, her eyes wide. "And you think it's me or Leo?"

Frank shook his head. He pulled out an arrow and stabbed it into the monster behind Percy, then turned and shot the next monster dead. "I think it's me or you. Stormbringer is Lord Neptune or Lord Poseidon, right? Well, Leo's fire is normal fire against the primordial goddess of the Earth, but the fire of life is a different matter."

Alarm bells rang in Percy's mind and she glared at Frank harshly. "You will die if you use that tiny stump left of your wood. I will not let you."

"There is no other way, Percy. To storm or fire. Please, help me save our friends and family."

It was a low blow and Percy knew Frank knew that, but it was also where Percy's loyalties lay; with her friends, her family, and her camps. "Dam you," she hissed, but she listened.

"Get her on your water, mess with her footing, and keep her off the ground. I'll do the rest," Frank replied.

Percy nodded, still hating the plan, but she knew the cost of not trying.

She cleared a path to the goddess, her strikes swift and smooth. Both her and Frank were soon at the goddess' feet. The ground was quaking and Percy took several deep breaths before she stabbed Riptide into the ground.

Earthshaker, she thought, trying to draw power from her father's title and simultaneously trying to tap into powers she wasn't even sure she had. The ground, though still shaking, lessened and Percy pushed back her fatigue. With the ground sorted, she turned to the primordial dirtface that ruined Percy's peace after the war.

"Hey, Queen Dirtface, how you feeling up there you godsdamed moron?" Tactic number 1: Anger the opponent for her own personal enjoyment and her lack of preservation skills.

Gaia glared down at her, the muddy woman still freakishly tall. How tall was she? 30ft, maybe?

Percy dodged the foot going to stomp on her.

Percy had a plan. It was reckless and maybe a little stupid, but she hoped it would work.

Hurricanes were hard to make and energy consuming, but Percy had done it before, hell she'd done it without meaning to before and she hadn't had a sufficient water source that time.

Great news: This time she had a better water source since she was close to the canoe lake. Un-great news: Gaia didn't like being impeded by powerful winds and a hurricane.

Percy was messing with Gaia's footing, managing to use her hurricane and push Gaia around.

She heard the cry of an eagle and saw Frank above. He was a giant eagle this time and he dived, going straight for Gaia's grassy hair—why's it so ugly?—he flew up, dragging the thirty foot tall mudface with her.

Percy whistled loudly and there was Blackjack. She flew up too, coming face-to-face with the primordial.

Percy had left Riptide on the ground, knowing the blade would return. She focused and hands of water came to her call, rising from the canoe lake and grabbing Gaia's arms and legs, holding her up.

Frank dropped the hair and Percy strained to keep the thrashing goddess up. She strained, pushing her limits. It reminded her of the time she fought Anteus. Sweat poured down her head, but she kept her eyes open because she had to watch.

She saw Frank going in for the dive, his piece of wood in his mouth. The wood ignited, burning brightly.

She saw Gaia's fall to fire. She saw her erupt in flames and crumble, along with Percy's friends.

She knew it was her–

Percy blinked, unsure of what made her think of that day. It was odd, how the day just kept coming to haunt her. She knew she deserved it, but it still ached.

Another sip of her hot coffee and Percy managed to snap out of it.

She stared out of the coffee shop windows. She'd been in Bludhaven for a total of a month and a half, and actually found herself not hating it.

Sure, Bludhaven was a dull and quite annoying place with villains attacking every five minutes, but it wasn't bad in the sense that Percy was away from family and, well, it was peaceful for her.

The coffee shop she sat in was called Snug Corners. In the far right corner, it had a cute little book nook and Percy saw loads of people grabbing books to read. Percy was sitting by the window in a corner as well, watching the people enter and exit the shop.

She'd graduated from New Rome university with a degree in Marine Biology and was using her degree for research; technically, she'd never wanted to go to college, but Annab- she had wanted Percy to go with her and whatever she wanted goes.

When she graduated, Percy had immediately gone elsewhere for a job offered in Bludhaven with a very high-paying salary. It was a branch for the Aquatic Research Centre and, Percy had found out, was owned by Bruce Wayne, as most things seemed to be.

She'd distanced herself from the entirety of the demigod world, which included the most recent problem.

Updates on the goings on came in the form of Nico di Angelo, Drew Tanaka, Hazel Levesque, Leo Valdez, Thalia, and Rachel Elizabeth Dare.

Her attention was taken by a boy entering, maybe 17 or 18 years old. He looked dead on his feet and had eyebags the size of cats. Percy watched him carefully as he went to the counter, ordered, paid, and sat on the table near hers.

While he looked like he hadn't slept in seven years, Percy could see he was trained. She noticed his calloused hands and his muscles, even if he was wearing a suit. It was obvious he was trained well, but he wasn't a threat.

Percy turned away before he caught her looking.

The boy was definitely in his late teens, near twenties. He had blue eyes, a greyish-blue that seemed to have seen a lot more than his age should've. His hair was black and slightly floppy, dropping in front of his face.

The boy looked up when his coffee arrived and Percy noted that he had maybe five espresso shots, which was honestly a mood.

"Dead inside?" Percy murmured her question softly, once again shocked at her sudden want to talk to strangers.

The boy turned to her, as if knowing she was talking to him, and nodded. "Yeah, you?"

"Oh, absolutely. Gods, you have no idea how many coffees I've had this morning." She turned a little to face the boy.

He fully turned to face her. She noticed it then. He hid it well, but he seemed to be analysing her and trying to determine if she was a threat or not. His calculative gaze reminded her of another stormy-eyed woman. Percy shut down that train of thought immediately.

"Caffeine addict?" he questioned.

"Takes one to know one," Percy replied.

The boy let out a short bark of laughter and the smile on his face changed everything. Instead of an insomniac child, he looked like a more put-together young adult. Percy returned the smile with her own, softer one. There was something about this kid that made Percy want to look after him, maybe some protective instinct, but he seemed like a nice kid.

Percy held out her hand. "Percy Jakcson," she introduced.

He shook her hand. "Tim Drake."

Percy took note of the calluses on his hand before he retracted it. She figured that he wielded a weapon, most likely one with a smooth handle. Staff, maybe?

"Isn't Percy a boy's name?"

"Aren't you a little young to be a CEO?" Percy shot back and Tim conceded.

"How'd you know?"

"I researched Aquatic Research—the company I work for—before I moved here. Not like I wanted to run into Bruce Wayne and be an ass because I can be one to people I don't know." Percy turned away for a second to take another sip of her coffee.

Tim seemed to agree with her reply.

They stayed in silence for a few more minutes when Tim interrupted the comfortable silence. "You're not talking to me because you know who I am, are you?"

Percy paused. She'd actually not really understood why she'd decided to talk to him. "No, you just looked interesting. You're trained, clearly, and you're calculative. The way you walk shows that you're ready to fight at a moment's notice. Also, I couldn't help but notice that you looked like a caffeine addict, similar to me, and usually, like-minded people talk to each other."

She watched Tim absorb her explanation and he seemed to accept it, but then his eyes narrowed. "Trained? What makes you say that?"

"Aren't most Gothamites briefed on basic self defence?" Percy replied, raising a single eyebrow. "I mean, even if they weren't, I'd assume that you were trained considering your alertness and the muscle you have. That doesn't occur naturally," she nodded at his arms as she spoke, the muscles quite obvious through the form-fitting shirt.

Tim nodded, but Percy caught the smallest look of shock at her observation. She narrowed her eyes at that, but hid the look by taking another sip of her coffee, which was slowly growing colder. It wasn't at the nice, hot temperature Percy usually preferred for her coffee, so she naturally used her powers to heat up the coffee in the mug so it was back to the temperature she liked.

They stayed in silence for a few more minutes when Tim interrupted the comfortable silence. "What do you think about the ongoing monster problem? You know, the one where the... the League of Heroes appeared?"

League of Heroes, is that what they're called? Huh, mortals truly aren't that creative, it sounds like a cheap copy of the Justice League, Percy mused, setting her now hot coffee down again. "I haven't really caught up with the goings on of the world in recent years, but the League of Heroes is referring to those guys who fight the mythological monsters who keep appearing, right?" Percy was a great liar (faker) when she wanted to be one, really.

"Yeah, so what do you think of them?"

"I haven't seen many of their fights up close, but I've heard that their weapon choices vary quite a bit, right?" She paused, thinking over what Nico said. "They also have three different groups, right?"

"Yeah," Tim nodded. "The all-female group is called the Nightshade Division. It's interesting that the other two divisions have a mix of genders, but this one only has females. Don't let that fool you though, their skill with bows are unparalleled and the leader, a woman with the codename Aegis, has a certain air around her. I only came close to her once and the air around her smelled fresh, but also a little metallic. In a way, you could say it also smelled like chlorine, the cleaning material, and a smell that only comes when lightning is about to hit."

Percy chuckled softly. "You seem interested in these guys a lot," she commented lightly. She ignored the slight pang at the name the Hunters of Artemis used. Ignored how it still hurt a little to hear Zoe's name.

"Yeah, I like knowing who's protecting us."

Percy hummed lowly, acknowledging his statement. It was smart, knowing who you were putting your trust into, and Percy commended the boy on that. "What about the other two divisions?"

"Well, the second division is the Hellenics Division. They usually use a more Greek style of fighting, which would explain why they have the name 'Hellenics,' since that's another term for Greeks. Their weapons can be bows, swords, hammers, and spears. I'm pretty sure I saw a few people with scythes," Tim continued, looking delighted to be infodumping. Percy listened with a patient smile, the infodumping reminding her of another intelligent girl who used to talk for hours on end.

Tim still hadn't paused. "And then the final division is called the Invictus Division. Invictus is Latin for unconquered, which makes that division sound kind of cocky, but you should see them battle when they're in groups. While the Hellenics Division is better in single combat, playing to their own personal strengths, the Invictus Division is awesome at battling in groups. They divide into smaller groups and conquer. It also makes sense as they follow a more Roman style of fighting."

"Is that so? You sure know a lot," she observed absentmindedly.

She noticed the boy flush slightly, as if realising he'd spilled more than expected. In all fairness, Percy understood why he wanted to know a lot, but the fact that he knew that much showed him to either be a nerd or a stalker.

"Yeah, uhm, I like analysing fights." His reply was hesitant, and almost sounded like a question. He seemed to be avoiding her eyes too, as a lot of people did.

Percy also knew why. Her friends had told her on many occasions that her eyes looked like whirlpools sometimes, constantly swirling. It was very disconcerting. They also said that in some way, she was like a siren (an extremely distant relative of hers from the sea), and she seemed to draw out information from others. Some people said it was the soft voice she used, others said she just had a kinder nature that made people want to trust her despite her rough exterior. Percy wasn't sure the exact reason, all she knew was that if people looked into her eyes too long, they tended to spill information easily, as if hypnotised.

Tim, avoiding her eyes, was clearly confused by the swirling seas within them, and no longer wanted to spill information. Percy smiled to herself as she took another sip of her coffee. Sure, it was weird how she did it, but it was amusing to see people realise they'd spilled information that wasn't necessary.

"Well, I'm glad we've got someone checking if the League of Heroes is actually looking out for our safety." She glanced at his coffee, the liquid already cooled down to a lukewarm temperature, and changed the subject, "What are you drinking?"

Tim looked up and followed the conversation, letting it flow smoothly and naturally. However, internally, Percy was wondering how he did know that much. Sure, it seemed like common knowledge, but the air around Thalia, for who else could be Aegis except the owner of Aegis, was not something a normal mortal could pick up on unless they're around other superpowered people on a regular basis.

See, Big Three kids (Thalia, Nico, Hazel, and herself) had an air around them similar to that of a minor god. While gods couldn't exactly shut off their "aura," Big Three kids could technically control theirs to a certain extent. Thalia didn't usually leave her "aura" just leaking around, so only a person who's been around people with an aura of power around them regularly could actually feel that "aura".

It was weird, and there was a lot more than a simple "aura" explanation, but that was the basics. What was so odd was that Tim seemed to be able to feel Thalia's aura at its weakest; the slightest scent of chlorine, fresh air, metallic smelling air. When Thalia's aura was fully on, the air felt like it was drenched in chlorine, like lightning was going to hit you thousands of times, like the air around you was actually crackling.

Nico usually left his aura to just leak off him. He screamed death, shadows followed him and bent towards him, his black eyes would flash gold and then normal, the air around him was clammy and dark. Hazel was different. She rarely used her aura, generally preferring to be calm. The one time she did use her aura was during the Incident, and it was incredible. Around her, she seemed to glow golden, both her eyes and not just the irises glowed, her skin prickled and seemed to look more like stones than skin.

Percy's presence was a lot different to her cousins'. She always had a certain intimidating factor to her looks, having inherited her dad's natural brooding expression. Her eyes had always been sharp and cold, swirling with unknown power, but her aura was different. When she used her aura, the entire air around her turned more humid, the clouds above darkened, her eyes glowed and turned into raging storms, and if you looked close enough, it looked like water was rippling beneath her skin, like it was begging to escape. Percy wasn't fully sure of her aura though, she rarely used it too, already having her natural intimidation factor, and she couldn't exactly see her own aura. That was what her friends described when they saw it.

Percy dragged her mind out of her thoughts and focused on the sunlight slowly weakening through the windows. Time was up, she needed to head back home.

Tim and her had sat in a comfortable silence for a majority of their time in the coffee shop, so Percy's chair suddenly scraping got the boy (who had somehow had six more cups of the coffee) out of his silent musings too.

"You leaving?"

"Yeah, got some work to finish at home. Great meeting you, Tim," she said, picking her phone up from the table. She paused for a second, staring at the plain blank screen. "Do you want to stay in touch?" she asked hesitantly.

All in all, a very successful time at a coffee shop. Percy now had the number of a little genius who also seemed to like mischief as much as the next person, maybe a more accurate description would be a chaos gremlin. Tim also seemed pleased.

Percy walked forward with her purple cloak draped over her shoulder. She stood beside Reyna, the two an unforgettable image in their praetor clothing.

They were welcoming the Greek envoy, which held their former praetor, Jason Grace, and three Greek demigods. Two new kids Percy had never met and then Percy's girlfriend, Olmypus' Architect, Annabeth Chase.

She kept a blank, empty face, as she watched the four demigods scale down the ladder and land.

"Welcome, Greeks. My fellow praetor, Percy Jackson, has informed me of your peaceful arrival, please do not taint her honour," Reyna greeted, the final part sounding more like a threat than a request.

Percy smirked a little and placed her hand on Reyna's shoulder. "Thank you," she whispered. Percy faced her girlfriend, watched the fear and uncertainty cloud her eyes, and Percy smiled at Annabeth.

Her eyes, she knew, softened as she gazed at her lover. Her smile was the one she reserved for only her; soft, a little sad, but hopeful.

And then Annabeth was running at her and Percy was running to Annabeth too.

She caught Annabeth, sweeping her off her feet and spun her around in the air.

She set her down, cupping her face, and smiling into her gorgeous grey eyes, memorising them, etching what had nearly been lost back into her mind. Stormy and alight with the familiar fire Percy knew, the one she loved.

"Gods, I never thou-"

Her words were cut off when she was abruptly flipped over Annabeth's shoulder and her back hit the gravel. Phantom pain from her Achilles heel, the small of her back, burned her, and she bit back the small yell she wanted to let out.

Percy stared up at Annabeth, masking her emotions as she'd learnt to do when she was young, when she was abused by Gabe.

Annabeth's knee was pressing down on her chest, and she had her forearm to Percy's neck.

Did she know that she'd nearly killed Percy? Did she know that the only reason Percy wasn't dead was because her Achilles spot had been washed away?

There was a rush of steps behind Percy, but she couldn't look back because Annabeth was holding her down.

"Halt! Hold!" Reyna ordered and gods, Percy couldn't believe she didn't do something about her fellow praetor being pinned down, but it made sense that she wanted to see the scene a little longer, or perhaps she couldn't read through Percy's mask. Who knew?

"If you ever leave me- I swear to the gods, Seaweed Brain, I will-"

Percy faked the smile. "Yeah, I know, Wise Girl."

Did she know how that nickname stung? How it reminded her of all the times Gabe called her "Brain Girl"? Was she even aware of the fact that it wasn't Percy's fault for leaving? She was taken forcefully, and Annabeth blamed her?

Annabeth stood slowly, and then she reached out a hand for Percy. Percy took it, the familiar callouses of Annabeth's hand, something she'd longed to feel were now something she wasn't even sure she liked.

Annabeth pulled her forward again, pulled her into a bone-crushing hug. Percy returned it, but it felt hollow.

Percy blinked. The flashback had felt like hours, but it had only been seconds, and she found herself lying on her back in the Dojo she frequented. Her judo instructor was Amelia, a normal mortal, was very skilled.

Percy sighed and stood. "Man, you always put me on my ass."

"Well, you have only been learning judo for three months and I've learnt it since I was a child," Amelia replied, sending Percy a smug smirk. "Now take a break, we'll spar again after."

Percy rolled her eyes, but the fond smile on her face could not be mistaken. She walked off the mat as the next student came forward to face Amelia.

She'd found this place, well, three months ago and had started learning different forms of martial arts purely for the fun of it. Amelia was the judo instructor, while Clemence was the Tae Kwon Do instructor. They had others, but those were the two Percy had decided to learn, both being incredibly interesting styles.

She'd only recently gotten into more hand-to-hand combat because she wanted to expand her fighting style, if only for fun. That also meant she'd gotten used to holding back her strength so as to make the fight fair.

Percy headed to her duffle bag against the wall and grabbed her bottle from beside it, twisting the cap to drink. Just before she tipped her head back and brought the bottle to her mouth, her phone rang. Percy's brow furrowed as she looked at her phone.

The name on the screen read "Kallos," so she knew exactly who it was, it was just odd that Drew would call her at that moment, especially considering Drew knew she was at Judo training on Saturday afternoons.

Percy looked around her and then answered the call, placing the phone at her ear.

"Hey Kallos, what can I do for you?"

"Hey Ocean Lady, how do you feel about becoming the second vigilante of Bludhaven?"

Percy blinked. Once. Twice. Thrice. "What?!" she let out in a hushed shout, her eyes blown wide.

"Me, Nico, Leo, and Rachel are coming over in fifteen minutes. Meet us at Special Blends, you know, Sarah's new store in Bludhaven."

"Kallos! Drew! Wait!"

But Drew had already ended the call. Percy stared at her phone, a hundred thoughts racing through her head. Vigilante?! They want me to join the League of Heroes?! Are they insane!?

Percy shook her head and packed her stuff. She informed Amelia that something came up and she needed to leave. Amelia did look a little put out, but she understood.

Percy was still in her black sports leggings and sports shirt. She was lucky the changing rooms had showers and she had a change of clothes in her duffle bag.

Five minutes later, Percy exited the changing rooms wearing dark blue cargo pants, a form-fitting light grey crop top, her usual high top trainers, and a cropped jacket left open. Her hair was wet and tied up—easier to explain wet hair than having had a shower and remained completely dry. She left, with ten minutes to get to Special Blends.

Percy, in most occasions, was a ride or die friend. Sometimes, she dropped everything for her friends. Here, she was just plain annoyed, but she still needed to understand why her friends were calling her, so she rushed to get to Special Blends.

Special Blends was a coffee shop started by a legacy of Arcus (Iris' Roman form) named Sarah Dominica. Sarah and Percy had met at New Rome University and hat hit off, bonding over their shared love of coffee. Eventually, Sarah decided she wanted her own coffee shop and had been doing odd jobs to save up, dropping out of University too.

Three weeks ago, she'd opened Special Blends, and certain drinks on the menu were made of nectar or crushed up ambrosia pieces for demigods. Of course, said drinks were on a secret menu that only Sarah and a select few employees knew about.

Percy finally arrived at the coffee shop at the corner of the street. It had a sleek modern look, but also a slightly old look to it at the same time. The doorway was painted a simple dark grey and the windows were facing the street.

This time, Percy didn't bother to stop and admire the scenery. She rushed in and followed the presence of her cousin. She found the group of demigods and the Oracle in a booth at the back of the place. Percy dropped her bag and slid onto the bench beside Rachel, accepting the drink they had already ordered for her.

"What's this about me becoming a vigilante?" she asked after a few sips.

Leo answered first, a massive grin on his face, "We need your help in the Heroes and have come to request your aid, fair Princess!"

Percy sent him a scathing glare, except it lacked the heat of a proper glare. "Absolutely not, I left for a reason."

"Look, we know that Chase is still among the Heroes, but we really need your help, Perce," Nico continued, also sending Leo a glare, this one definitely more glare-y than Percy's. "We have a new plan that we're trying to implement for the Heroes. Essentially, we're stationing two or three demigods in more monster prone areas. Since Bludhaven is third or second on the list of 'Most Monster prone Areas,' we needed someone there."

Rachel picked up from there; "We were wondering if you could be a permanent Hero in Bludhaven."

Percy scanned the table and then her eyes landed on the silent daughter of Aphrodite, who was sipping a large lemonade and analysing her nails. Sensing Percy's gaze, Drew looked at the daughter of Posiedon and sighed, "I said you wouldn't like it, but they knew you would listen to my call, no matter the shit I said on it. I don't really care what you choose, Princess, but it would be nice to have you fighting at my back again."

"Drop the 'Princess' nickname, Kallos," Percy muttered halfheartedly.

"No can do, Princess," Leo butted in. "You literally are a Princess!"

"And Neeks over there is the self-proclaimed Ghost King, why don't you call him Ghost-y, or something?" Percy pointed out, thankful she'd redirected the conversation.

Joining the Heroes was the last thing she wanted to do. Not just because she'd run into her, but also because she was done with the mythological world. She'd been away from it for around three years and she was ready to stay away for much longer.

With Nico and Leo bickering about the nickname, Percy took another sip of her coffee. The coffee they'd ordered from her was definitely the drink called Nectar of the Gods, from the secret menu. Nectar of the Gods was a pure black coffee with four or five drops of actual nectar, giving it the look of gold swirled in black.

"Enough!" Rachel raised her voice a little as she stopped the two bickering men. "Percy, redirecting the conversation was unnecessary, especially since it caused an argument." And how Rachel sounded like a mother reprimanding her child, Percy would never know. "Now, Percy, we understand your hesitance to return to the mythological world, but we really need a high-ranking demigod in Bludhaven. Since you already live there, we hoped you would consider it."

Percy did consider it. She considered it madness to ask her, her, to rejoin the world that absolutely broke her.

"I–"

"Princess, don't answer now. Take as much time as you need, we won't judge, except maybe Chase will, but that's beside the point," Drew said, adding the last part as an afterthought, the name "Chase" leaving her mouth in the most bitter tone. "I trust your judgement and if you think rejoining the mythological world is not going to help you, don't do it. We have others who can watch Bludhaven just in case, but if you ever do decide, text me as I have some suit ideas we need to go over."

Percy smiled to herself, the kindness they showed was so incredibly helpful that Percy felt like she didn't deserve it. "Wow, Drew, didn't know you had compassion in you," she joked instead, the tension easing from the airy tone.

Drew rolled her eyes. "Don't get used to it, Watergirl," she spat, but her light blue eyes were shining with amusement.

(Yes, Drew had light blue eyes, to Percy. While Piper, Drew's half-sister, had kaleidoscope eyes that changed colour constantly, Drew had eyes that changed to show the eyes of the person you loved. Sometimes, it was her mother's (Sally Jackson) eyes that Percy saw, sometimes it was her little sister, Estelle's eyes, and other times it was Nico's or Leo's. Percy held a lot of love for her friends and family, so it was no wonder she saw different colours each time.)

The conversation continued with easy banter, quick quips, and Leo begging Percy to help him prank the entire Iris cabin as payback for their prank from a week ago against the Hephaestus cabin.

Percy was glad that even amidst the ongoing crisis of monsters no longer being hidden by the Mist, her friends managed to find fun things to do and have time with each other, even if it was short.

Drew watched Piper leave the Aphrodite cabin.

After taking her position as head counsellor and then saying Jason was hers, even if he didn't know it, she hated Piper.

Drew was fourteen during the Battle of Manhattan. She turned fifteen during Piper's quest, Piper who was 16, had only ever been on one quest, Drew had fought in a war.

Drew was fourteen when she found out her favourite sister had betrayed. She was fourteen when she watched shrouds of people she knew, and some she even was friends with, being burned. Drew was fourteen when she first tasted betrayal.

Drew didn't hate Silena, but she did question everything she knew about her sister. She was fourteen when Silena's betrayal came to light. She was fourteen when she found out her sister had died, and she'd somehow died a hero. She was fourteen when she was placed in charge of cabin 10.

SHE WAS FOURTEEN! She was a child, returning from war, in pain and aching, and suddenly, she had to accept that her traitorous sister was a hero.

Drew was fifteen when betrayal smacked her in the face in the form of her cabin. She was fifteen when betrayal struck at her heart.

Piper denied that Aphrodite was her mother because she was a tomboy and Aphrodite was "girly," yet Piper was also here, running after a boy obsessively. She denied their mother while still thinking of her domain.

Drew hated Piper's entire being.

She had to watch as her older half-sister came and took her place, came and told her she was wrong to harbour hatred against a girl Piper had never even fucking met. And her older half-sister also had the gall to say that Drew shouldn't go after "her" man, when Piper was the one obsessing over him.

The cabin was empty.

Drew was on the ground.

Drew was shaking. She was hurting. She was angry, furious, betrayed, and hurt. Hurt by things no one saw, no one cared about, and no one would stay by her side because she wasn't Silena.

Perfect Silena, who could fight. Perfect Silena, who died a hero.

Drew needed space.

She needed a home.

She wanted to scream and cry and wail and plead for someone—anyone—to understand her pain–

Drew shot up, the scream held back in her throat. This dream was of Ayden, her younger brother (only 10) dying in the battle of Manhattan. He'd been slain by a cyclops, the cyclops' spear piercing Ayden's chest. And then her dream had shifted to that fateful day she left camp to seek peace with her father.

Oh how she hated it.

Drew sighed slowly, looking over the living room she had crashed at. Percy's flat and Drew was on the couch.

On the other couch, Rachel was draped across it with her red hair a mess and a blanket thrown over her messily. On the floor, Leo and Nico were both on mattresses, Leo spread eagled, half-on half-off his mattress and Nico curled up on his side.

Drew could hear the soft splattering of water and the sizzling of something in a pan. She quietly pulled herself up, leaving the blanket on the couch, and walked to the kitchen. In the doorway, she found Percy at the stove cooking pancakes. She was wearing a tank top and shorts, what she wore to bed probably.

On the table, five plates were laid out, along with cutlery, glasses, different toppings, and an already full plate of blue pancakes.

Percy turned, sending Drew a tired smile. "Morning."

"Morning," Drew greeted, and sat down at the island table in Percy's kitchen, staring at the blue plate. Percy had gotten blue plates that looked like waves crashing, and they looked beautiful against the star white marble table they were laid on.

How Percy and Drew's friendship started was odd. After the second giant war, Drew had been ostracised (even though she fought, her cabin had taken Piper's side and completely agreed with the girl that Drew was wrong and yes, she was, but she was also a scared child and she knew that now), but Percy reached out. She held out a hand, gave her a beautiful smile, and opened her arms. Drew hadn't trusted her at first, had believed it a ploy, but Percy endlessly showered her with nothing but kindness, and suddenly, Drew couldn't help but give it back.

Percy had listened and understood. Had cared and now, their relationship transcended friendship, they were like sisters.

Percy could read Drew like a book, but Drew didn't mind, not when it was her sister, the one who cared more than the others.

A pink mug was set on the table before Drew with the words "Beautiful beyond compare" printed on the mug. In the mug was Drew's favourite tea, Jasmine tea at the perfect temperature thanks to Percy's powers. She smiled into the mug as she took a sip, savouring the slightly sweet taste from the floral tea.

Drew never really talked about her nightmares. She had hid them, had acted like a bitch, but Percy had drawn her out and gotten her to talk a little. Drew was thankful for that because she truly had been drowning in the pain of not getting anyone who understood what it meant to be betrayed by your own sister and everyone saying that that sister was a hero. Yes, Silena was a hero, but she also caused several deaths and Drew had hurt. Percy had accepted every little comment and listened, Drew hadn't felt like she was drowning since.

It was one thing to hear about the endless empathy Percy had, something everyone credited to Percy's mother and Percy herself gave full credit to her mom, and another thing to actually be on the receiving end.

Drew could still be a bitch, and maybe rude, but she made sure the people she cared about knew that she cared. That was all that mattered.

"Hey Death Breath," Percy greeted, snapping Drew out her thoughts. Drew turned and sent Nico a grin. He didn't exactly return it, but he did nod at her, which was big considering Nico didn't smile much, unless with Hazel or Percy, the only two who could make him smile.

"What's for breakfast?" His voice was deeper than his teenage years, but he was still short in comparison to Percy.

"Pancakes," Drew answered as Percy flipped the next one.

Nico nodded and sat down beside Drew, his hand reaching out to snatch a pancake from the plate he'd now noticed on the table. A spatula flew out and whacked his hand, making Nico take his hand back with a hiss.

"No, wait for everyone," Percy scolded like a mother to a child. Percy would make a good mother, Drew thought as she watched the way the two cousins (who acted more like siblings) glared at each other, throwing words in Italian at each other every so often. Nico had taught Percy some Italian, enough that she could claim she was semi-fluent and able to hold a lengthy conversation. It was also enough that she could curse like a sailor in Italian.

Seven minutes later, Red and Fireboy had finally entered. Breakfast was a fun affair, with Leo trying to throw syrup at Percy and Percy stopping it midair and dumping it on Leo. Leo had to have a very thorough shower after that. The minor problem of Percy probably not going to accept the job of becoming Bludhaven's next vigilante-Hero-thing was ignored.

Percy was obviously thinking over it, her mind going over the idea a dozen times a minute, but Drew didn't push. Percy never pushed Drew, Drew would never push Percy.

Soon, they had to leave since Rachel had an art exhibition to get to—her father wanted her to get some inspiration for her next piece, Leo still had his mechanic shop in Texas (he part-timed as a Hero), Nico was the Ambassador of Hades (whatever that entailed), and Drew herself was a model—she also part-timed as a Hero.

"If you change your mind, Perce, call me!" Drew called as she left last and Percy nodded, then closed the door.

For some reason, Drew had a feeling that something horrible was going to happen. She needed to get ready though as she was on duty for the Heroes this evening.

Chapter Text

Dick watched carefully as the Hero fought.

Their fighting styles were different depending on the division they came from and it was, well, incredible that such a large force could train people in such diverse styles.

The standard evening training with the Heroes—joint training they’d planned six months after the Heroes appeared—and this time it was quick sparring matches.

Damian was against a taller Hero.

The Hero was maybe around 5’11 and was male. On his head was a curly mess of blond hair, similar to Sophos (co-leader of the Hellenics Division, male, blond, 6ft), and his eyes were a sharp, slate grey. The Hero’s name was “King” and whenever one of the senior Heroes called his name, it almost sounded like there was a joke he was missing with the name.

King had several visible daggers and throwing knives strapped over his suit. He was proficient, extremely proficient, with knife throwing; his accuracy was uncanny and terrifying. While he had multiple weapons strapped over his body, King was using a spare set of throwing knives from Aegis (leader of the Nightshade Division) because his weaponry were the special ones that only worked on the mythological monsters he fought.

Damian was keeping up well enough, which was expected. The Heroes had abnormal speed and reflexes, almost superhuman. Damian, having trained with several superhumans, could keep up, but it was a wonder how the Heroes had such strength.

Dick could see that Damian was getting angry.

King’s knives, even if they were a borrowed set, had some sort of magic that made them return to him immediately. That meant that even if Damian knocked them all down, which he barely managed to do at times, the knives always came back and Damian was once again blocking a barrage of knives.

It was a terrifying thought, Dick realised, having to face an endless onslaught of knives.

The spar ended with Damian’s sword flying out his hand thanks to a well-placed throw from King.

Even with half of King’s face covered—all Hero uniforms had a face mask—Dick got the distinct feeling he was smiling. Not smugly or unkindly, but just smiling at his victory. Proud of it.

Dick watched as King turned to look at Warrior, the other leader of the Hellenic Division (a female though), and Warrior nodded. A single nod, but King was literally glowing at what must’ve been praise.

He could see why.

Warrior was a very tall woman, rivalling Jason in height (she stood around 6’4 or 6’5), and the blackish-maroon suit she wore only highlighted her muscular build. Her hair was a dark brown, but in certain lights it looked red and fiery. Her brown eyes seemed to also look red, they seemed to also hold a burn that could melt through steel purely by looking.

On her back, there was a bronze spear strapped there, and she had a shield over the spear as well. Other weapons could not be seen, but her spear skills were well beyond what Dickhad ever seen, even though he knew Diana, the Wonder Woman.

The Heroes had been active for about a year or two now, and Dick had only gotten to know the main leaders.

Sophos and Warrior were the two he knew best, having spoken to the Hellenics the most. With Warrior having been described, Sophos was just as dangerous in a different way.

Sophos was clearly a strategist. Even with his 6’1 height and platinum blond hair, his steely grey eyes always observing and calculating, he was clearly a thinker. Sophos didn’t seem to specialise in a single weapon and had a range, but the main weapon he held was definitely the dagger set at his hips. He was the one Dick spoke to the most, the two often speaking after meetings about further plans.

The Invictus Division seemed to be a lot less chatty, except for perhaps Onyx, their female leader.

Onyx was a short girl with curly dark chocolate brown hair and dark skin. Don’t let her short frame fool you, she definitely held a lot of power in that small, lethal body. She worked out often, it could be seen, and she was disciplined. A very deadly combination The most unsettling part of her was her eyes. Golden eyes that seemed to constantly churn, twisting around like molten gold threatening to drown Dick like in the movie “The Hobbit,” where Thorin hallucinated that the gold was pulling him down and trying to encase him in precious metals.

The only weapon she held was a gladius with a golden blade. It was always at her hip and she wielded it very well, as most Heroes did with their weapons. It didn’t seem like Onyx needed any more weapons because she herself was a weapon. Not only did Onyx have power thrumming beneath her skin, an aura that screamed strength, but her name, Onyx, well if that didn’t strike terror in you, then the flashing golden eyes being the last thing you would see should be enough.

The second leader of the Invictus Division was Merlot. Merlot was a type of wine and Dick wasn’t sure why Merlot had called himself that, but who knows. Merlot was not seen in the field a lot, but he definitely was a good leader considering they listened to him well and heeded his words. Merlot seemed to not wield a weapon when he was on the field, but monsters usually acted a lot more…frenzied and…drunken (is that the correct word?) when Merlot was around, so Dick had a feeling to not underestimate him.

That brought Dick to the leader of the Nightshade Division. While all the others had two leaders, the Nightshade Division had a single leader and it also didn’t seem to have a uniform like the other two divisions.

The leader was Aegis, and man was she terrifying. Aegis was shorter than Dick, standing at 5’7 ½ and she looked way younger, around 16 or 15, but her electrifying blue eyes whispered otherwise. Jet black hair and blue eyes that crackled with unknown power, along with a light olive skin tone. It was, well, scary how she looked you down with that aura of power that surrounded her. It reminded Dick of Diana’s a whole lot more than he’d like to admit.

And then her bow skills, her spearmanship, and that shield. Dick shuddered everytime he even caught a glimpse of her shield.

Aegis usually had on a silver parka jacket, her hair was always cropped short, and she gave punk-goth vibes with her “Death to Barbie” shirt (WHY?! Why did she hate Barbie?!). She had no face mask, as all of the Nightshade Division, that entire division following a different uniform. And she was always watching the men of the Justice League way more than the women, clearly meaning she was wary of men.

In total, Dick was wary of every single division because, even if they were fighting the monsters, Bruce’s paranoia was deep rooted and so he was wary.

Damian grumbled as he stood and marched over, sheathing his katana in the process. He looked angry at his loss, but Dick kind of expected it. If these Heroes fought monsters from the myths, of course a twelve year old child didn’t pose too much of a threat, no matter how much training said child had.

The next Hero stepped forward, this time from the Nightshade Division. She sported a bow with no quiver, as all Nightshade Division members. Their bows were magic, reloading whenever they pulled the string back. On Dick’s side, Cassie stepped forward for this battle.

Wonder Girl, daughter of Zeus, against a what looked to be thirteen year old girl with a bow, except said girl’s eyes sported a look of ancient power. A whole lot of Nightshade members looked young, way too young, but they always had an air of being older than they seemed. It was unsettling.

It was expected when Cassie looked a little scared to face the Hero. It was expected because she seemed to know more about the Heroes than she let them know. It was the same with Diana, Arthur (Orin), Kaldur, Dr. Fate, and even Zatanna.

With so many powerful members of the Justice League trusting the Heroes, it certainly was confusing, especially how they all unanimously agreed to never dig into how the Heroes came to be, who they were.

It was a testament to Bruce’s trust in Diana that he respected her wishes to a certain degree. He did still have files on most Heroes he’d met and seen, a minor precaution, which was fairly warranted.

The spar between Cassie and the Hero lasted ten minutes, and only ended when the Hero managed to get Cassie to block with her arms and used Cassie blocking her own vision to her advantage. The Hero won and Cassie stepped off after a few quick words of congratulations to the “younger” girl.

The way the Hero fought, it was like she was used to superhuman strength. This Hero had normal eyes—eyes that lacked the glow most Heroes in the other two divisions had—fought a demigod and won.

Dick watched and wondered. Because a child fought a demigod like she’d fought demigods before, like she’d specifically been trained against superhuman strength, and that was a terrifying thought.

The spars finished with Superboy facing Warrior, which was a battle to be seen.

See, each time they met up for training, they ended with spars between the Heroes and the Team.

This was the first time Superboy actually participated, after much asking from his wife Miss Martian (Megan), and it was a sight to behold, watching him against someone literally named Warrior.

Superboy was agile and less broad than his brother, Superman. He used to be all brawn, but now he’d refined his skill and was sharp, trained. Warrior seemed to be much the same, with speed that could match Superboy, strike for strike, and despite her massive figure, she was clearly lethal in single combat.

Many of the Heroes were cheering from their side.

“Wooh! Go War!!” was a favourite cheer, it seemed. The nickname “War” was obviously an all time favourite among the Heroes too.

Screams of joy when she got a hit.

It wasn’t much better on Dick’s side, with the Team also cheering loudly, with everything in them.

Final spar of the night and the two fighting were clearly favourites on each side.

With Connor, Superboy, he was like an older brother to many members of the Team. He wielded respect among every member of the Team and the Justice League. He was liked well and quite the leader.

Warrior seemed to be much the same. Her experience in battle was clear. And the respect she held, it almost seemed reverent. She was proud, clearly, but she had the skill to back it up. The way the Heroes cheered told of the deep rooted respect, of the pride they had in one of their leaders, of the strength she wielded with experienced hands.

Connor flew back after a particularly brutal hit and Dick was very thankful that there was a forcefield around the sparring circle.

Connor recovered just as quickly, and they were once again trading hits.

There was something Dick noticed about the Heroes. Most of them had some sort of enhanced strength, except for a very few. However, while most Heroes had similar levels of superstrength, some had more, which could only mean that power levels varied. That had been obvious, but it was odd to think that a group of heroes had incredibly odd degrees of strength depending on…

And that was the question. What did the strength levels depend on?

The spar ended soon, calling it a draw because neither seemed interested in backing down and the time was up.

Warrior stepped off and Dick strained to hear what they were saying.

“Warrior, nice fight,” Aegis said, fist-bumping the girl.

“He reminds me of… her ,” Warrior replied, and the surrounding mood seemed to dampen at the mention of “her”.

Who was “her”? Dick mused, watching as Sophos clapped his hands to snap them to attention. Whoever “her” was, she clearly had an effect on the Heroes.

Dick wondered how “her” reminded Warrior of Superboy. His question was soon answered.

“How does he remind you of her?” Onyx asked, her unsettling golden eyes eyeing Connor carefully.

“You know, super strong, but she’s lethal because of her refined skills rather than her strength,” Warrior said, her spear already back on her back. “A great fighter. Maybe she’s a bit more unpredictable, but they’re both leaders of a sort and respected. Don’t you fucking dare tell her I said that,” Warrior finished threateningly, her red eyes sparking at Stygian, who just shrugged.

Now Dick wasn’t sure who “her” was, but she sounded more and more interesting by the second. Like, they already have leaders, so is there someone above them with more sway among the Heroes? How did they come to be so respected?

His thoughts were cut off when the Heroes started leaving after farewells with Diana.

Dick jumped forward, needing to talk to Sophos.

“Sophos!” he called, and the blond looked back, brow furrowing at Dick. “Sorry, had a question.”

Sophos nodded, waving the Heroes to continue, and then he focused on Dick. “What’s up?”

“The permanent Heroes you’re stationing in Bludhaven, when will I be able to meet them?” Dick asked. The newest idea for major monster-prone areas was placing a few permanent Heroes in said areas. Bludhaven, being around third on the Heroes’ list, needed at least two or three permanent Heroes. So Dick, being Bludhaven’s resident vigilante, would need to work with them.

Before Sophos could answer, Stygian was there. Short though Stygian may be, his presence was just as strong, if not stronger, than Aegis and Onyx. Shadows clung to him, shrouded him in some sort of cloak like he was a king, and his black eyes were dark and frozen. Some of the Team had a theory he was a vampire since his skin was pale as hell.

Stygian answered instead, “Over the next few weeks, Bludhaven will have a rotation going on with three Heroe there for a week. We’ve yet to decide on a fully permanent group of Heroes.”

That was another thing. The League of Heroes (man, the public had literally no creative brain cell in them) did have leaders, but many senior members (or Dick assumed they were senior since they appeared at meetings the most) could talk over or input things without needing to ask. It seemed to be a sort of relaxed hierarchy in a sense, that everyone could talk whenever they wanted.

Dick tilted his head, a little confused by the answer. The new plan was to be implemented in a week's time, and they’d given the idea at the meeting two weeks ago. They’d had three weeks to find a Hero and they hadn’t, which was odd considering Sophos’ meticulous planning.

“Really?” Dick voiced his disbelief.

Beside Sophos, on his left, Kallos had appeared, her piercing emerald green eyes (eerily similar to Damian’s) watching him carefully. “I mean, we have several candidates, but you have to remember that some Heroes have lives outside of Hero work and obviously we need to work around the schedule.”

Kallos was different in a weird way. She seemed to draw people in, her voice was sharp, but also smooth and almost melodious. Her explanation was no different, said in a tone that left no room for argument.

“Right, thank you.” Dick nodded and turned away, heading straight for Tim, since Tim was over in Bludhaven for a few weeks.

Tim was visiting him—obviously he was visiting Dick since Dick was his favourite sibling—and was also taking a break from the Manor since Bruce and Jason were at it again. Damian was camping out with Jon while Cass and Steph were with Barbara. Kate, well she was the lesbian wine aunt who turned up randomly, so who the hell knows where she was.

Once back there, Timmy and he left with Dick still mulling over the news of a rotation in Bludhaven.

Five days into knowing Percy Jackson (and eight days of avoiding the Manor), Tim was once again in a coffee shop talking to the older girl because she was great company, contrary to her more than intimidating looks.

They were currently in the process of talking about Percy’s semi-fucked up family.

It started with Tim randomly dropping the fact that Jason and Bruce were fighting, which then prompted Percy to say that she and her uncle fought a lot. And suddenly, a lot of shit started pouring out.

“You have screaming matches with our uncle?”

“Hell yeah I do, that drama queen deserves every insult,” Percy spat.

There was a short rumble above and dark clouds looked like they were gathering for a few seconds before they dissipated. It was Bludhaven and random grey clouds hanging over the city was normal, but Percy had literally glared at the clouds out the window and muttered something under her breath.

Tim had heard the words, but he didn't know the language.

When Percy had spoken, whatever she'd said had thrummed in Tim's veins. It felt powerful, the words that he'd barely managed to catch, terrifyingly powerful and ancient. Tim didn't feel like he was being paranoid, he actually felt the dark mutter of something, and it felt powerful.

It went as soon as it came and Percy's annoyed look had cleared so fast, Tim wondered if he had imagined it.

That was another thing about Percy. Her emotions could change in milliseconds, like the ocean. They were unpredictable, erratic, but sometimes, it was so cool to see how she was calm one moment and delighted the next.

“You said your friends recently pulled a prank and your other group of friends want your help for revenge, right?” Tim asked, changing the topic. “Do you enjoy pulling pranks?”

“Yeah. I may be a twenty-four year old woman, but pulling pranks is the greatest pastime,” Percy replied, her crooked smirk making her look more like a troublemaker than ever.

It reminded Tim of Steph, Jason, and Dick, somehow. “You, my two older brothers, and my ex-girlfriend would get along really well.”

“Your ex-girl?”

“Yeah. She and I act more like siblings than romantic interests. And she loves to prank people, to mess with people,” Tim replied because that was Steph, always spoiling the mood.

Percy let out a soft chuckle. "Now I have to meet them, please."

Tim shook his head. "I would offer, but I don't want you to meet any of my family. Do you know how insane they can be?"

"My family's worse," Percy shot back.

"Agree to disagree," Tim responded.

Percy rolled her eyes. "Live with what makes you comfortable, but know that ultimately you are not telling yourself the truth." And then she took a sip of coffee as if she hadn't dropped one of the greatest ways to say "agree to disagree".

Tim stared at her with his jaw on the ground as she took another bite of her cookie, and then he picked his jaw up and mentally promised to himself that he would never let Jason meet Percy. Jason with his literature and Percy with her random raw lines? Not a combination Tim wanted to meet.

Another problem was that Bruce would take one look at Percy and go "I must adopt"; Percy had black hair, greenish-blue eyes, and trauma (she had hundreds of scars, there had to be some form of trauma in this woman). She fit the Wayne bill way too well. And of course, she could fight, she was way too perfect.

Tim took another sip of his coffee, ignoring the fact that somehow the world was gonna fuck that up too and this woman was, eventually, going to meet his family.

Watching Percy as she stared out the window, the falling sun actually making Percy seem to physically glow, Tim couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something different about this woman.

It wasn't just that she was tall (6'2), it was the fact that she had a certain…presence, for the lack of better words. This woman seemed to draw attention to herself either in the way that parents warn their children to not be like her (troublemaker looks had serious downsides). And then you actually talk, and against your better judgement, you want to continue because she’s nice and sweet and nothing like her intimidating exterior.

Tim averted his eyes quickly, but he had a feeling Percy knew he was looking with the way she turned and gave him a knowing look.

Family dinners were the bane of Percy's existence.

Here she sat with her father, Amphitrite, Triton, Tyson, Rhode, Benthesikyme, and even Kym out of exile around a table under the ocean with dozens of dishes and loads of chattering.

Percy was completely done with it all.

"Perseu- Percy," Lady Amphitrite corrected, smiling at her step-daughter kindly, "How has your life fared in the mortal world?"

Percy took a bite out of the sushi piece she had and then faced her step-mother. "Boring."

Amphitrite blinked once. Twice. "Do we need to kill someone?"

Percy quickly shook her head in panic. "No, it's just the desk job I'm doing, it..." Percy sighed again. "It's a little dull."

"Would you like me to send a tidal wave to the company?" her father offered.

"Dad, no! Gods, boring does not mean you kill someone." Percy ran a hand down her face; her family's antics were, well, a lot more than she was used to.

One and a half years after the war, Poseidon had started inviting Percy over for dinner and it soon became a weekly thing. Then Kym was released from exile, her redemption arc being she got figurines and she was happy to be acknowledged, thus she was free again. And then Benthesikyme also joined them from time-to-time.

And that was how family dinners continued.

During these dinners, Amphitrite had become a sort of aunt to Percy and she was a great aunt/step-mom. Percy loved hanging out with her randomly because Amphitrite had the greatest stories about Poseidon and Percy would endlessly tease her dad about his embarrassing moments. He had nothing on her, thankfully. And if he did, it was because of a godly problem, so it didn't count.

(Yes, Percy’s amazing mother, Sally Jackson, never told Poseidon any of her embarrassing childhood stories. Take that, Dad! Mom loved her more!)

"Older sister's job is...boring? Why?"

Oh, Tyson, sweet Tyson, Percy loved her little cyclops brother. "Nothing to worry about, Ty, just mortal jobs not being fulfilling enough."

Tyson nodded and the conversation changed to his latest creation. A trident that could glow when touched by someone of Poseidon's descent, and it looked amazing. He was planning on gifting it to Rhode for fun.

Yeah, Rhode, Poseidon's other daughter. Rhode was a quiet and thoughtful goddess, but she was also known for her beautiful jewellery produced on her island, Rhode. Rhode usually took the form of a beautiful blue-haired woman with silvery-blue eyes and fair skin. She liked to randomly pop in on Percy for sisterly chats and to drop off jewellery because Rhode had decided Percy didn't have enough.

Near the ending of lunch, Percy's job was brought up again.

"You should consider joining my Court," her father proposed for the seven-hundredth time.

Percy sighed, slumping in her hair. "Dad, for the last time, politics bores me."

"Sit straight, Percy, you are a princess. Whether politics bores you or not, you will act like a princess of the sea," Amphitrite said quickly and Percy immediately corrected her position.

"I agree with Perse- Percy. Perhaps it would be wise to not allow her into the Sea Court," Triton added.

Kym laughed, high and flooded with amusement. "Percy is by far one of the most persuasive of Father's children and her natural aura of intimidation would be perfect for the Sea Court. If I am to join as Rhode, you, and Benthesikyme have joined, then Father's youngest should join too."

Percy sent Kymopoleia the most betrayed look she could. "Me? These persuasive skills you speak highly of are lacking."

Benthesikyme chuckled. "Sister, your persuasive skills are no joke. The Court would kneel to you if you so much as said one word."

"That is expected of the Court when faced with royalty," Percy replied airily, swirling her drink in its glass. It was a simple mix of nectar and Amphitrite's special seaweed blend, or something.

Poseidon cleared his throat. "Percy, joining the Sea Court is not only about politics. It is also about acknowledging your claim as my child. If you join, it will be seen as a truly formal way of saying that any harm to you is a harm to me."

"I have been acknowledged as your daughter already." Percy turned to her father. "Allow me a few more years of peace in the mortal world before I am dragged to the Sea Court."

Rhode's melodious laugh filled the dining area. "Dragged? Whatever do you mean?"

Percy sent her a glare devoid of heat, which caused Rhode to give an amused smile in return.

Talk ceased for a few minutes before Triton turned to Percy again.

“Have you decided if you are going to join your kin in their fight against the monsters?” Triton asked, observing her carefully.

Before Percy got the chance to even reply, Kym clapped her hands together and grinned. “Oh, please say yes, Sister. I have missed the look of fear monsters get when they face you! And I have several weapon ideas for you, if you do join!”

Percy rolled her eyes. “Kym… One, I am not joining the League of Heroes. Two, why can’t I just use Anaklusmos?”

“Because every monster knows it is you if you use Anaklusmos. Anaklusmos is your signature weapon that even if you covered your face and masked your demigod scent, that sword would be a dead give away, thus leading to monsters calling out your true name and the mask that your friends designed for you, the suit that masked your scent, would be useless,” Kym replied as if it was obvious, which it probably should’ve been, but when Percy was around her family, she sometimes felt like she was losing brain cells.

Percy sighed again and drank her weird seaweed-nectar smoothie that Amphitrite made for her. “Whatever. No, I’m still not joining.”

“I support that decision,” Poseidon muttered, much to his other children’s chagrin.

“Father! You make us do paperwork and then your own child is exempted from participating in helping Olympus?!” Kym immediately jumped in, furious.

“Oh hush, child,” Poseidon said. “Percy has done enough, it is her choice.”

Percy smirked at Kymopoleia over the rim of her goblet, which earned her a scathing glare that she easily ignored.

As Percy turned to pick her fork up again, a simple silver streak dropped in front of her face. Percy glared at it, the offending hair, and quickly pushed it back behind her ear. It was annoying enough that she had to stare at it every time she looked into a mirror, but falling in front of her face?

Percy tried cutting the hair, but it was back the next day without fail. It was so dam infuriating.

Everyone noticed the aggressiveness of the movement, but no one commented.

“Well, if you ever do bother to join the demigods, you’ll need new weapons that are balanced for you, so do come to the ocean,” Rhode murmured.

Tyson nodded vigorously. “Yes! I will make sister’s weapons!”

Against her wishes, Percy’s lips quirked upwards into a soft smile. “Thanks Ty.”

Oh great, more water, Percy thought, her mind already willing the salty tears of the goddess to bend to her will, to listen to her.

Akhlys was choking and Percy was winning against a goddess.

Something cracked inside of her. That crystal ball she'd finally smoothed was shattered and broken again. It ached, but she also loved it.

Percy relished the feeling of destroying Akhlys. Of making her feel her pain. Of making this goddess understand a mere ounce.

"Percy! PERCY!"

And with her concentration half on Akhlys, she turned to Annabeth, turned to see the blonde girl terrified and screaming.

It took Percy a moment to figure out that she was scared of her. Annabeth was staring at her terror.

"Please, stop!"

Percy didn't want to stop. She wanted to see how much misery Misery could take. She wanted to drown the goddess in every single grain of pain Percy had gone through, and she wanted to enjoy it.

"Please," Annabeth begged, her voice cracking and tears running down her face.

Percy dropped her hands, dropped her control of the poison and the tears. Annabeth was scared of her.

"Go, before I kill you," Percy shot at the goddess. Akhlys fled without any attempt to get revenge. A goddess was scared of her.

And then Annabeth was at her side, cautious and scared. "Percy, swear to me you'll never do that again. Swear to me."

"I-" She'd done it to survive, to protect them. She'd done it as a last resort to fight back because she and Annabeth were going to die. She couldn't swear, not when that power was used for their survival. "I promise," she murmured. She would never swear.

"Some things aren't meant to be controlled," Annabeth whispered, cupping Percy's face.

Her eyes searched Percy's looking for a lie in the promise. Percy's mask did not crack, didn't shatter, didn't move.

The crystal ball, its cracked shards smoothened at the edges.

They were in hell and all Annabeth cared about was the unnaturalness of trying to survive.

Percy shot that thought down. She was scared, she was scared, but it was fine, Annabeth wouldn't be scared of Percy for too long. She couldn't.

She could, Percy thought bitterly, ignoring the arm still in the tree.

All the way in England, having vapour travelled there when she was startled, Percy had found herself in a forest at night. It was the weekend and she’d been startled because of, what else, but a nightmare. A nightmare of Tartarus, as usual.

In the dark forest Percy had found herself in, she’d seen all sorts of things in those shadows and when she saw a pair of glowing dark, toxic green eyes sunken in the tree bark, Percy’s first instinct was to punch.

She was glad that the tree had not been occupied by a wood nymph because she hadn’t held back her strength. The punch went straight through the bark, the splintered wood scratched her arm.

And that was where she found herself, several minutes later, furious at her lack of control. She hated that memory and everyone to do with it. Hated the way Annabeth’s grey eyes were clouded with pain and terror, directed at her.

Percy’s head dropped, her hair fell in front of her face, and that silver streak taunted her again.

Annabeth’s silver streak had faded during the six months she had been searching for Percy. Since Hera’s weird magic induced amnesia preserved Percy’s body, Percy’s streak stayed, but it had only been dark grey.

When they went through Tartarus, when something inside Percy cracked, her grey streak became silver, became more permanent, and it never faded. Completely and utterly magic, the streak was there forever. Percy hated it with every fibre of her being.

She withdrew her arm, hissing slightly as the wood scratched her arm.

And that was when the rain started. Percy should’ve expected it considering she was in England, but it was still a shock when water started hitting her face.

Percy looked at her arm and noted the scratches healing immediately when the rain hit her arm. Right, her healing factor. Not just did she have a faster healing factor since she was a demigod, but water healed her almost immediately.

Percy glared at the offending rain as her arm tingled with the aftereffects of healing.

The rain was cold, which didn’t affect her much, but it was still a little shock after being under warm blankets. It was especially annoying considering the twiggy ground and Percy’s lack of footwear.

Percy glared at the ground at that, cursing her weird vapour travelling powers for taking her to England—fucking England of all places!

She vapour travelled back to her apartment, drying herself and her floor with her powers. Then she stared at the dirt from her feet on the ground and she cursed some more.

After fixing everything, it was only around 1 in the morning in Bludhaven, much to Percy’s anger, and so she decided a nice cup of hot chocolate and a brief time on the roof would do her good.

When Percy was making the hot chocolate, she decided to make herself a flask instead of one cup.

So with her flask, a pack of mini marshmallows, a mug, and a book, Percy made her way to the roof of the apartment block by the fire escape stairs.

The air up there was a stark contrast to the fresh England air Percy had just been breathing in, but it was a nice breath of fresh air rather than being left alone in her room with her thoughts.

Percy sensed him before she heard him. Then she heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps hitting the roof and softly padding over, or trying to be silent, but Percy’s hearing was topnotch.

She turned with a small frown on her face (she was annoyed because her peaceful roof time just got interrupted, give her a break) and found herself staring into white lenses of a domino mask.

She was very glad she was sitting on the ledge because, had she been standing, she might’ve fallen back from the very shocking fact that a vigilante was watching her.

Unfortunately, she spilled some hot chocolate and Percy barely managed to willed herself to get wet before the hot drink splashed on the front of her tank top and she groaned. “Dam it, you dam bird. Now look at what you’ve done.”

She looked up from the stain to see the guy smirking at her, his smirk not as crooked as hers, but definitely similar in the sense that he seemed like a troublemaker.

“Well, what’s a woman doing on the roof at this time?”

“Getting some fresh air, that’s what,” she spat back, eyes narrowing at Nightwing, who was still smirking at her.

“Dam bird?” he echoed. “Is that all I am?”

“No, you’re a cocky fucking bastard. Bet you think all women love being snuck up on, don’t you?”

Nightwing’s smirk widened. “Well, not really, but you… You knew I was coming. You turned around before I even managed to get close enough, so…can't really say I snuck up on you.”

“Fuck off you overgrown bird,” Percy snapped. She was slightly aware of how she was not even dressed well enough to see anyone. A simple grey tank top and some black pyjama pants? Especially with the fact that her tank top was wet and sticking against her stomach. Drew would laugh at her if she knew what was happening, as would most of her friends.

She turned away from Nightwing, muttering curses in ancient Greek as she did. She closed her flask, picked it up, and walked past Nightwing.

She heard a soft chuckle at her obvious way of ignoring him.

The fire escape door slammed shut behind her.

Percy made a note to never tell anyone about that encounter.

Especially the three people currently staying in her apartment for their week rotation in Bludhaven.

Dick had met the three Heroes staying in Gotham that week.

All three were from the Hellenic Division.

The first two from the Hellenics Division were twins, or they seemed like it with the same hair, same mischievous eyes. Their names were Mischief and Mayhem respectively, but Dick hadn’t been able to tell the difference when they introduced themselves and he was sure they might’ve said the other’s name to mess with him.

The other Hero with them had just sighed at their antics, gave Dick an apologetic look, and then introduced herself as Mage.

While those three had patrolled for loose monsters in the area, Dick had continued with his normal patrol route, except he had a com from the Hellenics to keep in contact if necessary.

As Dick ran from roof to roof, his eyes caught a gleam at the roof of an apartment complex he often passed on his patrol.

He paused a few roofs over and watched in the darkness as the gleam, obviously a reflection of the moon,  moved and then stopped moving.

Dick moved closer and could soon make out the outline of a person.

A little closer and he could see it was a woman, one leg was on the ledge of the building with her and the other dangled down against the building. Even from his perch, Dick could see her toned arms, the dark olive tan (an obvious mediterranean complexion) and the black hair that fell over her shoulders in waves.

He wasn’t close enough to see the face of the woman, but even with what he could see, Dick couldn’t deny that she was beautiful.

And Dick was intrigued as to what she was doing on a rooftop with what he now knew to be a flask and a mug clasped in her hands.

He landed on the roof she sat on, behind her, and noted the miniscule tensing. Dick was a little surprised that she’d even managed to know he was there, but why else would she tense.

As he got closer, the woman turned to him with a scowl on her face.

Dick’s breath caught in his throat.

Ignoring the thin white scar that crossed her left eyes and ended below her cheekbone, the woman was absolutely gorgeous.

Dick had dated two women before, both stunning in their own ways. Zatanna with her glossy black hair and cool blue eyes. Barbara with her fiery red hair and her emerald green eyes that sparkled at the idea of mischief.

But this woman… This woman was beyond even normal beauty. Her beauty seemed dangerous, but completely natural.

And her eyes! Holy shit, her eyes were like the literal ocean was trapped within them, sparkling and tossing around.

She wasn’t all soft features and kindness. This woman was definitely a dangerous woman, and Dick was mesmerised immediately.

The spell was broken when she blinked and then jerked back, as if not expecting to see a vigilante behind her on the roof. She spilt some of her drink on her tank top and with the wet shirt now sticking to her skin, Dick could make out the faint outline of abs on her stomach.

“Dam it, you dam bird. Now look at what you’ve done.”

Dick smirked at what she said, and his smirk grew as she met his eyes with an even bigger scowl than before. Distantly, in the back of his mind, his self preservation instincts told him not to mess with the woman who had a scowl that dark, but that wasn’t important.

“Well, what’s a woman doing on the roof at this time?” he asked instead.

Her stunning ocean eyes sparked angrily, swirling like a sea storm threatening to drown him. “Getting some fresh air, that’s what.”

“Dam bird?” he said, recalling her first words. “Is that all I am?” His voice was airy with mock offence at her words, as if he was teasing her.

“No, you’re a cocky fucking bastard,” she shot at him, the scowl turning into a full on glare with pure fury etched into every single line of her face. “Bet you think all women love being snuck up on, don’t you?”

She was feisty, that was for sure. And Dick definitely had a type with, uhm, strong-willed women. His smirk widened, much to the anger of the mysterious woman. “Well, not really, but you… You knew I was coming,” he said, and he noted that she stiffened slightly. “You turned around before I even managed to get close enough, so…can't really say I snuck up on you.” And a look flashed across her face, like she was surprised he realised she’d heard him, but it was gone just as fast as it came.

“Fuck off you overgrown bird,” she spat, and then she turned away.

Dick didn’t even get her name before she, her blue mug with waves on it, and her silver flask were all gone through the fire escape door on the roof, which slammed shut behind the woman.

With the woman gone, Dick was stuck wondering who the hell she was and what her name was.

Dick placed his hands on his hips and shook his head, the smile on his face never falling.

“Nightwing, we’ve found a group of monsters. Will engage, however a few blocks away, Mayhem found some people breaking into a jewellery shop,” Mage informed Nightwing, making him shake his head.

“Location?”

Once he got the location, Dick was off, all thoughts of the woman wiped from his mind.

It was easy enough to deal with the criminals. And the BPD were on their way soon enough.

Nightwing left the criminals knocked out and tied to a lampost, then headed in the direction of the Heroes.

He arrived by rooftop (naturally, he was part of the Batfamily). The Heroes were just wrapping up, Mage finishing off the last few while Mischief and Mayhem stood to the side.

Having met the two when they were grinning like troublemakers, seeing the two of them serious was interesting, to say the least.

With the last of the monsters gone, he dropped down. “Nice work,” he said, nodding to the piles of gold dust.

Mage turned to him with a thankful nod. Mischief (or Mayhem?) was cleaning his dagger. The twin brother, or so Dick assumed because of their almost identical looks, was checking his winged shoes. Yes, winged shoes.

Simple black and red converse-like shoes with pure white wings on each end. And the wings allowed them to fly, as they’d so happily demonstrated when he first met them.

(Happily demonstrated meant falling off the roof and then flying back up to mess with Dick, as if it was funny.)

One of the twins was saying something to his twin in a language Dick didn’t know. Mage was watching them carefully before she too nodded, as if agreeing. And then she spoke in the same language and Dcik was left confused and slightly annoyed he was being left out.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he finally said, “but why do you sound so urgent?”

“Because we fought two of the monsters in the group exactly six weeks ago. Monsters take much much longer to reform, which means something is allowing them to reform faster, and that’s dangerous,” Mage replied, her misty green eyes looking over the gold dust left in the monsters’ defeat.

Dick was still a bit confused about the monsters reforming and all that, but the way Mage spoke said it was bad, like bad bad.

He nodded. “Do you need to report this?”

“Yeah, probably. We’ll head to our base after finishing our rounds of Bludhaven and speak to Sophos then. See you later,” Mage said and she was off, the brothers following her.

Dick wondered if the Heroes would be okay, considering the slightly urgent tone in Mage’s voice.

His eyes caught on the glinting gold on the ground. Looking at the gold dust swirling on the floor, almost like ocean waves, it reminded Dick of a certain ravenette with sea green eyes that swirled just as smoothly and wave-like. And even in his worry for the League of Heroes, Dick couldn’t help the small smile at the feisty, tall woman he’d met, or dropped in on and never got the name of.

At that reminder, he cursed softly. Yeah, he really needed a name for that woman because “mysterious woman” was not going to cut it.

Travis Stoll was the older brother and, contrary to popular belief, Connor was most definitely not his twin. Travis was also known as Mischief, naturally. Connor was Mayhem.

With their rounds of Bludhaven complete, the brothers dropped onto the balcony of Percy’s flat and entered, shutting the door behind them.

Lou—Mage—was already back.

Travis found his favourite pranking buddy in the kitchen with blue pancakes already on the table and ready to be consumed. Connor was right behind him, his hands washed and ready to eat.

“Dam Perce, I would marry you only for your cooking.”

“Sit down, Stoll, and eat.” Percy shot Travis a warning look.

“You sound like a mother, Percy,” Connor added, but he sat down beside Travis.

Travis just smirked at the daughter of Poseidon. “Heard Leo asked for your help in a prank. The Hephaestus cabin and Iris cabin have had a prank war going on for two months and the prank you helped Leo with just made them win.”

“Oh, did it?” Percy asked airily, flipping another pancake.

“Hell yeah it did!” Lou was back from telling Sophos about the decreased time between monsters returning from Tartarus; after her serious talk, it was a miracle she could enter while grinning at the taller ravenette. “Honestly, peak comedy was watchin Butch run out his cabin with a bunch of metal donkeys following him and shouting “Butchy-boy, come and ride us”,” Lou finished, tying her hair back in the process.

Travis caught the smallest quirk of Percy’s lips and he grinned to himself. Even without Percy at Camp all the time, it still felt awesome to know her playful side wasn’t gone after…everything that happened.

He still remembered the shattered look in Percy’s eyes when she came back from the woods, much later than Annabeth. He could still remember the way she refused to talk to anyone, stayed locked in her cabin, and he remembered hearing whispers about things that happened.

Annabeth and Percy had broken up. Annabeth spoke to a select few first.

And the day that Travis heard that , he’d nearly released an army of spiders at Annabeth.

He’d been livid on Percy’s behalf. Percy, who after finally emerging from her cabin  and looking put-together, had merely said it was nothing and to keep it on the down-low.

Not many knew about the truth behind their break-up. Considering Annabeth had realised the anger she received for what she said, she’d stopped talking about it. And those who knew the full events were pretty much just under twenty people, except the actual two involved.

Thalia, Nico, Reyna, Hazel, Travis and Connor, Leo, Pollux, Drew, Rachel, Clarisse, Chris (Travis’ brother), Malcolm, Chiron, Lou Ellen, Butch, Katie (Travis’ loving girlfriend and Percy’s cousin), and Miranda Gardener (Katie’s sister who counselled the cabin during the Spring, Winter, and Autumn).

So Percy had a great support network after the shit that happened. And generally speaking, when Travis and Percy spoke, Travis usually asked for advice on a prank he was going to pull because come on, it’s his favourite pranking buddy, barring his brother.

Dousing his stack of blue pancakes in syrup, Travis took a bite and moaned in delight. Percy’s pancakes, her mother’s famed recipe, would always be better than anything they got at Camp.

“Holy shit, Percy, I might come over more just for your food,” Travis said. His former statement about marrying her was a lie, of course, since he had a great girlfriend, but Travis was sure Katie wouldn’t mind if he went over to her cousin’s house for food.

“Thanks Trav,” Percy replied.

“Percy, I’m seriously considering marrying you. My brother can’t”—Connor had the fucking gall to send Travis a cocky grin—“but I still can. So please.”

“Hell no! If anyone’s marrying Percy, it’s me because her food is absolutely heavenly and you two pranksters wouldn’t worship it correctly,” Lou retorted as she crumbled up her pancake and sprinkled it into the candle Percy had lit. She muttered a soft prayer when it was all done.

Percy chuckled, placing the final pancake on her plate. She leant down and kissed Lou’s cheek in a platonic way because that was Percy, always kissing her friends’ forehead or cheek. “Look Scarlet Witch, while I’d love having my food worshipped, marriage is not on my mind at all.”

Connor and Lou groaned dramatically while Percy and Travis exchanged glances.

It said a thousand things, but mainly, the look they exchanged said “these younglings,” as if Travis and Connor weren’t older than them.

(Travis was 3 years older than Percy, Connor was one year older than Percy, and Lou was younger than Percy by a year.)

“How was patrol?” Percy asked.

She received Lou’s quick report on the new monster reformation time and Percy…

Travis nearly gasped when Percy had that contemplative look on her face, considering everything. He could practically feel that she was thinking about joining again. Of course she was, and gids, having Percy fighting at his back again?!

Travis and Connor were full brothers. They could practically read each other’s minds. They had a bond so deep and so much trust, it would be impossible for them to not fight well together. Sure, they trained with everyone and fought with others well, but they’d known each other pretty much their entire lives (in Connor’s case, he had known Travis his entire life), and that trust was incomparable to anything else.

But Percy? With her fighting at your back, you never know when to stop. On your last leg, harshly breathing, and worn out? Percy’s there, covering for you, watching over you, and you trust her immediately because in a fight, there was a certain presence Percy held on the battlefield. It exuded confidence, a calmness not many had, if any, and it just made you feel stronger too.

Travis could tell Connor also wanted Percy at his back again.

Most people among the demigods did because fighting with Percy, that was when you truly knew you were a demigod.

Travis still remembered when she was a small, underweight, underfed, gangly kid whose scowl couldn’t hurt a fly. He remembered the thrill of seeing Percy descend from the Argo 2, heard Clarisse’s relieved laugh, and he’d never felt so much more alive then having Percy back and kicking alongside them.

Lou must’ve seen it too because she’d subconsciously leaned forward.

“Percy?” Lou asked tentatively.

“Hmm?” Percy looked at Lou, the noise acknowledging. “Oh, right, monsters and patrol.”

“No, I’m wondering if I can mark the day you're fighting at my back again on my calendar,” Connor said, still watching Percy carefully.

Percy stiffened and then she relaxed, her eyes flitting to Connor. “I– I’m undecided,” she muttered.

And wasn’t that a much better reply than when Drew, Nico, Leo, and Rachel came to tell them Percy had declined.

(Annabeth had scoffed, as if she’d known, and then made a comment about Percy’s cowardly response being obvious and why did they expect otherwise and Travis had very nearly broken her neck.)

But now, she was undecided.

“Great! I’ll mark the day when you come back three weeks from now!” Lou exclaimed, jumping up and the unmistakable sound of a recording ending.

Percy jumped up too, aiming for Lou’d phone. “Scarlet Witch, you fucking– Ugh! Why am I friends with any of you!?”

Connor had recorded it too and he too was grinning as he ran from Percy.

“You dam children! Delete that footage this instant!”

Travis chuckled as he took a sip of his water. Connor, his real younger brother, was a pain in the ass, yes. Percy, his semi-adopted (as in he’d emotionally taken her in after Luke and that stuff) younger sister, was a nuisance in her own way, yes. When they teamed up, Travis knew he was in hell. Those two against each other was heaven. 

It was moments like these, when they were allowed to breathe easy and peacefully that Travis knew, there was still a hell of a lot to still fight for.

Chapter Text

The Invictus Heroes were coming soon for their week-long stay in Bludhaven and Percy was hosting them again.

She didn’t know which three were coming, only that three were coming.

And the bead on her table was taunting her.

Lou, Travis, and Connor had left twenty minutes ago that morning having been sure no more monsters would pop up till later that evening.

And that left Percy to stare at the black and blue clay bead Leo had dropped off when he came to say hi and greet his second favourite pranking buddies (Travis and Connor—Percy was his favourite, naturally).

He’d left seven minutes ago and Percy then found the bead on her kitchen table.

She knew what it was and she hated herself for being curious about how it looked when on.

Percy cursed and then gave in. She took off her Camp Half-blood necklace and slotted on the bead, noting the small trident engraved in the bead in celestial bronze.

She put the beads back around her neck and then left it there… She was not going to activate it!

She lasted fifteen minutes and fifty-two seconds.

Percy placed her book down and touched the newly added bead to the string. She pressed it, putting her will for the suit to form, and then she felt it.

It spread from her neck to further and further below, almost like scales clipping into place, except smoother and much lighter.

Percy walked out the room and entered her own bedroom to look at the full-length mirror.

Drew really knew what Percy liked because this was clearly her design.

The blackish-grey kevlar suit was form-fitting. It was high-necked and lacked a face mask like some of the other Heroes, but Percy’s face was covered with a dark blue domino mask instead.

Around Percy’s left thigh, some small, cylindrical canisters were strapped there. Nectar shots, Percy realised as she took one off. Small shots perfect for an energy boost and small injuries, the amount measured by the Apollo cabin impeccably.

Instead of completely covering the arms, Drew had made Percy’s suit sleeveless, so it cut right before it could go over the shoulder, and instead added gloves that reached Percy the middle of Percy’s upper arm. Said gloves followed the blue design Drew had added to the suit.

Blue design meaning that there were faint, glowing blue lines wrapping around the suit.

And finally, Percy could sense the joint efforts of the Hecate cabin and Hephaestus cabin to make those special spells that seemed to mess with their scent. Like they still smelt like a demigod to monsters, but their exact scent that allowed monsters to identify their parentage or them was not there.

The biggest problem was that Percy had no major weapons she could use, unless he did actually want to reveal herself as Percy Jackson by using Riptide. 

Percy turned to her bedside table and opened it. She found her spare celestial bronze dagger. It wasn’t the perfect balance, but to complete the suit, it would do. Besides, Percy wasn’t actually planning on going out to fight.

She sheathed the dagger in its sheath, obviously, and then (glad she had a sheath with a belt), belted it around her hips.

With the dagger resting on her left hip in a black sheath, clipped to a black belt, it really did bring the suit together.

She did have another set of weapons she wanted to add merely so it looked cooler.

(Hanging around Drew really made Percy think of her aesthetic, wow.)

Rummaging through her drawers, Percy found her throwing knife set gifted to her by her father on her eighteenth birthday and made beneath the ocean, so these weren’t unbalanced in her hands.

Sheathed around her upper right thigh, the Atlantean steel throwing knives, edged with celestial bronze, were covered by the black sheaths they lay in. The handles were wrapped in leather that Poseidon had dyed a dark blue for Percy’s favourite colour.

And man, with the throwing knives around her right thigh and the dagger on her hip, it looked incredible.

Percy, even if she was never going to use the suit, couldn’t help but admire it in the mirror.

“Dam, Kallos, Fireboy, you guys worked hard on this one,” she muttered. She felt a little guilty that their hard work for this incredible suit would ultimately be useless since she would never use it. Not to mention, if she ever did join (which she wouldn’t), she’d go to her dad for weapons.

Her phone pinged. A notification about her receiving a text. Percy tapped the bead and the suit dissipated. She then walked over to her bed and grabbed her phone.

Tim: Are you good at pranks

Percy stared at the message. She’d met Tim over two weeks ago and they sent rare texts. Now it was about pranks? Percy loved a good prank.

Percy: Yeah, why

Three dots popped up and the reply came.

Tim: revenge on my brothers
Tim: they ruined my new shirt by putting in the washing machine with a red sock
Tim: it’s pink now

Percy chuckled softly from her place on her couch in her apartment.

Percy: to get revenge, target your brothers separately and leave different evidence to point to a different brother instead of yourself
Percy: take the blame of you and cause mayhem
Percy: for brother one, say he has a hobby and special equipment ruin the equipment in such a way it looks like it was done by another and it annoys the guy
Percy: for brother two, I’d suggest dumping his clothes in slime or putting hair dye in his shampoo and conditioner, unless he has black hair then you can maybe burn his favourite clothing piece

She stopped typing for a second, wondering if that was too much, but decided to just send it. They were siblings and she burned the clothes of her sibling-like friends.

Percy: for the third brother, maybe you can blackmail him with something embarrassing you have on him, or you could give him his favourite food but made badly so it tastes horrible

There! Those were three excellent pranks that were nearly original, considering Percy had pulled similar pranks with different twists before.

Three buttons popped up again.

Tim: thx your a godsend

Percy: a ceo and you cant even use proper grammar
Percy: you’re not your

Tim: fuck you
Tim: you wrote cant instead of can’t

Percy: im an adult you little shit
Percy: im exempted from the rules
Percy: rules were made for little boys like you

She chuckled when Tim sent her the middle finger emoji and then went offline.

Malcolm Pace, Cabin Counsellor of the Athena Cabin and Sophos, one of the leaders of the Hellenics Division, was very, very tired of his younger sister.

Annabeth Chase had once been the pride and joy of the Athena Cabin.

After the two wars, she’d left for university in New Rome and Malcolm took over as Cabin Counsellor.

When the Incident happened, Malcolm hadn’t known what to think.

Sure, Annabeth had been the pride and joy of the Athena Cabin, but that was because of their mother. Athena favoured Annabeth a lot, it was obvious she had.

Annabeth, however, had never actually bothered trying to connect with anyone in the Athena Cabin.

Percy had always asked Malcolm once, why Annabeth only spoke of Luke like he was family. Why she never mentioned them. Malcolm hadn’t known because Annabeth was the one that remained distant, she was the one who refused to bond with them.

At first, they’d left her to it. Running away from home and then losing her sister figure, it must’ve hurt. And then she took over as head counsellor and they just ran with it, but Annabeth had always been distant.

Now?

After the rest of Camp Half-blood didn’t want her to be the leader of the Hellenic Division when it first started up, Malcolm had been the second choice for his strategic mind and skill, and the fact that he’d connected to people at Camp. Annabeth…hadn’t.

She’d had Luke and then she had Grover and Percy, but then she lost them all due to her own pride.

And now? She was grating on Malcolm’s nerves because of this most recent meeting of the demigods.

“The rise means we need her back! We need a stronger weapon! She–”

“Don’t you fucking dare call her a weapon!” Drew interrupted, her pale blue eyes narrowed at Annabeth coldly. “Percy left because she needed a break. When she joins, it will be on her terms, not ours.”

“Ugh! All I’m saying is that this “break” is just a stupid way of her turning her back on us.” Annabeth actually slammed her hands down on the table to enunciate her words. “How come we’re all slaving away to protect the world and she is just having fun in Bludhaven?!”

“You think she’s having fun!?” Nico shouted, standing to glare at the 5’9 daughter of Athena. Nico may have been shorter, but he sure as hell commanded respect, and Annabeth did quiver slightly under his glare. “How fucking dare you, Chase! Percy is allowed to take a break because of all the shit she’s been through!”

“You, me, and her all went through Tartarus. Why are we here and she isn’t?” Annabeth asked, Malcolm saw the way she hid her fear behind her prideful exterior.

“Because, Wise Girl ,” Clarisse spat, “Percy has done far more than any of us and she deserves her break.” Clarisse’s answer was said calmly, well calmly to most. Malcolm had known Clarisse for years, most of the people here had, and Clarisse was never one to listen to someone insult her friend without sending out a threat.

Annabeth turned her furious stare on Clarisse, but she knew she wasn’t getting anyone on her side. She sat down with a huff.

“Lou, the rise? When you fought the monsters, did they say anything?” Malcolm turned to the person who had reported the problem in question.

She nodded, her eyes still lingering on Annabeth coldly. “One of the dracaena said something about the godly ichor working well before I cut her down. I thought we managed to rescue my mother and Lady Harmonia already?”

“We did,” Thalia replied. “My hunters and I definitely got Lady Harmonia out. Your cabin and Hazel got your mother,” she directed at Lou.

“Then where’s this new supply of godly ichor coming from?”

The million dollar question, Malcolm thought tiredly.

And then people started shouting ideas of where it came from around.

Sure, Malcolm understood Percy’s need for a break, but gods! He really did miss having her steadfast presence that could command an entire room with a single look.

Malcolm took several deep breaths to think.

He then looked at Clarisse and nodded.

“ENOUGH!” the daughter of Ares roared, everyone shut up. If you don’t have Percy, go to Clarisse, both masters in silencing with different techniques.

Clarisse was loud and her voice was powerful. Percy was quiet and cunning. Both were terrifying forces.

“Okay, first we need to narrow down which gods haven’t been seen in a while. Butch and Chris, could you guys find out?” Said son of Hermes and son of Iris nodded in unison. “Great. Next, we need to know if they were willing or forced? Once you two,” Malcolm nodded to the formerly mentioned people, “have gotten a list, bring it to the Intelligence Headquarters.

“Emily,” Malcolm looked over at Emily, daughter of Eirene, goddess of peace and the daughter of Zeus and Themis (Eirene represents the ideal of peace and harmony, qualities often tied to wisdom in diplomacy), “Could you review with Ezra?” Ezra was the son of Aletheia, the goddess of truth itself, as in she embodies truth while Apollo is merely the god of truth, she is the concept of truth.

Emily and Ezra nodded in reply.

“Okay, onto…” Malcolm consulted the list of topics on his holopad. “…Suit upgrades?”

“Yep, that’s us,” Leo and Nyssa said at the same time. While Nyssa was the head counsellor of the Hephaestus Cabin, Leo was still a major part of the demigod community, even after he started his own auto-repair shop in Texas.

“Okay, we’ve organised some updates for the suit, as in the systems within the suits. Release a statement to all demigods that their suits now have an AI system similar to Tony Stark’s,” Nyssa informed Malcolm, who blinked a few times.

“A what?”

“You know, like JARVIS from Iron Man?” Dorothy, daughter of Vulcan and Centurion of the second cohort said. “My siblings from New Rome and Camp Half-blood have been working on creating an AI system similar to JARVIS and FRIDAY. Her name is NOVA and we’re currently trying to integrate her into the entire system. NOVA activates in voice command and can be made into a neural implant so she can communicate with us along with form a sort of holographic screen through our eyes.”

“HOLY SHIT!”

“That’s so cool!”

And suddenly the threat of monsters reformation time decreasing seemed minimal compared to the new system made by children of Vulcan and Hephaestus.

“Thank you,” Leo said, smirking cockily. “We worked hard.”

“NOVA should be fully online within this week,” Nyssa finished and sat down, her brother following her example while Dorothy had been seated all along.

“Well, that’s great,” Malcolm said. He was not being sarcastic, he was just tired. “I’ll send out an alert tonight after this meeting.”

“Thank you,” Dorothy said.

“Nothing else to talk about, meeting over,” Malcolm said, standing up quickly. He really needed some coffee.

Just then, alarms blared.

“Attack in Bludhaven. The three Invictus demigods already there just sent out an alert for backup,” Oliver Francisco, son of Mercury and Hazel’s praetor partner of the Twelfth Legion Fulminata. “They say it’s a much larger group than expected. Around a hundred, maybe more.”

“I’ll go,” Drew immediately said.

“Drew, call Arthur. Oliver, Clarisse, you’re with us,” Malcolm said quickly. They left.

Arthur, AKA King, son of Athena and Malcolm’s half-brother, met them on the way to the Pegasi stables.

Percy had been wanting a peaceful time.

The Invictus Division Heroes arrived, three from the Fourth Cohort. A son of Vulcan, a son of Venus, and a daughter of Mars.

They’d gone for their nightly patrol and Percy had been at her apartment in peace.

And then she sensed it, only a few blocks away, a much larger group of monsters than she’d expected to sense.

She’d left her apartment in a hurry (she did lock the door, don’t worry), and found herself watching Nightwing (that damn overgrown bird) dropping in with another two figures, one clad in black and the other in purple, getting people away while the Invictus Heroes started fighting.

She sensed the Pegasi above and looked up to see four descending, Guido and Porkiepie among them.

She recognised all the demigods riding them, except one, but she could tell he was Roman by the imperial gold sword at his right hip, easy to draw out with the left hand.

Percy stayed hidden to watch. It wasn’t too large of a group of monsters, so they would be fine, but she still wanted to watch.

And then shit hit the fan. Turns out there were a whole lot more monsters hiding out, waiting.

Percy watched Drew draw out monsters by acting as if she was distracted by the ones she’d just finished off. She trusted Drew to be fine.

That wasn’t what made her heart freeze.

What made her heart freeze was when Arthur ran forward. He probably didn’t realise Drew’s plan because he pushed her out of the way, and the hellhounds about to maul Drew were nearly on top of Arthur.

Percy didn’t even give herself time to think. Before she registered what she was doing, her suit was on, her dagger and throwing knives were there, and she was pushing Arthur back and standing before him, her dagger cutting the hellhound down within seconds.

Time seemed to freeze when she appeared. Everyone had stopped, even the monsters, to stare at her.

The moment probably lasted milliseconds, but it felt like hours where Percy was locked in a staring contest with seven hellhounds, fourteen dracaena, ten cyclopses, and six empousai.

Percy narrowed her eyes behind her mask. “Just like old times,” she whispered to herself.

With her dagger in her left hand, her throwing knives were already out and sailing through half the dracaena.

And the battle was on.

In her battle mind, Percy didn’t register much except her opponents and the people to avoid. Her moves were fluid and completely based on instinct.

Yes, Percy was trained and many of these moves where she ducked, threw a knife at an empousa, and slashed the leg of the cyclops was trained, but she didn’t really think of her next move, she just did it.

Battle instincts ingrained in her because of her godly blood. She’d be dead without them.

And then the battle was over, her final strike was shoving her dagger right into the chest of a cyclops as its single eyes stared at her, wide and fearful. Even with a mask on, covering her eyes that were sure to be darkened and angry, she got the feeling the cyclops could sense her fury.

When it crumbled to dust, Percy turned and rounded on a certain son of Athena, who looked awed and slightly scared at the full weight of her stare on him.

"Are you trying the new knife set your dad gave you?"

Arthur crept at the edges of the arena as he watched the cousins in the arena.

Perseus Jackson, daughter of Poseidon, Hero of Olympus at only 18 years old, and Arthur’s older sister’s girlfriend. Perseus Jackson was also legendary for her knife throwing skills, which was ironic since she had a complete lack of shooting skills.

"Yeah. Atlantean steel works on mortals and monsters and is durable. My dad made these for me for my birthday a week ago; they're a mix of Atlantean steel and celestial bronze actually, so it's going to be interesting," Perseus replied, and Arthur had a feeling she was picking one of her new throwing knives up. “He designed and Tyson made them. They’re so pretty, honestly! Not to mention that my dad said they were enchanted to always return to the sheath after a minute and a half!”

“Woah, kinda wish my dad gave me gifts like that. All I got was getting turned into a cornflower five weeks ago,” Nico grumbled.

Percy laughed, kind and joyous. “Damn, Neeks, gotta get a better step-mom haven’t yah!”

“Shut up, Perce.”

Arthur looked around the corner, into the arena, and saw Perseus was positioning herself to throw.

And without thinking, he pulled out his own dagger at his hip and threw it. He’d already calculated everything in his head.

The dagger sailed and hit Perseus’ dead on.

One knife, one dagger clattered to the ground and the cousins turned to see Arthur with his arm outstretched as if he’d just thrown a dagger. On the ground, beside Perseus’ throwing knife, a celestial bronze dagger lay, obviously after having hit Percy's throwing knife perfectly.

"How'd you do that?" Perseus demanded, her eyes narrowed at Arthur. Arthur shook slightly at the look.

"I–" He cut himself off and gulped at the combined weight of two children of the Big Three staring at him. Because having Perseus stare at you with her piercing, terrifyingly disconcerting sea green eyes was one thing. But having Nico di Angelo also stare at you with black eyes as cold as death itself, that was horrifying.

And combine both? Arthur could already feel the sweat.

Perseus’ eyes softened. "Sorry, I didn't mean it to be harsh. That was a great throw..." she trailed off, her question obvious.

"Arthur," he filled in.

Perseus smiled. "Well, Arthur, how do you feel about throwing knives with me? Grab your dagger and my knife, then come over here!"

Arthur brightened immediately.

In his peripheral vision, he saw Nico shake his head at Perseus as the son of Athena grabbed the weapons. "I feel like you just adopted another stray," Nico muttered.

Arthur felt really offended at that.

He looked up to defend himself, but Perseus’ bright smile stopped him. She was smiling very brightly at her cousin.

"Come on, Neeks, don't be dramatic. My mom adopted you, I didn't, I just acknowledged you as my scraggly little dumpster brother,” Perseus said, patting the son of Hades on the back.

"Hey!" Nico yelled indignantly, just as Arthur hid a laugh behind his hand.

Perseus flashed a crooked smirk at Arthur. "Let's throw some knives, King."

"King?" Arthur inquired. "Like King Arthur from the legends?"

"Well, I was thinking more from the BBC Merlin series, but yeah!" Percy laughed and Arthur couldn’t help but join in.

“King?” Percy called. “King? Kin–”

“KING!”

Arthur opened his eyes, expecting to see his elder brother (who had shouted) standing before him, but the sight he opened his eyes to was different. He found himself looking at a very familiar back standing before him, but not his brother’s.

It wasn’t broad like Malcolm’s, but leaner and taller. You could see the muscles since the suit on said back was skintight, but it was the exposed shoulders that were a dead giveaway of who stood in front of Arthur.

Three jagged scars ran from over the right shoulder and the rest of the scars were hidden by the suit. Three sharp, pale grooves in the deep olive tanned skin.

Arthur remembered when he first saw the scars. Percy had been wearing a tank top and some shorts with a jacket on top. They were doing knife throwing again and he was behind her.

She’d taken off her jacket and the scars, claw marks, had greeted Arthur’s eyes. Most of Percy’s skin was marked with scars, but those ones, he knew where she got them too. He’d seen her run out of camp to save a daughter of Iris being hunted by hellhounds.

He’d seen it all and now, the very same woman who’d run in immediately, was once again in front of him, protecting Arthur.

He stared, hoping that this wasn’t a hallucination. He looked around to see a lot of the demigods staring with varying degrees of shock as well.

Not a hallucination, then, he thought.

“King, get back!” Malcolm, his elder brother, shouted.

Arthur did immediately crawl backwards, the shock of nearly dying wearing off as he stood and watched in awe.

The rest of the demigods backed away too as the Hero of Olympus jumped into the fray with an unbalanced dagger and her throwing knife set she pulled out of who knows where.

She decimated the rest of the monsters without weapons that were even balanced.

And Arthur was still standing in shock as he watched her.

He could tell the mortal heroes were amazed too since he’d glanced at them briefly. Who wouldn’t be shocked to see a single woman against at least twenty monsters by herself and win!

The final monster was gone before Arthur could even say “spaghetti and meatballs”.

She turned around, her raven black hair and silver streak flying behind her as she stared dead at Arthur. Arthur gulped under the weight of her stare.

Percy marched over, and even though she was only an inch taller, Arthur felt very small.

“Hello,” he greeted.

“Hello, King,” she said, the calm tone forced and far too calm to be normal. “Would you like to be killed during the next year?”

“No,” he squeaked.

“Then what, pray tell me, were you thinking?” she asked, her voice still deadly even.

Arthur looked away. Even with a domino mask on, he could feel the piercing sea green eyes boring into him. “I thought I could take them.”

“No, I know you could take them. I mean, why did you push Kallos out of the way to take the hit yourself when she was very clearly ready to fight them?” Percy asked very carefully, her voice softening.

“I–” He actually hadn’t seen she was ready. He’d thought her back was turned, but he hadn’t fought beside Drew long enough to actually know that. He felt like a child again with Percy teaching him in the arena again, trying to learn people’s tells.

“Princess, calm down, you’ll make King wet his pants,” Drew said, drawing near. “He was worried for me. Beside, he hasn’t fought with me often enough to know I was drawing the monster in”

“I know.” Percy ran a hand through her messy hair, which was miraculously out of her face and somehow hadn’t impeded her during the fight. “Just, gods King, never do that again. I was worried.”

“Not about me,” Drew teased playfully.

Arthur could physically feel Percy rolling her eyes. “Kallos, you know what I meant.”

“Yeah, I did, Princess.”

And then 6’4, built like a tank daughter of Ares, Clarisse la Rue, was over and ruffling Percy’s hair, pushing the shorter girl down. “Damn, Prissy! You really know how to make an entrance!”

“Get the fuck off me, Wart!”

And Malcolm was there too, grinning beneath his mask. “Good to see you, Per–”

He stopped himself and Arthur too wondered what to call her.

Percy tilted her head to the side. “Astron, that’ll be my name,” she said finally.

“Astron? Doesn’t that mean star, or constellation?” Drew muttered aloud. Then Drew’s eyes widened in realisation. “Oh my gods, Princess! You–”

“Se calmer, Kallos, it’s fine. That’s why I chose the name.”

“You really love your sentiments, Astron,” Clarisse said, her eyes sparkling with mirth, or was it? Arthur wasn’t sure, still too shocked that Percy was back in a hero suit and choosing a name!

“Shut up, Wart.” But Percy was smiling softly. It made Arthur wonder what Astron truly meant to Percy.

He looked over at Oliver with the two remaining Invictus demigods.

Arthur’s breath froze because there, in the daughter of Mars’ arms, was the limp body of the son of Vulcan.

One didn’t make it out.

The son of Vulcan was called Draco Thadius, and he was part of the Fourth Cohort and a very brave seventeen year old.

Percy stood beside Hazel as Draco’s coffin was lowered into the ground.

Hazel was the epitome of a strong leader, along with her fellow praetor, Oliver Francisco. They were calm, stood strong, and held their heads high.

When the funeral was over, when Hazel and Percy were alone, Hazel broke down crying.

“That’s the sixth loss in the past five months, Percy,” she managed between sobs. Percy he'd her and said nothing.

It reminded her of when Frank died.

How they’d stayed in Poseidon’s cabin after the battle for a while and stuck together.

Percy hadn’t known Draco at all, but the Fourth Cohort had said he was a great friend and easy to get along with. They said he was a hard worker and smart, it must’ve hit hard.

One day later, Percy was with Drew, Rachel, and Leo in her kitchen, discussing some simple suit upgrades before she formally took over her position as the Hero stationed in Bludhaven.

With her dramatic debut done, she had around a week and a half to actually get ehr suit ready, along with her weapons, which was why she’d Iris messaged her dad earlier that day about dual swords.

Her best weapons were swords, but having a xiphos was a dead giveaway of who she was, so dual, single-edged swords were the next best option. Not to mention Percy really loved these scimitar looking blades (except they were a lot straighter) in a picture she’d seen. Not to mention dual blades based on Tolkien’s elvish blades.

So she’d asked her dad for his opinion and he’d said leave it to him. She would have to collect them in two days to try them for improvements. If any were necessary she’d leave and come back later.

With Drew, Rachel, and Leo, they were talking about the suit.

“Okay, standard nectar shots are already given, but how about we add water shots similar to nectar shots?” Drew was already saying. “It would be helpful for her to have two options. Of course, we also need to give her a clip-on pouch with ambrosia squares that could attach to her belt.”

“What about the trident symbol to signify her parentage? And we also need to make sure it is known she’s part of the Hellenics Division,” Rachel added, looking carefully at the sketch in front of her.

“The domino mask too!” Leo exclaimed. “We need to add micro-projectors so you have a HUD and so NOVA can do her analysing things through your eyes. You wouldn’t want a neural implant, but if she can connect to your coms and your domino mask, it would be easier!”

Percy just sat there as they continued rubbing out and adding notes to the sketch.

She waited a few more minutes before tapping the table twice. All three looked at her.

“Celestial bronze knuckles,” she said simply. “I clench my fist and they…pop out? I’m not sure if that’s the correct terminology.”

“But it’s fucking genius! Rachel, draw that in! We need to add celestial bronze knuckles so she can punch monsters into Tartarus!” Leo was in his excited, hyperactive state.

And Percy was left wondering just what kind of designing monsters she unleashed.

Five days later, Percy vapour travelled back to her apartment with a bundle full of weapons and a very exhausted expression.

She was met with her great friend Rachel and her amazing little brother Nico in her kitchen, both of whom smiled at her kindly when she sat down with a heavy sigh and slumped, resting her head on the table.

After a very trying dinner with her family, most of whom were very happy she’d decided to join the League of Heroes, her father had given her the improved weapons in a bundle and then sent her off to rest for the night.

Also, yes, a bundle of weapons . Plural. Multiple. Not just simple dual blades like Percy asked for. No, Poseidon decided to spoil her with a new set of twin daggers, double knife set that she could pin in her hair (Percy didn’t ask for either), and two dual sword sets.

The twin daggers looked similar to Katoptris, Piper's dagger, with slender handles and a lack of crossguard, but the blade itself was half Atlantean steel and half celestial bronze, like Luke's old blade, Backbiter.

The dual knives were small and easily hidden. If she tied up her hair, all she had to do was pin them in and she had a spare set of weapons hidden in her raven locks. These were made purely of Atlantean steel because Poseidon said celestial bronze wouldn’t look good in her hair, but the bluish steel would match brilliantly.

Then the two different dual sword sets.

The first one was the scimitar/katana-like sword. They had a sleek, futuristic look with a striking black and blue colour scheme. The blade's edges were outlined in different metal to the main part of the blades, the different metal was clearly Atlantean steel, the blue sheen of the silvery metal unmistakable. The inner part of the blades was definitely celestial bronze, except Poseidon had taken creative liberties and had altered the godly metal to be black, somehow fitting Percy's aesthetic. The blades had a curved, aggressive form, resembling a combination of a katana and a scimitar. They were single-edged with a steep curve near the tip, which would enhance slicing and slashing capabilities.

The second set of dual swords was the one inspired by Lord of the Rings, more fantasy-like than the first blades. They looked more elegant and much like the elven blades in Tolkien's incredible fantasy story. Both were made primarily of Atlantean steel, the blue sheen once again stunning, while celestial bronze designs were engraved along the centre of the blades. The blades were long, slender, and slightly curved. Their design leaned towards a traditional longsword, but with more emphasis on finesse and precision rather than brute strength. The handles were plain with black leather tightly wrapped around them.

The elvish blades could also be hidden as twin ring sets, one for each hand. To activate the weapons, Percy had to will them to appear in her hands. The rings were connected to her mind once she placed them on her fingers, and only she could will them to appear.

The rings themselves were already on her fingers, both on her index fingers for each hand.

The one on her left hand looked like a small snake, slithering around, made of Atlantean steel her dad had turned black. And the snake head had two small aquamarine gems as the eyes.

The second ring on her right hand was a single, thick band of black, with sea green markings within the thick band. The green markings were scattered all over the ring and looked like they matched the eyes of the snake ring.

Both rings looked like something Percy Jackson would wear on a normal basis.

After tapping her bead and allowing her new suit to encase her, Percy stood in front of a full length mirror, her suit on and her weapons all there.

She officially started that evening, so she was to meet Nightwing at around midnight.

She, naturally, was still not pleased with the vigilante of Bludhaven, though he wouldn’t know who she was.

Percy jumped when her phone rang, the Pirates of the Caribbean theme tune playing as her custom ringtone. She’d been really bored and had decided she liked that tune, besides, Jack Sparrow was iconic and would always be iconic. Her ringtone started with the voices of Norrington and the other guys saying, “That’s got to be the best pirate I’ve ever seen.” And Norrington replied, “So it would seem.” Then the actual Pirates of the Caribbean song played.

Percy let it play for a bit, just listening to the great soundtrack. Then she picked it up and answered after seeing the contact name.

“Hey, Kallos,” she greeted.

“Hey, Princess. How’s the suit looking?”

“Amazing. Especially with the weapons, it’s really pulled together,” she said, looking back at her reflection in the mirror. “You guys outdid yourself.”

And they had. Rachel, Leo, and Drew had been so happy to work on her suit for her, she’d felt so bad for not letting them for so long.

Her suit wasn’t plain black, like the first prototype. It had interlocking dark greys and diluted dark blues, like camouflage (inspired by the cloaks of Rangers in Rangers Apprentice, which is a great book series, in Percy’s humble opinion). With such a dark city as her base, Percy wanted to blend in well so she had the element of surprise.

Along with camouflage built into her suit, Drew and Rachel had wanted to keep the faintly glowing blue lines for design. They still snaked around the suit like vines, the soft blue glow was magic, courtesy of Lou Ellen, who Drew had asked to help with it. So Percy could technically increase the glow or dim it down, depending on her wants, since the magic was directly connected to her mind.

And then her domino mask was still dark blue with white lenses, this time with micro-projectors installed, allowing for a HUD and NOVA to work. NOVA could’ve been a neural implant, but Percy didn’t really like things in her brain.

(After the Eildons and charmspeak, Percy had never trusted anyone near her mind, which was why, after hearing about NOVA, she’d firmly said no to having a neural implant. Lou was different. Percy trusted Lou completely to never mess with her mind, so she was fine with Lou adding a little magic to connect elements of her suit to her. She just didn’t trust mind magic from anyone else.)

Then came her weapons.

Throwing knives around her upper right thigh, dual daggers on either side of her hips, and her scimitar-like blades sheathed in an ‘X’ on her back. Her rings were, obviously, on her index fingers for either hand.

“As it should, Perce. We worked hard on that suit!” Drew exclaimed pridefully, bringing a smile to Percy’s face. So soon after a death, it was good to know that her friends were resilient.

She nodded, even though Drew couldn’t see her. “Yeah, just tying up my hair so I can put the twin knives my dad gave me, pin it up in a messy bun or something.”

“Wish I had stylish hair knives. Do you know how fucking cool it sounds?!”

“Yes, I do, Kallos,” Percy answered.

“Your dad has the coolest weapons,” Drew muttered.

“My brother, Tyson,” Percy reminded her. Credit goes where credit is due.

“Could he design something for me?”

“We’ll see,” Percy answered, laughing softly.

Drew continued, talking about all the design features she added, like the built in pouches and sheaths for her daggers, they’d removed the idea of a belt since the suit looked better with pouches already attached. Percy had to admit, it did feel more…free without a belt around her hips.

Soon enough, the call ended with Drew telling her to come and visit soon along with that she should ask for some demigods if she had too much work.

It was ten when the call ended, and Percy still remained in her suit throughout the remainder.

Travis told her that she should meet Nightwing on the roof of the Bludhaven City Police Department. It was where they had met with him the first night and was later met there too with the newer Invictus Heroes that arrived.

She had two hours to waste away, so Percy pressed the blue and black bead, allowing it to retract the suit from her. Demigod magic was so versatile and helpful, especially children of Hecate and children of Hephaestus when they worked together. After putting her new weapons on her body, the weapon retracted with the suit, another tidbit of magic.

Except her new rings. Since those were like Riptide, they stayed on her.

Percy laid down on her bed and picked her book up from the bedside table, turning the lamp on at the same time.

She sighed happily as she laid back, sinking into her pillows, and read.

She was on book two of “The Folk of the Air” series, the Wicked King, by Holly Black. Percy loved Jude to the death (she was just so iconic) and she actually really liked Madoc as a character, even if he was an antagonist in a sense. Madoc was just That Dad.

(Sorry, Poseidon.)

Percy’s alarm went off and she placed her bookmark in between the pages.

She had ten minutes to get to the BPD.

Percy pressed her bead and once again felt the suit wrapping around her body. It kind of felt like water, smooth and fluid as it snaked from her neck to her feet.

Percy clenched her hand and the celestial bronze knuckles popped out. Unclenching her hand, the knuckle coverings delayed for a minute and then retracted.

Seven minutes.

Percy vapour travelled to the roof and started running across rooftops. The demigods had said they could use powers since many did rely on their powers, but Percy’s powers were, well, a dead giveaway. She could use it subtly, but any more than small boosts and such, she’d have to hide.

She’d also let her mist image drop. In the mortal world, Percy preferred to keep a majority of her scars and the white hair streak hidden by the mist. She was aided by Lou and Hazel when she made the mist image, but she could drop and raise it herself when she needed to.

She only let it drop at night, when she was alone, and that reminded her of the Nightwing incident. Percy was so glad she hadn’t dropped her mist image because the silver streak was the biggest giveaway in the world. Hopefully, Nightwing couldn’t see through the mist.

Monsters didn’t generally acknowledge hair colour changes. They acknowledged powers and scent, anything other than that was generally ignored, so in Hero uniform, Percy couldn’t confidently say that she wouldn’t be recognised by monsters.

She arrived with a minute to spare.

She leaned against the door to the roof—technically, she was beside the door—and waited for Nightwing.

Three minutes later, her senses rang. If she hadn’t had her senses, she would’ve been surprised by Nightwing appearing from the shadows like a ninja.

“You’re late,” she commented, pushing off the wall to step into the bird-themed vigilante’s vision.

“Greetings to you too…”

“Astron,” she filled in.

“Astron? That’s an interesting name,” he said, smirking at her.

Percy had to admit that even in a mask, Nightwing was attractive. Messy black hair, some swept to the side, along with a sharp jawline and a well-built body, though it was more lean than broad. He stood maybe a centimetre taller than her, but it didn’t seem to do much for height.

Percy couldn’t see his eyes behind his blue domino mask, though his was a lighter blue than hers, but she got the feeling his eyes were caught on the silver streak in her hair. He seemed to have frozen and Percy wondered why. Wondered why he seemed shocked by the silver streak.

She brushed the hair behind her ear and that broke the trance. Once again, she felt eye contact through the mask.

“They said you’d be different, but you sure don’t look like a Hero,” he stated easily, stepping forward again. “You look more like a Batfam member.”

“Don’t lump me in with the likes of you,” she grumbled. Great, she was stuck with this guy.

Percy had been to Gotham before, as Percy obviously, and she’d been told several times she looked like a member of the Wayne Family with her black hair and greenish-blue eyes. It had annoyed her so much, now she was stuck with someone telling her she looked like a member of his family.

“We aren’t so bad,” he said easily, still smirking.

Percy rolled her eyes and turned away. “How does your patrol work?”

“Wow, all business, no play? You sure don’t seem to like me.”

“And you seem to be too at ease with me,” Percy said back.

Nightwing tilted his head at her, considering her. “I've made the decision to trust you.”

“Horrible decision, really.”

“Trusting you was my decision, proving me wrong is your choice,” Nightwing answered easily.

“Did you really just quote Patrick from Spongebob?” Percy asked, turning back incredulously.

Nightwing grinned at her. “You quoted Flynn from Tangled!” he said victoriously.

Percy bit her lip and turned away, fighting the smile that begged to be let onto her face. “Whatever.”

“Ooh, no snarky retorts?”

“Do you get a kick out of annoying every woman you see?”

Nightwing stopped at that. Percy turned to see him once again still and watching her, like he was considering something again. “You know, someone said something very similar to me recently. I think you two would like each other.”

Percy froze, knowing exactly who he was talking about. She turned away smoothly, as if she didn’t know a thing. “Well, at least there’s another person out there who considers you an ass.”

“Man, Formosus said you’d be difficult,” Nightwing muttered.

“Yeah, trust issues are a bitch,” Percy murmured softly to herself. If she had turned to look back, she’d have seen Nightwing tilt his head and his brow furrow. She didn’t look back, she didn’t think he’d heard.

“Patrol routes?” she asked again, staring over the city from the edge of the BPD.

Nightwing stepped up beside her and she’d be lying if she said the presence beside her wasn’t warm. Somehow, he felt like the sun and kindness bundled up and ready to share its warmth.

“Here’s a com, so any questions can be answered by me,” he said, handing her a com. Percy took it and placed it in her right ear. NOVA displayed things in her HUD, so she didn’t really need NOVA’s voice in her ear. “And what do you mean about patrol routes? Aren’t you looking for monster groups?”

“No, I mean your patrol route,” Percy clarified. She waved out, motioning to the entire city. “I don’t feel like running into you while searching for monster groups, so I’ll need your patrol routes.”

Percy was being colder than normal. She generally did that to new people. She didn’t like getting attached because, inevitably, they’d die. Everyone around her always died. She didn’t want anyone else to hurt because of her.

“Okay, rude,” Nightwing said, but he didn’t sound angry. Percy glanced at him and he looked, even with his eyes covered, like he was used to this, used to emotionally unattached people. Percy wondered who he had met that caused him to be so used to this. “I won’t tell you.” And then he was off.

Percy’s shoulders slumped; her sigh reverberated throughout her entire body.

She pulled the com off her ear and scanned it for any trackers, having just remembered.

NOVA came up blank, thankfully.

Percy replaced the com in her ear.

She left too.

In the short week Dick had known Astron, he’d learnt three things. She didn’t like socialising, she was fast and strong, and she moved with an incredible grace.

In the short week Dick had known Astron, his questions had tripled. Why was she always so cold? What did she mean by “trust issues”? Who hurt her that much? Did she always smell like the sea or just had really strong perfume? And did she die like Jason?

That final question scared him. That silver streak, a stark contrast to her black hair, seemed to taunt him. Like it was reminding him about Jason while also telling him she went through something just as traumatic. Did she have pit madness? Did she die? Was it caused by a monster from the League of Heroes side? What happened?

Of course, there were hundreds more questions.

Dick had finished patrol when he heard from Barbara that Astron was fighting against a group of twenty monsters a few blocks away.

He ran to find it, to see how she fought. The first time he properly got to watch in person.

He did watch some footage he managed to pull up, like the day she first appeared to save King. And watching her fight on screen, he’d been in awe. She’d been so fast, Flash-like speed (a little slower, but still), and he’d had to slow down the footage to see.

Over the past week, he’d pulled up footage from her patrol and had found her and he’d been impressed again.

With a dagger, she’d fought incredibly well. Now, he saw her main weapon was a sword, and she seemed infinitely better.

He reached to see her surrounded by five monsters left.

Dick’s heart froze.

Astron didn't look worried in the slightest.

She was grinning. A sharp, menacing grin that made Dick lean forward, made him rethink everything.

Perhaps whatever gave her that streak of silver… Maybe she hadn’t been trapped in there with it, but it had been trapped wherever with her.

And then his heart was beating again as he watched.

Her swords were an arc of destruction.

A camera could never capture this. Never capture the way her blades twirled like an extension of her, like a part of her and not just some weapons. Like this was where she was meant to be fighting, in the field, fighting.

And then the monsters were gone and Dick… Dick was mesmerised.

Their eyes met through their masks, seeing through the layers.

Astron blinked and the moment was gone. She blinked again, as if realising he was there, then her grin disintegrated.

“When did you get here?”

“Been here since you started fighting those five,” Dick answered, nodding to the piles of gold dust. She would understand.

Astron nodded. Dick caught it then, the way her lips curled upwards in a small, almost unnoticeable smile. “You really are a ninja, aren’t you?”

Dick grinned. “That’s how Batman trained me.”

He could feel the eye roll she gave him through his entire body.

In a show of parkour, Astron was beside him, the hint of the smile gone faster than it had come. Dick’s heart sank at the lack of the smile.

“Well, Ninja, that was the last of them, so see you next.”

And she was gone, the lingering smell of the salty sea still fresh and floating around.

Chapter Text

"You’re not getting away from me that easily, Seaweed Brain,” Annabeth said.

Percy reached for her, and Annabeth grasped her, grasped her hand to hold her steady.

She felt like she could breathe again. Everything was fine, Annabeth was there to help her and hold her up. Her anchor, her link to the mortal world.

And then Annabeth’s face changed, all harsh lines and angry faces. None of her kind smile and teasing smirk. Annabeth’s face had turned into one of fear.

And Percy was falling.

Her soul was being ripped apart.

Her anchor wasn’t there. It wasn’t holding her. It wasn’t tethering her to the world.

Everything was spinning.

Hurt, hurt, hurt–

Everything was aching.

Annabeth’s face was hardened above her, stone cold and her grey eyes were clouded with fear.

Percy was spinning and turning, running and twisting.

The Styx was tearing her apart from the inside.

She was dying!

Hurt, hurt, hurt–

Percy sat up fast, sweat dripping from her forehead.

She felt cold and shivery even under all her blankets.

Dropped, nearly torn apart by the Styx, her soul shattering under the pressure of the river. Her anchor gone.

Phantom pain spread from her former Achilles heel, the small of her back.

She hugged herself, fear still clinging at her.

Something salty touched the corner of her lips. She tasted her tears and froze, raising a hand to wipe at the cold, salty water falling from her eyes.

And then her door was flung open and kind blue eyes were showering her with concern, pulling her closer and holding her.

“Oh, my baby girl, I’m here. It’s okay, Percy, breathe with me,” Sally whispered to her daughter. Percy sank into the hug, her face resting in the crook of her mother’s neck, her salty tears soaking her mother’s shirt as her mother ran a hand through her hair.

Ten minutes later, Percy was feeling a little better.

Sally and her were sitting in the kitchen, both holding mugs. Sally had tea, Percy had a cup of hot chocolate.

“Would you like to talk about it?”

Percy was never good at communication. She rarely liked talking about her nightmares, but her mom was a different case.

“I was in the Styx again,” Percy said softly. Sally listened silently, not pushing. “Anna– She dropped me. And I felt the pain of being torn apart from the soul. It hurt so much, mom. It ached, I physically felt like I was burning up.”

Ironic how Percy’s Hero name was Astron—star, constellation—and it burned brightest in its final moments. Everyone told Percy she was a hero, a star. And stars always burned up.

Oh how pitiful a fate to be destined to burn, to always burn. And how ironic that Percy, the child of the sea, was the one burning.

Her eyes were still trained on her mug of blue hot chocolate, the marshmallows left floating around and the nectar mixed in like a swirl of gold.

She took another sip, catching three mini marshmallows in this sip that turned into a gulp.

Her mother said nothing, just took another sip. And then she rounded the island table, replaced her mug on the table, and snaked her arms around Percy from behind.

“You are strong and brave, Percy. You are incredibly courageous for going through everything and still returning to help. You are kind and your soul is not a shattered piece of glass.”

The reassurance was everything.

There was a knot in Percy’s chest at her mother’s words, so warm and kind and genuine.

“You are everything to me. You are not someone who can just be burned, not without  giving the greatest fight of your life.” Percy was shaking again, the tears threatening to spill. “You are my daughter, the ocean’s daughter, and the ocean does not burn, it conquers fire.”

Percy placed her mug down. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Her mother’s chin rested on her head. “I mean every word, Percy.”

Percy knew she had.

A few hours later, Estelle trudged into the room, rubbing her blue eyes tiredly. Blue eyes the exact same shade as her mother’s.

Percy smiled kindly as Estelle climbed up onto Percy's lap, suddenly talking about her dream animatedly.

“And then, the pink unicorn kneeled and let me ride it, so we started running across rainbows and…”

Percy remained smiling all throughout her 7 year old sister’s story.

This was exactly what she needed after a month of running across rooftops at night. A weekend with her family at home and some others patrolling for the weekend with Nightwing.

“Percy!”

Percy looked down again, tilting her head at the small brunette on her lap. “Yes, Essie?”

“Can you get me some water with your powers?”

“Essie, my powers aren’t for playing,” Percy replied softly.

Estelle’s bottom lip jutted out into a perfect pout, her eyes wide and shimmering with tears. “R– really?”

And Percy’s mom, the traitor she was, just sent a smug smirk over at her daughter.

“I–” Estelle’s eyes widened more. “Sure,” Percy sighed.

She caught the glass her mom threw her over Estelle’s head. Placing the glass on the table, Percy held out her other hand and the familiar tug in her gut replied. Crystal clear water shot out the tap in a jet, flying around and spinning.

Estelle laughed, clapping her hands in delight.

Percy smiled too at her sister’s delight. She brought the water closer, freezing it into a diadem and letting it rest on Estelle's head before it shot off again in the shape of a dolphin.

The dolphin split apart and the sunlight floating through the window hit the water just right, casting a rainbow on the table briefly before the two dolphins made of water spun and then one dropped into the glass, filling it half way.

Percy’s eyes glowed with unknown power as the final dolphin flipped in the air and then dropped down into the water.

A loud plop was heard and water splashed upwards.

They froze midair then returned to the glass, not a single drop of water to be found except the full glass.

“Wooh! Again! Again!”

“Essie, drink your water,” Percy said, half-stern half-laughing.

Estelle pouted again, but she listened. Over the young girl’s head, Sally handed her eldest daughter two plates, one with a much larger stack of blue pancakes.

Percy placed them down on the table and moved Estelle onto the seat beside hers.

“How much maple syrup?”

Estelle opened her arms wide. “This much.”

“You’ll drown your pancakes then,” Percy warned, pouring maple syrup onto Estelle’s five stack pancake tower.

“But you can’t drown, and if you’re here, my pancakes can’t,” Estelle argued.

Percy sighed and stopped. “Then you’ll get sick as the syrup is very sweet.”

Estelle grumbled, but she ate her pancakes. With Estelle focused on her food, Sally’s eyes twinkled at Percy and she mouthed a “thank you” at the sole demigod daughter of Poseidon.

That was when Paul trudged into the kitchen, blinking blearily at the three women staring at him.

“G’morning,” he murmured, kissing Sally on the cheek.

“Blugh,” Estelle said at the kiss.

Percy chuckled as she pushed some of Estelle’s hair out of her face. “Don’t be rude, that’s what people in love do.”

Estelle stuck her tongue out and earned herself ferocious tickles from her elder sister.

Sally and Paul watched their daughters that morning, both smiling happily as Percy chased Estelle around the flat, shouting fake threats and earning laughter from Estelle.

Amelia @a_xanthos022
[image239.jpg]
So, who the fuck was going to tell me that Nightwing had a new partner in Bludhaven?! And when tf were you going to tell me she was hot!

      Caspian @cas.01.holland
      Replying to @a_xanthos022
      right??? And how’d you get such a good photo?!

      Harriet @theHarriet.L
      Replying to @a_xanthos022
      man, that woman is gorgeous! I didn’t even know!

      Jameson @jj_007
      Replying @a_xanthos022
      Is she part of the Batfam? Like, she looks like she could be, or is it just me?

      View more replies

Stephanie stared at the twitter post. Dick hadn’t said a thing about his new partner when she joined him in Bludhaven permanently around a month and a half ago, or two months.

And now she found out through a photo on twitter that Dick’s partner was hot, tall, a ravenette, and most of all, she used swords!

Stephanie felt righteous fury burn through her body.

How dare he! How dare Richard Grayson withhold the potential addition of a cool, older sister from one Stephania Brown.

Good news: Dick was off-world for around a fortnight starting on Saturday (in two days), so he’d need someone to watch over Bludhaven.

Stephanie was going to drag Cass with her because Cass had great people-judging skills and she trusted Cass’ judgement. If Cass nodded about this Hero, Stephanie was going to try and set up the hot woman with her not-so hot predecessor.

Saturday didn’t come fast enough, but when it did, Steph was in Bludhaven with Cass, in Dick’s apartment, listening to all his rules and such about watching Bludhaven.

“And Astron,” Steph snapped to attention, “is not talkative, nor does she trust easily, so please be careful, I’ve barely just built up enough trust for her to tell me some minor things. Also, meet her on the BPD roof.”

Stephanie and Cass nodded in unison. She could work with that. Astron sounded like a normal Batfamily member. Emotionally unavailable and paranoid. She was used to black-haired people just like that.

At a quarter to midnight, they changed into their suits and took to the roofs.

Steph and Cass arrived quickly, with two minutes to spare, and they stayed there.

One minute till midnight, movement on the other side of the roof alerted Steph to a presence. She turned to see the same woman from the photo posted by Amelia on twitter.

Tall, black-haired, and drop-dead gorgeous. Like, the Heroes in the League of Heroes were definitely pretty and like, it made sense they were, but this woman…

She had a certain air around her that whispered power and danger and beauty. A certain grace to her silent steps as she stalked forward. And she definitely was a lot more terrifying up close, the silver streak in her hair a threat as much as a taunt.

A threat that she’d survived worse than the two before her could ever even fathom.

Steph hid the shiver trying to rack her body.

It made sense why Dick was worried now. This Hero was very different to the others, and not in a good way.

“I’m Spoiler,” Steph introduced herself, thankful her voice didn’t tremble. She nodded to Cass beside her. “This is Orphan.”

“Nightwing’s siblings,” Astron murmured, dipping her head. The air receded and Steph felt like she could breathe again, like the stifling air was gone. “My name is Astron. Sorry, Nightwing only told me two would be coming while he was off-world.”

Ah, so the powerful aura was similar to Aegis’s in the sense that she could turn it on and off. From what Steph recalled, Aegis, Stygian, and Onyx were the only three who had that sort of “aura” power. Well, now there was a fourth, if it even was that, but Steph was pretty sure it was.

And then Astron’s face changed entirely. She smiled kindly, the small smile soft and sweet. Her entire face seemed to glow from the change in expression and Steph felt at ease.

“Spoiler, Orphan, pleasure to meet you.” Her voice was soothing now, calm and collected, like an untouched body of water, a glassy surface undisturbed. “I generally go where I’m needed and don’t have a proper patrol route, so if you need me, here’s two coms.” She handed one to Steph and the second to Cass, both of whom took them.

Then she turned and was gone.

Only then did the strong smell of the ocean hit Steph’s nose.

She turned to Cass. “Well?”

Cass faced her, her mask covering her face entirely, but Steph could feel her eyes looking deep into her. And then the small movement that decided it all came forward, the tiniest tilt of the head, a nod.

Stephanie grinned victoriously.

After Astron’s very interesting introduction, Steph had wondered whether Cass would nod, but she did. Which meant that Astron was trustworthy and good enough for Dick. So, essentially, she was perfect for becoming the new member of the family, or of sorts, since Steph had yet to sign the adoption papers of one Bruce Wayne.

Cass and Steph split for patrol. Steph had taken the northern part of Bludhaven. She ran across rooftops, stopping minor crimes and criminals along the way.

Patrol came to an end an hour later and Steph returned back, double checking the places she’d left people knocked out. Some were already gone, taken into custody by the BPD night officers.

Steph checked for Cass’ location and found her stationery on the roof of an apartment building. Steph wondered what happened and changed direction for that location.

She arrived to hear the roar of a monster.

Steph ran to the edge, stopping beside Cass.

“Woah,” she breathed.

Everywhere was just gold dust. Splattered on walls, in piles on the ground, scattered across the street, and even flying up in clouds. Within the storm of golden powder, Astron twirled around, her blades unforgiving.

Steph looked at Cass and she caught the way Cass seemed to shake in excitement slightly. Cass was amazing at stopping obvious signs from her body, hiding everything amazingly. But where she was, shaking with excitement at Dick’s new partner.

And Steph could see why.

Damian, Ra’s al Ghul, Cass, no one, absolutely no one could compare to her swordsmanship skills. Steph was so glad she had a bodycam on, recording everything.

“Cass?”

“Skilled,” Cass’ single word answer came, but it said thousands of things. For one thing, Cass was impressed. For another, she also really wanted Astron to join them. Now all Steph had to do was convince the women to join them and leave the League of Heroes.

Scrap marriage with Dick, she was bringing up adoption with Bruce. And the silver streak in Astron’s hair, Bruce’s protective instincts of anyone even similar to Jason would aid in that aspect.

“Okay, Cass, here’s the plan. We’re going to get B to meet her and when he agrees, we’ll fight the League of heroes for custody,” Steph declared. And then she paused. “Wait, no, Astron is a fully grown woman so we just need her to agree. The League of Heroes probably doesn’t have any say in whether she gets adopted or not.”

“Parents,” Cass murmured.

Steph nearly broke down into tears. “You’re kidding! Shit! No! She has parents?! That are alive?!”

“Yes.”

Steph sobbed dramatically, draping herself over Cass. Her plan was going to fail because Astron’s parents decided to be alive! She had to be traumatised, like all the scars visible on her bare shoulders showed it, but parents! Steph did actually feel like crying.

Steph’s phone pinged in her pocket. She stopped her theatrical display of pain and pulled it out to see another twitter notification.

#bludhavenvigilantes was now trending, with pictures of Nightwing and Astron stood on rooftops together or the two separate. Even with Nightwing not in Bludhaven for two weeks, it seemed that people had gotten pictures from before and started posting after the post that started it all.

Steph showed Cass, who looked and turned back to Astron below, who was just finishing up. Steph pocketed her phone when Astron, in a cool show of jumping ability, flipped from a pipe and landed on the roof smoothly.

“Hey,” she greeted.

“Do you have twitter?” Steph asked immediately.

“Yes, but identities hold me back from giving you my name or such,” Astron answered. Steph saw the way one side of her face seemed to rise more, like she was raising a single eyebrow, and eyebrow hidden beneath her domino mask.

That was another thing. All Heroes ever seen either had a face mask or no mask (mainly the Nightshade Division didn’t wear any mask of sorts), but Astron had a mask. It kind of reminded Steph of, well, the Batfamily. Most of the twitter posts surrounding them kind of assumed the same with her dark getup and her domino mask.

“Why?” Astron asked, bringing Steph from her thoughts.

“Oh, well, you’re trending,” Steph replied honestly.

Astron stopped dead in her tracks, frozen, and then she tilted her head slowly. “Trending? As in twitter knows I exist?”

“Yeah, crazy! Someone got a picture of you and Nightwing,” Steph answered again.

Astron blinked. Once. Twice. Thrice. And then she facepalmed, ran the same hand down her face, and sighed deeply. “My friends are so going to hold this over me.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing,” she muttered, still looking exhausted without even trying to. “I hate my life,” she whispered.

“Mood,” Steph said. Like, honestly, she hated her life too. The only reason she was a vigilante was so she could mess with her dad, Cluemaster, and then she just continued because she found a home with the Bats.

Astron laughed softly, the rumble vibrating all through Steph. It was a deep, warming laugh that held so much pain, but also hope. And Steph found herself joining.

When they calmed down, Steph was grinning beneath her face mask while Astron’s small, crooked smirk was open and free.

“Here I was thinking Nightwing kept you from us because he feared you would scare us,” Steph said.

Astron smirk widened, turning more into a sharp grin that promised trouble. “Oh?” She doesn’t sound very questioning. “Perhaps he was right.”

Steph dissolved into laughter again, Cass her pillar of support beside her, and Astron before them with a…her grin was gone and that small, sad smile was back, the warmth flowing from it so genuine Steph genuinely wondered what hurt her to make the smile tinged with sadness.

Cassandra Cain was trained incredibly well.

She knew how to drive a tank, could fight with a sword in five different forms, and she loved her family. Every single one of them.

When she met Astron, she knew she wanted her to join immediately.

The woman was kind in a different way. She softened around certain people, her genuine smile was warm and sweet, she could probably pull a prank crazier than anyone in the house, and Cass bet that Astron was perfect for the family. There was just something about her that made people want to come together, her presence like a sort of anchor, tethering people to reality.

And Cass also knew. She knew the League of Heroes were demigods, obvious by the fact that they fought mythological creatures of the Greek and Roman myths. It was only safe to assume they were demigod too.

So Cass, when she met Dick’s new partner, had already started wondering over who the godly parent of this one was.

It clicked one week into knowing her.

Steph was on a separate side of Gotham and Cass had somehow roped Astron into joining her for her side of patrol.

It clicked when Astron’s aura flared and the scent of the sea increased by tenfold.

Her godly parent clicked when Cass saw Astron’s scars glow, filled with what looked like water, and then it died down.

It clicked when Cass caught the way the temperature dropped and the air turned more humid.

It clicked when Cass was caught by a group of monsters and Astron’s entire demeanour changed from the silent but steady presence along the roof to a fearsome and deadly woman.

And Cass watched from the back, where she’d been shoved by the monsters. She watched as not a single one got a word out. Not a single monster managed to even cry out.

Because Astron was different to any other demigod.

She was ruthless in battle.

And then there was a dagger flying towards her, one of Astron’s. Cass knew what she needed to do.

She caught it from the air easily and then she fought.

There were forty monsters left.

A massive group and nearly half were decimated by a single person.

Cass spun the dagger as she too cut them down.

Her back hit another back, the now familiar presence of Astron there and calming.

“You okay?” she whispered, handing Cass a second dagger.

“Yes,” Cass managed. Cass didn’t like talking, but Astron could not turn to look, so she reassured the woman.

The sea was a monstrous place. It could be calm and kind, a beautiful thing when the waves lapped at the beach and pawed at the ground like a puppy. But often people forget that the depths of the ocean hid the most terrifying things.

And here stood the most terrifying thing from the sea's depths.

A vengeful daughter of Poseidon, one who fought with a hunger that never seemed to be quenched, a fire that seemed to burn and breathe that same fighting spirit into others.

Cass would always fight. She’d been raised to fight.

But standing back-to-back with Astron, someone who was raised just like her, raised to be a blade that could cut through rocks, it was different. It felt different. Like Astron was a batter that charged others to fight with the same vigour as her.

Cass had seen Aegis’ right-hand woman, her co-leader named Ferox, who seemed to give strength to those around her in a battle. The more around the more strength she had and the more she gave.

But Astron gave a different strength. She gave a confidence, a hope that she didn’t even seem to realise she had.

And with Astron’s dual daggers in her hands, Cass used that fire and that confidence to consume.

However long it took, the monsters were nothing but gold dust at the end and Cass handed Astron her daggers back with a small nod of the head.

Astron tilted her head, her lips set in a thin line.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Cass nodded in answer. “I’m sorry you had to fight.”

She pointed at herself. “Fight well.”

Astron nodded. “Extremely well. And it truly was something else to battle beside you, Orphan, but that does not mean you should be used to fighting.”

“You are.”

Cass got the distinct feeling that Astron was saddened by this answer. That her eyes had saddened and she seemed to be hurting for…hurting for Cass at the reply. “Yes, it comes with the job.”

“My job.”

“You’re right. Sorry.”

Cass paused. Why did she keep apologising? Cass knew the signs of trauma. She knew that continuous apologising was a sign of low self-esteem and a trauma response, a way to people please.

Cass moved forward and hugged Astron around the waist. Astron froze, but then she hugged Cass back, her gloved arms warm and welcoming.

Astron gave good hugs.

Dick’s hugs were big, swooping hugs that scooped people up and made them feel strong.

Astron’s hugs were different. They were sweeter, softer and less bone-crushing. But they were kind and soothing, they were warm and genuine. Cass liked Astron.

She still felt the comforting arms encircling her later that day when she and Steph decided to go out for a walk.

They passed a very cut coffee shop called Special Blends and Cass felt like there was something important about it.

She tugged Steph in the direction and Steph followed without complaint.

They entered, a soft bell tinkling above, and Cass’ eyes narrowed in on a woman in the far corner, typing away on her laptop. She was working, but Steph knew her.

She knew the woman’s identity immediately, her presence still powerful even in a coffee shop.

Cass scanned the room again as she and Steph waited in line to order.

A lot of the people there were from the League of Heroes. Cass could tell by the way they all had a certain aura. It wasn’t as powerful as Aegis’, Onyx’s, Stygian’s, or Astron’s, but they all had a sort of power to them. Many of the people walking around were Heroes.

But the woman in the corner…she was Astron, she had to be.

Cass and Steph reached the front of the queue and Cass checked the list of drink options. She liked the sound of the Galaxy Hot Chocolate. She pointed at it and Steph relayed her order, along with the blonde’s own order.

After paying with one of Bruce’s credit cards, Steph pulled her to the side.

“Where do ya wanna sit?”

Cass pointed at the table beside Astron’s corner booth. Steph looked over and nodded.

They got their drinks and then sat down. They were closer now and any doubts (meaning barely any) were chased away when Cass was close enough. Astron, in and out of the mask, had the same grace and exuded the same strength no matter what.

Astron looked over at them.

Cass caught the way her eyes widened imperceptibly and Cass caught the flash of recognition. So she knew too, it seemed. It further solidified Cass’ thoughts on her being Astron, her senses tuned to perfection.

Cass dipped her head and Steph smiled brightly. “Hey, I’m Steph and this is Cassandra, but she prefers Cass!”

Astron paused and nodded politely. “Percy,” she said, her name coming out in a strong New York accent.

“Hello Percy! Whatcha doing?”

“Oh, I’ve got some work to do for my job. Writing a research paper of the newly proposed–” She cut herself off. “Sorry, my job is pretty classified.”

Steph deflated. “Unfortunate. Where do you work?”

“Aquatic Research Centre, a branch of Wayne Enterprise,” Percy answered smoothly, taking a sip of her coffee.

Steph paused at that, exchanging a glance with Cass. Cass just shrugged.

There were some glaring differences between Percy and Astron. For one, Percy didn’t have the striking silver streak of hair, nor did she have any telltale scars since her arms were entirely covered by her long-sleeved shirt. But the thin white scar along her left eyes did beg some questions. It looked like a cut from a knife.

“Ya know, you’re really pretty,” Steph said absentmindedly.

Percy had a very interesting reaction. Her cheeks turned a faint pink and her eyes seemed to glow from the compliments. She coughed awkwardly. “Thanks.” She looked away and the pink died down then she turned back. She gave no complement in reply, but Cass had to agree that the way Steph randomly sprung the complement on Percy was dramatic enough that Percy couldn’t reply.

The rest of the time passed in silence, the clacking of Percy’s keys soft and quick.

Cass managed a glimpse, catching an odd language on the girl’s screen. She recognised a few letters, though they looked like an out of date Greek alphabet. It made sense that Percy would work in Greek since she was a Greek demigod.

Cass stood and walked over then.

Percy looked up again, her sea green eyes eyeing Cass warily. “Hello?”

“Loyal.” Cass pointed at Percy’s chest, her finger angled towards where the heart would lay.

Percy actually made a choking noise, her eyes massive and in shock. “W– What?”

“Loyal,” Cass repeated.

Then, before Percy could reply, he pulled Steph up and walked out with their coffees in takeaway cups.

Steph just followed, stuck between confusion and intrigue.

“What was that?” she asked as soon as they were far enough.

Cass looked back. “She is loyal.”

That was all Steph got.

Percy eyed the door constantly after that.

She’d recognised the girls quickly enough.

After Annabeth and hers breakup, Percy had started exploring her powers because she knew she shouldn't be scared of them. If someone was bleeding out and she could help stop, then why shouldn't she continue to use her powers over blood. She wasn't going to forcefully control someone's blood to make them do her will; that would totally be going Hama—Avatar: the Last Airbender character, who used a technique called bloodbending—on people.

And blood contained DNA, so Percy had a way to tell people apart by sensing for their blood.

It was how she recognised the two girls earlier. Spiler was the blonde and the ravenette was Orphan, Steph and Cassandra. Their blood was unique to themselves, so she’d managed to tell.

And then Cassandra had stood up and pointed straight at her heart.

Loyal, she’d said, like she’d seen right through Percy.

Loyalty, she’d repeated, her blue eyes emotionless, but Percy had seen the way they seemed to want her to acknowledge something about herself.

Cassandra had stood up and pointed straight at her and said her fatal flaw then walked out.

And that left Percy reeling.

Loyal. Loyalty.

How had she known?

And that sent Percy on the confusing path of wondering if Cassandra somehow knew her identity. She wouldn’t put it past the girl.

Cassandra, even from the brief interaction, was trained. Percy saw it. She saw the similarities between Orphan and Cassandra after she recognised the girl.

So, how had she known?

Well, there was one thing Percy had picked up on about Orphan. She was very observative.

Percy sighed, resting her head in her hands.

She was too tired to deal with that.

Just that morning she and Orphan—Cassandra—fought back-back-to-back, and now she found out that said girl knew exactly who she was and she knew her too. It was probably only a matter of time before the entire Batfamily knew.

Percy couldn’t work anymore.

She stuffed her stuff back into her bag, zipped it, picked up her coffee cup and walked out the shop. She turned right, the direction to her apartment.

She really did need to finish her report on the Atlantean-Wayne Enterprise partnership to try and work out a better way to reduce water pollution and such, her report being extremely important after she was in the meeting with the Atlantean representative, but the news that Orphan Cassandra knew who she was had stopped any thoughts of trying to work.

She arrived home just as she got a notification of a text from an unknown number.

Unknown: I’m Cass

Percy: Hello Orphan

Unknown: you know

Percy changed the girl’s contact to “Cass” just as she got a second notification from the number.

Cass: 🤐

Percy tilted her head, the meaning coming a second later. She was going to keep her identity silent.

Percy: why

Cass: I ❤️😈

Perct stared a little longer, once again taking a while to understand the text.

Percy: you like…devil?
Percy: wait no
Percy: chaos!

Cass: ✅

And then Percy received a picture of a cat meme. There was a brown bag with the Puma logo on it in black. And jumping out the bag was a black blur which was definitely a cat. The text above the image said, “The Prophecy had been fulfilled”.

Against herself, Percy laughed as she entered her house.

Percy: I like you

Cass:  😊

Percy wasn’t sure how she felt about having this girl from the Batfamily as her new friend, but she was cute and sweet and like, just an incredible fighter.

And–

Shit!

A calm night in October, no noises except the soft breeze whistling against the cold steel of street lamps. The sky was clear that night, the stars twinkling like beacons.

“So, what does Astron mean?”

They’d been working together in Bludhaven for four months.

(When he returned from his off-world mission two months ago, Steph and Cass had cornered him and spoken to him about the importance of having Astron as his partner forever, which was confusing, like very confusing, but he’d just shrugged. Something was different about Astron when he came back too. She seemed kinder, more open to talking.)

And Dick felt that it was fair he finally got to know.

Astron called him Ninja; he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like the nickname. But he wanted one for her and it was hard to choose one.

“Astron?” said the woman. She was sitting on the edge, overlooking the city. “Astron means star or constellation.”

And Dick had the perfect nickname.

“Okay… Star.”

If Dick was the sunshine and warmth of the day, Astron was the calm and collected night. She was the cool breeze and the stunning moon. She was the twinkling, burning stars that lit up the sky like a piece of art.

“Star?” she echoed, amused.

Dick nodded as her eyes found him. “Yeah. Bright, beautiful, lighting up the sky like a path to heaven.”

He saw it then. Even in the dark lighting, he saw the smallest hint of pink on her tanned face. The sweet, embarrassed smile she gave him before turning away quickly.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“So, Star, why the name Astron?”

“I had a friend who was as brilliant as a star. She was incredible and sometimes, I still see her running across the sky, free and a form of comfort, of protection.”

“She sounds incredible,” Dick replied, hearing the sad note in Astron’s voice.

“Yeah, she was.”

“I’m sure she’s happy you honour her.”

“Everyone in the Nightshade Division honours her too. She was their leader before Aegis came to lead,” Astron admitted, drumming her hand against the stone of the building. And then Astron smiled. Small, sad, but it held something warm and kind in it too.

That was when Dick heard a loud, feminine scream.

He and Astron exchanged glances, then they were off.

Astron was ahead, her speed far surpassing Dick’s, but as long as one of them got there, it was fine.

Astron dropped down into an alley ahead. Dick paused at the edge of the roof to watch in case she needed help.

She didn’t.

Three men assaulting a young girl, maybe fourteen. Dick was furious at the sight and he really did want to break all three men’s entire bodies.

But standing from above, Dick caught something in the way Astron fought.

Against monsters, he’d seen her punch a monster out of existence with her bronze knuckles that appeared when she clenched her hand. But here, he could see she was holding back her strength and it amazed him.

Because he knew she was angry. Every line in her body seemed taught with fury, but she held it back so she wouldn’t kill the men.

The last man crumpled from a knee to his crotch. Astron turned to look at the young girl.

Dick went down then to tie up the men, leaving the comforting to Astron.

He could hear faint murmuring, but he couldn’t make out words until the little girl started laughing faintly. It came out choked and pained, but it was a laugh.

Dick turned back from tying the men up and his breath caught in his throat.

In the past four months, Astron had become a steady partner. Her silent presence was welcoming even. She was smart, strong, brave, and kind in her own way.

(He heard from Steph and Cass that she had a soft spot for children and that she was great with them, which was good to know; Dick also loved children. But seeing it now, in real life?)

Astron had become an amazing partner and even if she was fighting monsters, sometimes she found time to help him with the own minor criminals of Bludhaven. Dick couldn’t help it when he started looking forward to meeting her at night.

But he’d never seen her smile with such kindness. With such warmth and any sadness was gone, missing, replaced with a smile full of care and tenderness.

She had helped the girl up, but was still bent down. She was wiping away the girl’s tears as the girl laughed at something Astron said.

And Dick had never seen a scene as sweet as this one.

Astron removed her right hand from the girl’s cheek and ruffled the girl’s hair. Said girl’s laughter increased at something else Astron said and she pushed Astron’s hand away playfully.

Dick finally finished tying up the men, still reeling from seeing that smile on Astron’s face. All he wanted to do now was make sure she smiled like that any time he could get her to.

“Laughing without me? Star, how could you,” he said, mock affronted.

The two females stopped and turned to him. The girl giggled at the fake anger while Astron probably rolled her eyes, Dick had a feeling she rolled her eyes.

“Shut up, Ninja,” she said without any bite.

Dick smirked at her. He returned his gaze to the young girl. “Do you have a home?”

Her face fell immediately. “No, I– I was being chased by monsters when I… I ran into these men. The monsters disappeared, b–but the men said that th–they helped me so I should repay them, and–” She cut herself off.

“Chased by monsters?” Astron echoed, curiosity lining her voice. “Tell me, Sophia, do you have a missing parent?”

Sophia tilted her head, suddenly confused, just like Dick. “N–no?” she answered hesitantly. “I lived in an orphanage.”

“Do you have ADHD or dyslexia?”

“I– Yes! How did you know?!”

Astron’s lips thinned. “I see. Have you been chased by monsters a lot?”

“I mean, when the problem started, the monsters seemed to constantly be around me more, but–”

“You have the chance to become a member of the League of Heroes. Working with them is optional, but there is a safe place for you to stay and live away from monsters. Would you like that?”

Dick’s brain stuttered to a halt. Sophia, this little girl, had the ability to be a Hero. How did Astron know?!

Sophia seemed to be just as bewildered as him because she gaped at Astron.

“Do you really mean I’ll be safe from monsters?”

Astron nodded. “You don’t have to fight, but no monsters can get to you at the Hero base, if you wish to come.”

“I– Yes! Can I?!”

“Sure,” Astron replied. “Does the orphanage–”

“They don’t care about any kids there. They never noticed when I left, they probably think I’m dead.”

Dick felt righteous anger burn through him, but a hand grasped his wrist. He looked down at Astron’s gloved hand, looked up into her masked eyes, and he knew she was telling him to leave it be.

They would deal with the orphanage later, but for now…

“Ninja, I’m going to take Sophia to base. I’ll see you tomorrow night,” Astron said, releasing his wrist.

Dick nodded. “Alright, Star.”

Astron let out a sharp, high piercing taxi whistle, native to New Yorkans. But it was obvious she was from New York from her strong accent, so that didn’t mean much. What did mean something was the powerful wind from above that appeared moments later.

Dick stared in awe at the sleek, black coat of the pegasus that landed before them. Its large winds tucked into its side and it tossed its head at Astron, who laughed as if hearing something no one else did.

“Ninja, Sophia, meet Blackjack, my pegasus. Blackjack, this is Nightwing and Sophia,” Astron introduced, motioning to the two.

Blackjack tossed his head again, his eyes staring at Dick. Dick wasn’t sure if horses could even make expressions, but he felt Blackjack’s expression on a deeply profound level. Like, his expression literally said, If you hurt her, I will trample on your heart till it is nothing more than a red mark.

Astron was helping Sophia onto the pegasus, who still aimed a piercing stare at Dick. A warning.

Dick’s attention was taken by Astron easily climbing onto Blackjack without a harness or anything. She grasped Blackjack’s mane as Sophia hugged her from behind. She was riding a pegasus without reigns or anything.

Dick was amazed at how…regal Astron looked atop the pegasus, like she was born to be there.

“See you later, Ninja.” She patted Blackjack’s neck and the pure black pegasus was off with Astron and her new recruit.

Dick was left wondering whether he could ever get a ride on a pegasus.

(Yes, it was a priority! Like, who wouldn’t want to circle their arms around someone and ride a pegasus in the air?! Dick sure would love to!)

"Hazel?"

Hazel didn't move, she just continued staring at the bow on the ground. Percy stopped and flopped down beside her, also watching the bow.

Time passed oddly in these moments. Quiet and peaceful, but tense and painful at the same time. Was that even possible? Percy wasn't exactly sure.

Death wasn't a foreign concept to a demigod, they faced it often, but it was a harsh reality and sometimes it liked to slap people in the face with a follow up from a metal chair. The Fates hated any form of happiness among demigods, or so Percy guessed considering all the pain and shit they went through. So while Death was beautiful, he was merciless as well.

"It feels weird, him not being here."

"He was a brilliant hero; brave, strong, skilled, and kind," Percy replied, her eyes never straying from the bow.

Hazel's deep golden eyes did. They looked broken, shattered, and destroyed. "I don't blame you."

Percy approached her and it was Hazel who comforted her. Oh how twisted the world was. Percy forced her eyes to her cousin's, trying to hide how much anger she felt at herself. Hazel's eyes, molten gold and glowing, seemed to stare into her soul.

"Don't blame yourself, Percy. You and Frank did what you had to, and Frank, he saved the world."

"I should've stopped him."

"Then you would be dead and Frank wouldn't. Neither outcome is what we want, but we live with what we have. Frank's reuniting with his mother and he left a legacy to protect. We need to make sure his efforts aren't in vain." Hazel still stared into Percy, carefully watching the taller girl. "To destroy yourself by your guilt, it would be a sad way to go, wouldn't it. Frank wouldn't want you to blame yourself, nor do I."

And somehow, Hazel's words comforted Percy. Healing was a painful process, and sometimes no one ever fully healed, but it started with acceptance.

"Thank you, Haze. You are one of a kind," she said, standing slowly. She held out her hand and Hazel accepted it, allowing herself to be pulled up. "His shroud burning is in a few hours. Would you like to say a few words at his funeral? You knew him best."

She watched as Hazel, her eyes red from long dried tears, nodded. She knelt again, snatching Frank's bow from the ground, and stood straight.

Percy stared at the bow in her hand a moment longer and then she wrenched her eyes away.

Everyone had ghosts, but Percy had released hers. She'd known that holding onto them was a painful weight, memories were fine, but holding onto the pain destroyed you, so she grasped the pain a second longer, letting Frank's ghost stay a moment too long, and like the rest, she released it.

When Hazel got down from the rooftop of the Hades cabin, she hugged Percy tightly and Percy replied in kind, wrapping her arms around the shorter girl. They'd known Frank the most on the Argo II, they were the two hurting the most.

Percy released Hazel and the two made their way to the Amphitheatre, Percy keeping an arm around Hazel's shoulders while Hazel stayed close.

"Thank you, for comforting me, Gem."

"Always, Sea Queen. We Big Three kids stick together."

Percy kneeled before the grave in Camp Jupiter.

Sophia had been revealed as a daughter of Ceres and so Percy had brought her to Camp Jupiter.

While Sophia settled in, Percy visited an old friend.

So she was there, on her knees before Frank Zhang’s grave and an elephant charm in her hand.

Generally speaking, people brought flowers to graves, but Percy and Frank had had an inside joke of tridents and elephants, so the charm felt more personal. She placed it on the grave gingerly, her eyes glistening.

She felt a warm hand on her shoulder and she looked over at her cousin. “Hey, Gem.”

“Sea Queen, to what do we owe this pleasure?”

“New demigod.”

“Yes, I saw that. But you’re here and not with the girl you brought.”

Percy stopped at that. “Just, hadn’t seen…him in a while.”

She felt Hazel kneel beside her, her hand still on Percy’s shoulder. “Same.”

They stayed there for a while, just basking in each other’s presence and the lost friend that lay in the ground beneath them.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a pack of M&Ms; she always had some on her body. “Want some?’ Percy offered, holding it out to Hazel.

Hazel nodded and reached into the packet.

They sat and ate in front of Frank’s grave in silence, but it was a comfortable and sweet silence, much like the ones the trio shared in the brief chances they had together.

The cousins stood in unison and started walking away together, quick quips being thrown at each other easily.

And then came a question Percy did not anticipate.

“Will you be joining the Hero-JL meet up in a month's time? It’s more like a training meet between the team and our younger demigods, but seniors are there for demonstrations or such.” Hazel paused, giving Percy a meaningful look. “This will be your first check-in, as in the League really wants you there to see if you and Nightwing are… How do you say it? Compatible, or was it good partners?”

“They mean the same thing, Haze,” Percy replied easily, her hands shoved into her pockets. “And, I guess the question was more out of your respect for me than for an answer.”

“Yeah, they’ve put a lot of stress on wanting your presence. You’ve pushed off going long enough, Perce. Time to kick names, take ass!”

Percy burst out laughing and Hazel paused, her eyes narrowing in confusion. “What? Did I say something wrong?”

“Kick ass, take names,” Percy corrected, wiping away her tears. “But, yeah, sure, I’ll be there.”

“Swear?”

“I just need to understand how the Zeta-Tubes work, but I’m sure Ni-ightwing can help me.” Percy internally sighed in relief when she saved herself from a lengthy explanation on who “Ninja” was.

Hazel looked at her weirdly, but didn’t comment. “Okay, see you there, Sea Queen. I’ve really got to go and check with Dakota on preparations for the training in a month.”

“Wait, preparations? Gem, what do you mean?”

“Oh, right!” Hazel facepalmed. “The JL wants to try something new. So we’re getting ten demigods from Camp Jupiter to join us. CHB is sending ten demigods along with Sophos and Warrior.” Hazel fully turned to face her, her golden eyes glinting mischievously. “I can’t tell you everything, but the basics is that they want to see how fast a demigod, or Hero for them, and one of their members can click and work together.”

“How does that involve me and Night– Gem, no! They didn’t–”

“Oh, we had no choice in that. You’re one of the ten on the CHB list.”

Then the girl had the audacity to shrug and walk strut off.

Percy had one month to mentally prepare going to a meeting with Nightwing’s family.

Because Percy respected Nightwing very much in their short time of knowing each other. She’d tried, she really had tried to stay away, but Nightwing was like the sun. He was warm and kind and funny.

And now she had to go to a training thing, where not only Spoiler and Orphan were going, but also Red Hood, Red Robin, Robin, and Batman! Not to mention the partner in question: Nightwing.

Percy wanted to scream.

Chapter Text

Jason narrowed his eyes at the mass of raven hair just reaching the same level as his lips.

One simple walk in Gotham and he naturally has to run into someone.

He groaned, ignoring whatever–

“Okay, listen here you tall prat with British brains, I don’t know what you think you’re doing, sighing like I’ve done something when I was just apologising. You damn cow-faced dunce with playdough for a tongue, you also should’ve been watching as you walked.”

And Jason—even through his slightly annoyed haze and minor twinge of guilt at his groan even though he probably should’ve also been looking as he walked—had to admit those insults were a work of art. “Tall prat with British brains” was an iconic line that Jason was absolutely going to steal. Also “playdough for tongue” was particularly effective since playdough tasted like expired sour cream, which Jason shouldn’t know, but every single small child would have definitely accidentally or purposely ate playdough as a child and know the taste.

He finally focused on the girl– Scratch that, woman. Woman with a capital “W”, maybe a protagonist in some sort of YA fantasy book, the kind of indifferent morally grey character that has a heart of pure gold.

She was glaring up at him; it looked like a glare, all cold and stormy eyes focused on him. Sharp, green eyes that seemed to hold a storm of everything inside them. Powerful and terrifying and Jason decided that this Woman was his new best friend.

But first, he needed to apologise to her quickly retreating back of pure gilded muscle. Holy shit, she would also be an awesome sparring partner!

“Wait! Sorry, that was rude of me!”

The Woman stopped and turned back, her green eyes no longer icy and dagger-like. The waves were calmer now, sweeter.

“Are you, kid?”

“Yes– Hey! I’m not a kid!”

Her lips curled up ever so slightly, and her eyes sparkled. “No, I suppose not. Especially considering…” She trailed off, the spark dying down as something dark covered her eyes. “Whatever. Apology accepted.” She turned away. “I really want a coffee.”

“I know a good coffee place. My repl– brother loves coffee and talks about the best places to get it in Gotham,” Jason offered. Generally speaking, he hated talking to new people, but something instinctively told him that this Woman was different. She was…special, and no, not in the romantic way, but he had a feeling that she’d faced something similar to him and…

Jason shook his head and focused. “While we get a coffee, can we talk about your insulting capabilities?”

“Were you truly that impressed?”

“‘Tall prat with British brains’ is just too perfect to not be intrigued,” Jason replied.

The Woman laughed, and–

“What’s your name?”

“Percy. Yours?”

“Jason.”

Percy paused, an odd look overcoming her face, and then she too shook her head. “Had a cousin called Jason. You two are nothing alike.” She grinned up at him (okay, Jason was 6’5, give him a break for describing it like that). “But I suppose all the best people have a darker aesthetic, right?”

Jason laughed in agreement. Percy was right in them both having a “darker” aesthetic. As in she literally had like seven piercings in each ear, a cropped leather jacket, and ripped jeans. Jason was in his trademark dark brown leather jacket, naturally.

“Do you read a lot?”

“Oh, I’ve just recently gotten into it. I blame my dyslexia for my former hatred,” Percy responded. “But honestly, now? Gotta love the classic books. Jane Austen is a favourite of mine.”

Jason was going to actually throw a party. “Pride and Prejudice?”

“I love Lizzy and Darcy. Lizzy is fucking iconic and amazing!” She turned to him again, grinning still. “Pride and Prejudice is my favourite of her works. Yours too, isn’t it?”

“Small world.”

“But great people.” She winked and pushed the door to the coffee shop open. Jason followed, a little confused as to how she knew which coffee shop it was, but something about the twinkle in her eyes told him she was similar to Alfred.

They sat in the corner with the perfect view of everyone, and Jason wondered why the cup of tea in his hands felt warmer or why it seemed to smell sweeter. Percy had gone for a straight black coffee, like some person Jason knew.

“Why are you in Gotham?” Jason asked.

Percy looked up, eyes straying to the window and watching people walk along the street, before they returned to Jason’s own eyes. “My job required me to come here.”

“Where do you work?”

“Is this an interrogation?”

Jason coughed at the sudden question and he caught Percy’s shark-like grin as she lifted the mug to her lips. “No,” he quickly denied, “I’m just interested.”

“I can tell.” Her reply was dry, very dry.

Jason bit his tongue.

Difficult and guarded, clearly. Trained, he noted again. Her fingers were drumming against the table constantly, a steady rhythm while she seemed to savour her bitter coffee. A scar along her eye, something in it glimmered and disappeared. He averted his eyes as he took in more. Scars along her arms, claw marks and old burn marks. Her hands were calloused and tough too.

And everything seemed to come back to her eyes, so green and powerful and swirling, but also darkened and sharp. Something lurked in them, a nightmare that haunted Percy, and Jason wondered what it was.

Jason knew he was not the greatest detective Bruce trained. Heck, most people called him “Batman’s Failure”, but every single child trained by Bruce Wayne could definitely tell there was something unnatural about Percy. Even from a distance it was obvious; Jason had seen the way people around them and even as Percy walked seemed to give her a wide berth, how people seemed to constantly glance at her either in awe or fear, that strength that poured off her in waves that commanded attention whether it was good or bad.

Jason was certain she wasn’t fully human.

He had theorised her to be a meta-human, but something—a gut feeling—told him he was wrong.

Jason jolted as Percy’s left hand suddenly disappeared and reappeared with a simple black ballpoint pen. She spun it in her hand expertly, incredibly well; the movement looked more instinctive than practised, like it came to her naturally rather than she learnt the trick.

Jason eyed it and then Percy’s lip quirked upwards as he realised he’d been staring.

He stiffened. He’d been complacent. He hadn’t even realised he’d relaxed until the troublemaker smirk on Percy’s face made an appearance.

“Do you find my pen-spinning ability interesting, Jason?”

Jason looked at it again and then back at Percy’s eyes, a whirlpool, almost like some sort of hypnotising method. “Maybe,” he replied with a smirk of his own.

Percy hummed and took another sip of her drink. Drink!

Jason looked down at his probably lukewarm cup of chamomile to see it still steaming. He clasped the cup and lifted it to his lips. The perfect temperature. Not too hot, it didn’t burn him, not too cold. It was warm and the cup in his hands was at the temperature where you could clasp it in your hands and seep in the warmth without fearing a burn. The tea, a relatively not strong tea, still tasted amazing as he drank (perhaps not as amazing as Alfred’s, but it would do). He wondered how it was still hot when he’d neglected the tea for quite a bit.

The only answer could be the Woman opposite him. He eyed her over the rim of his mug while Percy, the picture of calm, looked out the window with a serene smile.

And Jason didn’t trust easily. No one in his family did. But Percy– She was different, Jason felt like they were similar in some way. Percy’s eyes burned with an unnaturalness Jason’s had, her scars were too many to not be madness, and–

Jason knew death. He’d come back from death. And he knew the aura of death that hung off a person who died.

Everyone had some mark of death.

After his resurrection, Jason could see the slight black haze. A lost person for someone was just a slight shadow.

Stygian and Onyx, two senior members from the League of Heroes, reeked of death on the certain occasions Jason saw them. Onyx was like him, dead entirely and returned to life. Stygian was not like them, but the darkness over him was strong enough to be close enough Jason could’ve mistaken it if he hadn’t known instinctively.

And it wasn’t that he was saying Percy was the same, but she definitely had a lot more essence of death hanging around her than others. It wasn’t as strong as Stygian and Onyx, but it held weight that she either did die (long ago), or she has faced death so many times, it permanently marked her.

Jason wished for neither to be correct. Death scarred so deep, it never seemed to heal. It burned into the person, branded them for the rest of their unnatural life. Whether it was near-death experiences or death itself, it hurt like nothing else, and the endless pain of it continuously there, hanging over your shoulder, never went away.

However, as he focused on the dark haze on Percy’s shoulder, he knew that she’d faced death itself.

But as he looked into her eyes, he knew that she’d laughed at him in the face. And Jason wished he had the strength to do that.

Percy was in Gotham for a meeting with the Atlantean representatives at the main Wayne Enterprise building.

Her meeting was tomorrow, so Amy (daughter of Nemesis) said she could stay over at hers while she was in Gotham.

Naturally, Lou, Connor, and Travis were watching over Bludhaven for her. As she walked down the street, a small smile was brought to her lips as she thought of how Nightwing had looked so tired when she said they’d be back for a few days.

(She wasn’t sure the actual nature of Nightwing’s exhaustion with Travis and Connor, but Percy could say from experience that Connor and Travis were a pain enough (affectionate) that even a day with them would absolutely drain anyone. Unfortunately for Nightwing, Percy was unsympathetic to his pain due to her delight that the incessant chatter of Nightwing would be challenged by two mischievous siblings, who may or may not try to steal from him, but that wasn’t important.)

As she walked down the street, she felt that unmistakable weight of death running over her, it's cold fingers clasping at her shoulders.

Percy pulled out Riptide as she walked, spinning it in her hand casually as she looked over the street she walked on.

And she took part of the blame for the next incident since she should have been watching the path, but she slammed straight into someone much taller than her, rivalling Clarisse in height, maybe an inch shorter.

Percy held back her strength even as they collided, so neither toppled over, but she definitely grunted with the need to pull back her natural strength.

“I’m so sorry. Should’ve looked where I was going.” She continued her string of apologies (and pocketed Riptide), abruptly stopping when the person she bumped into sighed deeply, like she was the only one at fault. Percy knew for certain that he too wasn’t looking when he was walking.

“Okay, listen here you tall prat with British brains, I don’t know what you think you’re doing, sighing like I’ve done something when I was just apologising. You damn cow-faced dunce with playdough for a tongue, you also should’ve been watching as you walked,” she spat at the man, immediately retracting any apologies she had made.

The guy looked down at her in surprise, something akin to awe flashing through his–

Percy knew that feeling. It hung over Hazel and Nico like a cloak. Though they wore it like the royals they were, this person bore the weight of it with no proper way of dealing with the haze of death. She knew it for she too had faced death, though she walked away and this boy– He’d been claimed by death and he escaped by something wrong, something entirely unnatural.

Percy did not let that stop her from glaring up at the boy for his insolence.

She turned on her heel sharply and was about to walk away when the boy shouted, “Wait! Sorry, that was rude of me!”

She calmed down a lot at that. She could tell he was sincere, but Percy couldn’t help but poke a little fun at this one. “Are you, kid?”

“Yes– Hey! I’m not a kid!” he spluttered indignantly.

“No, I suppose not. Especially considering…” She trailed off, unable to say she knew of his death. And something pierced her heart as she thought of him, a child, dead and back. The pain he must’ve felt, no child should bear that… “Whatever. Apology accepted.” She turned away, her mind already on the next topic of importance: A drink! “I really want a coffee.”

“I know a good coffee place. My repl– brother loves coffee and talks about the best places to get it in Gotham,” the boy man offered. “While we get a coffee, can we talk about your insulting capabilities?”

Percy couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped her. “Were you truly that impressed?”

“‘Tall prat with British brains’ is just too perfect to not be intrigued,” the man answered.

She laughed.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Percy. Yours?”

“Jason.”

Jason… You and he are nothing alike, Percy thought, her mind straying to Jason Grace, son of Jupiter and former Praetor of the Twelfth Legion. Jason had been the rule-abiding boy you’d expect, the likeable one. This Jason was definitely nothing like that. And Percy knew speaking “ill” of the dead was a bad idea, but she couldn’t resist when this Jason was just so similar to her.

“Had a cousin called Jason. You two are nothing alike.” She grinned up at him (this Jason was like 6’5, give her a damn break for having to look up). “But I suppose all the best people have a darker aesthetic, right?”

Jason laughed easily, the toxic green eyes of his sparkling. “Do you read a lot?” A natural question for the insults Percy just spewed.

“Oh, I’ve just recently gotten into it. I blame my dyslexia for my former hatred,” Percy replied. “But honestly, now? Gotta love the classic books. Jane Austen is a favourite of mine.”

 “Pride and Prejudice?”

“I love Lizzy and Darcy. Lizzy is fucking iconic and amazing!” Gods, how Percy loved Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice. It was clearly the best of her books and just absolutely amazingly written. “Pride and Prejudice is my favourite of her works. Yours too, isn’t it?”

“Small world.”

Percy noticed the small coffee shop at the corner that Jason seemed to be aiming for.

“But great people.” She winked at him as she opened the door.

The smell that hit her was heavenly. Nectar was nothing compared to the beautiful and tantalising smell of coffee. Percy could say with absolute certainty that coffee was, and always would be, the nectar of the gods (screw the golden liquid they called nectar).

Once sat down with her own coffee and Jaosn with his cup of chamomile tea, Jason prompted the start of a different topic of conversation.

“Why are you in Gotham?”

“My job required me to come here,” she answered honestly.

“Where do you work?”

She was about to say “classified”, but the questions felt a little too direct. “Is this an interrogation?”

“No, I’m just interested.” His denial was perfectly practised to be a lie, but for Percy standards it was a tad too fast.

“I can tell,” she drawled back, her tone dry and barren.

Percy focused back on her coffee, while keeping Jason’s tea at the perfect temperature. She liked this man. He was familiar in a weird way. She knew they had never met before, but he was trained, a powerful fighter and probably lethal despite his stature.

She drew Riptide from her pocket as she thought over it.

And then she noticed him watching her spinning Riptide.

“Do you find my pen-spinning ability interesting, Jason?” Her smirk only grew at the slight shock flitting through his eyes.

He returned the smirk just as fast, just as practised. “Maybe.” And then he seemed to startle himself and focus on his drink. He picked it up and Percy watched carefully as he took in the fact that his cup of tea had yet to go cold.

She smiled to herself as he seemed to savour the drops, but she knew he too was observing her. Just as she observed him.

Not only Tim, but this man, Jason, was trained just as well. It wasn’t just simple self-defence, this was pure training, like they were actual fighters. It reminded Percy a little of Nightwing, with how smooth and graceful their movements were, how practised they were and the ease at which they were executed.

But she also knew that Jason was kind. And she wondered how hard it had been to overcome death.

That thought stuck with her as she and him parted with numbers exchanged and as she made her way back to Amy’s apartment. And as she made dinner for her friend, who came home later than usual. And as she went to sleep in the spare bedroom across the hall.

And as she awoke the next day at 5 AM to get ready for her meeting with her boss (a nice woman called Sheila Montenegro), the Atlantean ambassadors (since they worked with Aquatic Research), Lucius Fox (his expertise was necessary for the plan to be proposed), and Timothy Drake since they needed a CEO present.

She changed into her formal clothes that Drew chose for her saying she needed someone to choose for her or she’d be doomed (Drew’s words, not hers).

Black high-waisted trousers (Drew said high-waisted things looked great on her), a dark grey blouse tucked into the trousers that she buttoned all the way up, and black ankle boots that looked elegant enough to pass.

Sheila had said she had to wear something nice. Percy honestly couldn’t care less.

She grabbed her lanyard with her ID in it and her bag with all the necessary papers.

Unfortunately, trouble followed Percy, and she soon found herself being dragged into an alley with 5 men surrounding her, half of them shorter and the two taller than her could barely pass as taller.

She sighed, “Why?” Her voice sounded exhausted to herself, which was good because there was a murmur of unease at her lack of fear.

And then greasy pig 1 smiled with crooked, yellow teeth and brandished a knife. “We just want to show you a good time, ma’am. Be a nice little girl–”

He didn’t get far when her boot crashed into his jaw and he flew back. Oops, might need to hold back on that strength.

The next two looked enraged and they immediately tried to attack again. Percy, naturally not one to take any shit from people, dropped and swept one off his feet. She straightened just as fast and kneed the second in the crotch. He crumpled like a sweet wrapper, frail and weak.

The next two looked a little scared to see her manage to defeat three full grown men. Yeah, try me pigs, I’ve fought Titans and Giants.

They did not get the chance to run at her or away because a brown figure dropped down, a red bat symbol on the black shirt he wore beneath, and a distinct red helmet-hood thing (whatever the infamous vigilante preferred).

Percy sensed it easily, the same blood flowing through Red Hood’s veins flowed through Jason Todd’s.

And thus, she found out the second identity of a member of the Batfam. Percy sighed internally, just glad that she at least had Cass to speak about it with.

She focused on the 6’5 man before her. “Hello, Red Hood. Need to get to work now.”

“I’ll escort you,” he offered like a gentleman.

Percy raised an eyebrow but nodded in acceptance. She didn’t really need it, but she’d be fine with someone escorting her. She was used to escorts, having had to have one when in Poseidonis or Atlantis or any of the surrounding cities.

Percy continued with her bag still over her shoulder and her clothes completely fine. Thankfully, her hair was fine too, in a half-up half-down hairdo.

“Thanks for the save,” she said a few steps into the quick walk to Wayne Enterprise.

“No problem, Ma’am.”

Percy chuckled. “Ya know, you are not like the stories. Everyone says you're some bloodthirsty monster. You seem pretty gentlemanly right now.”

“Just part of my charm, Ma’am.”

“Percy, please. I hate formalities.”

“Then, Percy, I saw you were quite proficient in self-defence.”

Percy grinned. Of course he’d comment on that. As Jason, it would’ve been weird. But as Red Hood? Naturally he’d voice what was shocking about her.

“I went to a summer camp for self-defence. I learnt a lot there,” she answered vaguely.

“Like what?” Jason seemed dead-set on continuing the conversation.

Percy hummed in thought. “Well, martial arts I suppose. And then I also learnt a bit of swordsmanship, and some of my friends learnt archery. I was shit at archery.”

Jason seemed to be taking in the information. Percy found that fair since what kind of summer camp taught swordsmanship and archery? Well, there were probably a few, but why?

“Really? You like swords?”

“Like ‘em? It’s my best weapon! I usually prefer a double-edged blade, but I can fight with single-edged swords. My favourite sword would be a xiphos, but I’ve always wanted blades fashioned after Tolkien’s elvish blades. They look awesome!”

“You like Lord of the Rings?”

“Books are better than the movies—though the movies are incredible—but yeah. Tolkien’s works are a masterpiece.”

“Yes! The books are always better than the movies!” And then Jason caught himself and coughed. “Don’t tell anyone I–”

“Don’t worry, the secret that you're a nerd is safe with me.” Percy sent him a mischievous smirk and then focused on the building across the street. She noted that loads of people were pointing at Jason in his Red Hood gear and whispering about how she was with him.

She sighed and turned to him. “Gotta go or Montenegro's gonna kill me! See ya around, Red Hood.” She ran into the building, pulling out her ID and showing it to the front desk.

“Hey, which room am I in and could I possibly have someone to show me to it?” she asked.

The woman looked up, blinked several times, murmured “Not another” and then smiled kindly. “Of course, Miss. Jackson.” She looked over at the other person with her. “Jack, show Miss. Jackson to meeting room 5, floor 13.”

Jack nodded and motioned for Percy to follow him.

Percy and him entered an elevator and Jack pressed on the button for floor 13. He smiled nervously at Percy, who was taller than him. She was taller than quite a few people, but shorter than a lot of demigods. It was funny. And it annoyed Nico to no end that she held her entire head taller than him over him.

The elevator pinged and they exited the metal box in sync. Jack turned right and walked down the corridor, Percy following while looking around at other rooms briefly. Most were empty until they reached meeting room 5.

Jack opened the door, held it open for her, and then closed it and left.

Percy was not late. In fact, she wasn’t the last person there, though she wasn’t the first too.

Lucius Fox, Tim, and Sheila were already there. She smiled, nodding her head respectfully as she walked over to Sheila.

“Hey, Ma’am. Told ya I wouldn’t be late.”

“Hardy har, Jackson,” Sheila replied, rolling her eyes.

Lucius Fox stood up and held out a hand to her, which she clasped and shook. She could see the surprise at her calloused hands, and could tell he was shocked by her strength. Most people were.

“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Fox.”

“And you. Miss. Jackson.” His eyes twinkled, the former surprise gone. “I heard you were quite the worker.” A nod to Sheila, who smiled.

“Mrs. Montenegro gives me too much credit. But thank you, Sir.”

“Please, just Lucius is fine.”

Percy nodded. “Of course, Sir.” She turned to Tim, a smug smirk on her lips. They still talked often enough. At that moment, however, he was giving her the most deadpan expression. “Hello, Mr. Drake.”

“Percy,” he replied shortly. He was not pleased she had refrained from informing him of her being in Gotham, or something like that.

“You know each other?” Sheila asked, looking between the two.

Percy’s grin widened. “Oh yeah. Coffee Dealer over there met me in Bludhaven at the coffee shop. We kept in contact.”

“Coffee Dealer…?” Sheila murmured incredulously.

Lucius just laughed. “I suppose that’s your nickname for him.”

“Among many,” Percy answered mysteriously.

“Shut up, Percy,” Tim grumbled.

Percy laughed, ruffling his hair. “Don’t act like this in front of the Atlantean representatives. Wouldn’t want them to know that Bruce Wayne’s almighty son and the co-CEO of Wayne Enterprise was actually a moody child.”

“Shut up,” Percy,” he hissed more forcefully.

(Unknown to the two raven-haired people, Lucius and Sheila were exchanging glances of joint suffering. Lucius, the moment he saw Percy, knew she was just like a Wayne kid and it was only a matter of time before Bruce tried something. Sheila was just tired of Percy somehow befriending a billionaire child and acting like his older sister. She’d seen Percy do it so many times; act like an older sibling, somehow emotionally adopt kids, and such. She suffered so much with Percy as a subordinate. Note: she would never trade Percy for anyone else. Percy was a great person.)

Five minutes later, everyone sat down and the Atlantean ambassadors entered, two of them, one woman and one male.

Percy focused on making sure they couldn’t tell who she was. It was pretty easy considering the Mist still worked with her, so she just tampered with their perception of her very slightly so they couldn’t tell who she was.

One of them, the woman, was 5’11 and had pure white hair tied back in a tight bun, blue crystals dangling from her ears. Her Atlantean marks were designs of flowers snaking around her arm like vines. Elara, her name was, fitting for the glow she emitted.

The second one, male, was named Xander. He was dark-skinned with white tattoos, simple white lines running over his arms and beneath his clothing. His eyes shone with magic, Atlantean magic naturally.

It was good that Atlanteans could be affected by the Mist, if the Mist was wielded by someone with a lot of experience, and Percy did have a lot of experience with it. (Hazel and Lou taught her after she said she’d never learnt and they wanted her to have some way to hide her silver hair.)

Everyone stood and smiled at the Atlanteans. And then they sat so the meeting could begin.

Thirty minutes into the meeting, Percy presenting Aquatic Research’s latest data on endangered species and the measures being taken to protect them, the alarm rang.

Tim looked around. “Everyone, remain calm and stay here. I’ll go and find some more information,” he said, snapping into his Red Robin persona.

As he stood, Percy moved after him. “I’ll come with you. Two’s better than one.”

Tim’s blood froze. Shit, shit, shit. What do I–

“Miss. Jackson, Tim knows the building better than any of us and could navigate through areas to find the cause of the alarm faster than us. Perhaps it would be safer to stay here,” Lucius—thank god for Lucius Fox, saviour of Tim—said.

Percy eyed him and then nodded hesitantly. “Stay safe!”

Tim ran, heading for his office where his suit was. He got there very fast and changed much faster than he left immediately and ran through the corridors again.

Tim had a feeling that it was Joker’s doing, but there was something weird about this entirely too. Something felt off about this entire alarm.

Why did it feel so off?

His answer came in the form of a spear hurtling straight through his body, the bronze tip very recognisable. Tim gasped at the sheer number of monsters and human criminals in the lobby, Joke there too, cackling madly.

“Babs? Joker’s here and–”

“Yeah, Tim, I know. It’s weird, though. Monsters have never worked with human criminals in all the time they’ve been here,” Babs replied. Tim could faintly hear the clacking of her typing, probably alerting the Heroes.

Tim looked around and saw several bodies, all still. There was a large pool of blood too around one of the humans. Tim’s breath froze.

In all the time monsters had been seen, they never targeted humans and the number of deaths here was more than the normal death toll after a monster attack. There was barely any human death toll, save for the Heroes.

Tim felt sick.

He was glad that Jason and Damian had arrived already, but what could they do against the monsters?

Tim dropped down, landing on top of one of Joker’s goons, and looked around again.

No Heroes yet, monsters everywhere, and dead people. So much death. The blood coating the floor seemed to be immeasurable. There was so much of it.

Tim, in his haste to look around and try—try to make sense of everything—lost himself in the bloodshed. And he missed the gun aimed at his back. Missed the Joker goon grinning madly as he believed he was going to take down another Robin.

The shot rang out and Tim would never be fast enough to escape the hit.

The pain never came. Nothing did except for a small grunt from the camo-clad body in front of him. The person before him had their hand raised and was holding her left side, pressing against something. He noted the blood on the floor and guilt gripped him.

Your fault. Your fault. Your fault.

The chant was horrible as the realisation seemed to fill him with the absolutely horrible feeling of pain. They took the bullet for him.

The person turned—a Hero, it must’ve been—and her white lenses blinked at him. Or Bruce must’ve gotten another one and hidden her away, somehow.

And time unfroze as Tim registered everything.

Four Heroes were there, including the one in front of him. He’d frozen, he’d made a rookie mistake and someone else paid the price. Jason was fighting seven goons. Damian was fighting five goons.

And the woman before him was smiling kindly, no anger or annoyance that she was injured because of protecting him. She walked over, like the madness around her wasn’t even there, and then she flipped the dagger in her hand and held out the handle to Tim.

“Here, Red Robin, use the dagger and fight the monsters. If you defeat one, you’ll not ever feel helpless again, and I’m right here to cover you.” Her voice was kind too, smooth and deep, or deep in a weird way. It eased Tim as he hesitantly reached out for the weapon which sat in his hand a little weirdly, but still balanced enough for use.

“Why would you–”

“You look like you need confirmation that you can fight against these guys. It’s always nice to know you aren’t helpless. I’d know,” and her voice was so kind and so wistful, like she wished someone had reached out to her like this. “I’m right here, covering your back, so try to fight one.”

Tim nodded, unsure of why he trusted her so easily. He didn’t even know her name and she was still bleeding from the bullet wound, but she barely seemed affected by it. Hell, she looked so at ease, Tim couldn’t be sure she was injured unless he looked at the dark liquid covering her hand.

He clasped the dagger and turned to look around at the monsters surrounding them. The woman had pulled a sword from her back, only one, and she grinned. Itr was feral and untamed, crazy, but Tim felt like the world would bow at her feet if she fought them with that smile.

“Stab ‘em good, RR. Always helps to know they aren’t undefeatable!”

And her sword was an arc of pure destruction as she fought with one side wounded, one arm fine, and blood still dripping from the wound. Or was it? Tim couldn’t tell anymore.

All he knew was that he had a dagger that could harm monsters and a pile of gold dust on the ground before him told him he’d just defeated one.

The confirmation was a thrill. Several mercilessly slaughtered and now Tim had a way to fight back. Sure, he wasn’t the best with daggers (leave that to Damian and Cass), but he felt good knowing he could fight them.

They were faster, but the woman was always there, making up for Tim’s lack of speed. She danced between monsters like it was second nature, made them look like fools rather than beasts, and Tim struck another down.

Was it weird that he liked knowing they weren’t invincible? That they weren’t unbeatable?

Tim wasn’t sure. He just liked knowing that someone saw he hated not having a way to fight and gave him one. Because that was Tim.

Sure, most people believed him to be a coffee addict (a proud one) or a workaholic. But he liked knowing things too. He was curious like that and not knowing, not having the information or the confirmation felt like he was in the dark. He hated that feeling.

And soon, no monsters were left. All the goons were on the ground and Joker was with his goons too.

Tim turned to the woman, who grinned at him, no longer holding her wound, or what had been the wound. The suit was fixed, closed completely, and there was a bullet shell on the ground between them.

“Thank you,” Tim whispered.

“No problem, Little Red.” She grinned, sheathing her dual swords, and grasping her dagger again, replacing it in the sheath on her hip. “Nice fighting. You must train with superspeed users a lot to be able to keep up with monsters that much. Well done!”

Oh. Oh.

Tim’s brain stuttered to a halt. She didn’t blame him one bit. In fact, she seemed proud. And she didn’t care that she’d taken a bullet meant for him.

And then Fury, one of Gotham’s permanent Heroes, walked over. Her stark white hair, tipped with red at the ends, shimmered as she placed a hand on the new Hero’s shoulder.

“Astron, making friends with the Bats already?”

“Oh hush, Fury,” Astron replied, sending her a look, though Tim couldn’t tell what it was since Astron’s eyes were hidden by a domino mask. “Red Robin just needed confirmation.”

Understanding flashed in Fury’s eyes. She nodded, her red eyes softening at Tim. “I get what she means. Most Heroes do. We like knowing monsters aren’t invincible too, it helps with fighting. Must’ve been horrible, watching them and thinking you couldn’t do anything.” She patted Astron’s back. “Astron here showed me too. She’s good at that stuff.”

Tim wasn’t sure if he imagined it, but Astron’s ears seemed to be a little pink at the top as she turned her face to the side. “You give me too much credit.” Astron looked back again and Tim was sure he imagined the pink because her ears and face were normal. She looked at her wrist, the watch made of a blue-tinged steel and bronze glinting on it. “I’ll send my report to Sophos and Warrior. Fury, think you and the others can clean up the gold dust?”

“Sure, Princess.”

“Fury,” Astron hissed, most likely at the nickname. Fury’s eyes just glittered mischievously and she walked sauntered away.

Fury sighed and turned away. She seemed to be talking to herself, or someone over the comms, as she spoke in another language.

The hairs on the back of Tim’s neck stood up at the language, the power thrumming from the words themselves was incredible and terrifying.

And then he remembered. “Shit!”

Astron turned to him. “Huh?”

“There were some people in meeting room 5 on floor 13. Timothy Drake alerted me and I forgot to check on them.”

“Oh, don’t worry. They’re safe.”

“The Atlanteans?”

“Completely fine.”

“What about the ravenette? She’s about your height, kind of…” Now that Tim thought about it, Percy did look like Astron. He narrowed his eyes. “Kind of looks like you, barring the silver streak of hair.”

“The green-eyed woman, 6'2 (I think?) tall? She ran into me when she said she was looking for Timothy Drake. Why?”

“Oh, no, Timothy just mentioned her, so I was wondering.” He sensed no lie in Astron’s words and it was a likely story. Tim got the feeling that Percy was the kind of woman to run after her friends if they were in danger. Reckless, but she meant well.

“She should be safe. I’m sure.” Astron’s watch beeped after her words. “Fuck. I’m late.” And then she disappeared, the strong scent of the sea once again so familiar, yet Tim couldn't place a finger on it.

Moments later, Percy ran into the lobby, along with Sheila, the two Atlanteans, and Lucius. All five looked disgruntled by the sight of dead bodies strewn all over the floor. It made sense that it looked odd to them.

Tim walked over to Jason and Damian once he scanned them for injuries (none, thankfully).

“Drake, what was that?” Damian hissed softly.

Tim knew what he was talking about. “I know, I know. I shouldn’t have frozen, I jus–”

“Replacement, stop.” Tim looked into the white lenses of Jason’s helmet, who was staring at him intently. “Who was the Hero you were talking to just now?”

“She saved my life. Her name’s Astron.”

“Astron?” Jason echoed. “Isn’t she…Dickie Bird’s new partner in Bludhaven? Blondie and Cass mentioned meeting her when they were there.”

Silence. “I approve.” More silence.

Damian’s words registered.

“What the fuck do you mean?” Tim nearly screamed.

“I mean that she is skilled in swordsmanship and clearly competent. I approve of her partnership with Nightwing,” Damianclarified like it was obvious. “She also seemed to understand your stupidity enough to help you.” That was Damian’s way of saying “I was worried, don’t freeze next time”.

Tim was still in shock that he was even hearing Damian saying he “approved” of Astron.

“Who’s your favourite member of the Batfamily?”

Dick watched her carefully at the question.

Two weeks ago, she’d returned from her trip to Gotham due to something to do with an increase in monsters in that area (monsters teaming up with human criminals was now a thing. Yay!) and she’d met nearly Dick’s entire family by now.

Astron paused a little at that, her answer unfortunately not faster than Dick wished. A sad sort of smile made its way onto her face soon and then, with an air of pain, she answered: “Red Hood.”

Dick’s mouth dropped to the floor. Jason—Jason Peter Todd—was Astron’s favourite family member when they’d interacted a total of, like, 1 time! Dick’s incredulous gaze must’ve been too much because Astron turned away with a smug smirk on her face. And then it dropped again, the sad smile returning.

“Yes, you heard me right, Ninja. Red Hood.” She looked over at him again, and Dick stared back. That was certainly far more unexpected than he had originally thought it to be, but then again, Astron did seem to be known for her unpredictability.

“Why?” he asked because curiosity was eating him up inside.

He expected her to shut him down and close him off as she did with most personal questions. He was barely able to pry anything out of her. But this time, she surprised him yet again, as she turned away and started speaking.

“Red Hood reminds me of myself,” she admitted, her tone hollow and empty. “Angry at the world and– You know that feeling, the one where you’re flying? Like fire is thrumming through your veins, you feel like you're there, weightless and free, like you could rule the world?”

Dick did in fact know that feeling. “Yes,” he said, soft and quiet as he watched Astronstare across the Bludhaven skyline. “I know that feeling a lot.” The first time he’d felt that had been when he first fought beside Bruce as Robin. Trained and ready, Dick had felt like he was on top of the world when he stood at Bruce’s back. Because Batman would always need a Robin, and Dick had loved being the Robin he needed then.

“I used to hate fighting, ya know.” Astron did not seem like that when Dick watched her fight, but he didn’t comment. “But then, one battle changed it all. In the Hero life, it’s fight or die. There’s nothing else to it for us. But I was fourteen, and my friend was in trouble, and I just had to help her. So I ran out there and gods, it felt incredible to watch my enemy, someone I had thought for sure would beat me, quiver against my blade. That was the first time I fell in love with swords. And that feeling, of being there in the moment, the dead silence but me and my own strength showing through, all of my hard work proving I was good enough? I felt like I was truly free for the first time in years.

“I always loved that feeling, of something burning inside me, telling me I was good enough, I would be good enough.” Dick did too, it made sure he knew he was still there, still could fight on and protect people. “I haven’t felt like that in years. It was why I tried quitting the Hero business. And Red Hood, well, I feel like he misses it too. I mean, death changes a person”—Dick didn’t question how she knew Jason had died; in all fairness, he had a feeling Astronknew a lot more than anyone expected—“and so it’s understandable that he hasn’t felt like it in a while, but it's’ like Hood’s wings as Robin were clipped and now he’s too scared to fly again.”

She took a deep breath, her mouth pressed into a thin. “I’m like that too. There was a time where I felt like I was flying, like the fire in me burned brighter than the fire around me. Turns out I was in a cage and now?” She let out a hollow, painful laugh. “Now I’m too scared to try flying again. I’m scared that another cage, more gilded and better made, will hold me ba– I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

Dick didn’t know either. He didn’t even know that Jason still felt like that, felt like he wasn’t a Robin without the mantle. Dick still flew through the air, and while he would never fear the fall, he always loved that rushing wind. Jason had too, but now…

He looked at Astronand thought of the white streak in Jason’s hair, thought of the toxic green eyes and the scars. Thought of the pain always in his face. Of course, a cage around their minds. And Dick wondered what it would take to unlock their cages because it must be so painful to forever be locked in a mind so destroyed by the world.

And that night, Dick swore he’d do anything to help them because no one, not a single soul, deserved to be locked up by a cage so strong, it terrified the person themself.

They’d finished patrol and were just passing the time before having to go to the joint training in around an hour.

Nearing the end of October and Dick felt it, the soft patter of water against his face. He paused, looking up at the dark clouds.

Rain! Dick loved the rain.

He laughed as it continued pouring, spread his arms with a grin.

And then he stopped when he saw Astron look up, her lips turned down and sadness etched into the visible lines of her face.

Odd, Dick loved rain. And Astronstruck him as the type to like it too.

“Hey, you okay?”

Astron shook her head and looked at him. “Oh, uh, yeah. Just…”

“Bad memories of the rain?”

“Was it obvious?”

Dick watched her carefully as she looked back up. The rain seemed to enhance her features. She almost looked like she was glowing. And Dick couldn't believe she didn’t like the rain. It seemed impossible with how incredible she looked, at ease in it, and yet hurting at the same time.

Dick got the feeling she used to love the rain. He wondered what happened to make it hurt her.

And he was going to help her.

Dick held out a hand to the Hero.

She looked over at the covered, wet hand and back into Dick’s covered eyes. “What’s this?”

“We have an hour of time to pass, I thought we might as well do something with it.” And he grinned all teeth and mischief. “So, I believe a lady as beautiful as you can not possibly be sad on such a night. One as stunning as you should shine brighter than this beautiful night.”

A confused smile made its way onto Star’s face. “Really?”

“Of course, my Lady. So, perhaps a dance in the rain?”

Star’s eyes widened and then she laughed easily, her hand grasping Dick’s outstretched one. “I would be honoured, my Lord.”

Dick pulled her up, pulled her into him as the rain splattered over both of them, comforting in an odd way.

Just before they could start their dance, a very loud alarm blared a few blocks over.

Astronpaused, sighed, and then smirked. “Race you.”

She turned and ran.

“Cheater!” Dick laughed as he followed, loving the feeling of the rain. Loved how it streaks through the air, splattered against his skin. He felt alive when he ran in the rain.

Astronarrived first, as was expected because she was a damn cheater (Dick’s own words), and she dropped down.

Dick arrived to see monsters and human criminals.

Astron was already dealing with the monsters, her mouth pressed into a thin line.

Dick dropped down too, the fall a comforting thing too. He liked the fall. Because he was a Robin and a Robin always flew. But he never knew he could fly, not until he learnt to fall. So the fall was a memory for him, a lesson he learnt from and one he savoured.

He stood, got up from the fall, and got to work.

It was almost funny how easy it was to fight with Astron at his back, and funny how quickly everyone was subdued. The rain was still there, battering down.

And he watched Astron finish the last monster. She was so dangerous, so damn deadly, and Dick just smiled more. Danger was always an attractive thing.

They stepped away after Dick called the BPD. Walked a few streets away.

And Dick—ever the one to make the most of any situation—stopped, turned, and grinned at Astron. “Well, Danger, I believe I owe you a dance.” He bowed at the waist, held out a hand, and waited.

“That’s so cheesy,” Astron laughed.

“You look like you need a little cheesy in your life.” He winked.

Astron placed her hand in his and Dick straightened, pulling her closer. “Know how to dance?”

“A little,” she admitted.

“Follow my steps, Danger.”

“Shut up, Blue,” Astron hissed, but she followed his steps.

Dick’s hands found her waist, pulled her closer, while her hands rested on his shoulders and her eyes looked at their feet.

Dick couldn’t allow that. He lifted a hand, touched her chin, tilted it up. “Watching the feet causes more clumsy footwork. Just dance with me. No one else here. Don’t care about your footwork, just look up here.”

Astron smirked, that dangerous smirk with sharp edges and everything. “You sound like you only want me looking at you.”

Dick spun her, held her arm as she still smirked, spun her back in with her back against his chest. “Maybe I want it that way…”

“Why are we dancing on a rainy street?”

“Because dancing in the rain is the best feeling in the world.” And Dick, to emphasise his point, dipped her, a hand on her back and the other wrapped around her waist (an amazing waist if he said so himself).

Astron gasped when she fell back, gripped his shoulder and arm tightly. Dick felt the glare through ehr mask as he straightened. “A little warning.”

“My apologies, Star.”

“Fuck off, Blue.”

Dick chuckled and spun her again. His eyes checked Astron’s watch on her left wrist. The time read 00:35. Training was in twenty-five minutes. They’d have to leave in five minutes.

More rain splattered against their faces, running through Dick’s hair, wetting his scalp. But Dick’s eyes were only on Astron’s hair, how the matted, wet hair stuck down. It looked gorgeous.

His hands were clasping her waist again, lifting her in the air, spinning and setting her down. Astron laughed this time, free and fun.

Dick laughed with her, lowered her, grinned at her as they returned to a slow sway, following the slowing beat of the rain.

Smiling and laughing and happy. Dick loved it. Wished he could grasp the moment and freeze it in time.

And then they were laughing again, harder. Astron’s hands clamped on his shoulders as her own shook and she used him as her support. Except Dick was of no use in terms of support due to him too laughing, his shoulders shaking and joy in every movement.

(And deep inside, he was sure that maybe, just maybe, he managed to lessen Astron’s pain and sadness when she was with the rain.)

Astron’s watch beeped. They stepped away from each other as she checked it. The time read 00:47.

She and Dick looked at each other, “oh no” on their lips. They were going to be late!

And so Dick turned and Astron followed, Dick headed to the nearest Zeta-Tube and Astron followed him.

They stepped into the old phone booth, owned by one Bruce Wayne, and entered.

Before they got any further, Astron tapped them both and Dick felt his damp hair return to normal. He gasped, raised a hand to feel his normal ruffles, and faced Astron. She grinned mysteriously, lowered her hand, and said nothing. Dick shook his head fondly.

“All right, Danger, let’s get to the Watchtower.”

He looked at the panel, pressed a few buttons, and the real panel appeared.

“Since you’re a Hero, the computer will immediately know from suit and such. You’ll just have to state your name and such, then it’ll announce your arrival when you get there. I think it says something along the lines of your name, the division you come from, and that’s it,” Dick explained.

Astron nodded.

Dick tapped the keypad and the Zeta-Tube came to life.

He waited, motioning for Astron to speak. “Astron, Hellenics Division.”

“Welcome, Astron, Hellenics Division.”

Dick stepped through, the familiar greeting of the sound of the computer announcing his arrival reverberating around the Watchtower.

“Recognised: Nightwing, B02. Astron, Hellenics Division.”

Dick turned back to see Astron stepping through, but she was looking back at the Zeta-Tube she just exited. “What the fuck?” he heard her whisper softly. He chuckled, earning a sharp look from Astron.

They turned and walked forward together to see pretty much everyone was there already.

Astron split off to join the other Heroes, a smile growing on her face as they greeted her. Or what must’ve been their form of greeting since the taller Heroes were shoving her down and ruffling her hair while the shorter Heroes were wrapped around her and weighing her down.

She said something in another language, it sounded annoyed, but happy too, and the others released her with parting gifts of flicks and pinches, which Astron took with a deep, exhausted sigh.

She looked over at Dick, who was with the JL and the Team, and mouthed “help me”. Dick grinned and winked. She mouthed, “I hate you.”

“Who was that?” Artemis (AKA Tigress) asked, looking over at Astron who was once again shielded by the Heroes.

Dick looked at the shorter blonde. “She’s the permanent Hero of Bludhaven: Astron.” Dick chanced another glance over at her to see her, Sophos, and Warrior speaking together avidly.

He also noticed how the other Heroes, any from the Hellenics, Invictus, or Nightshade Division seemed to look over at her often, respect and awe shining in their eyes.

He recalled that conversation from months ago about a certain “her” and something just clicked. Astron was…“her,” the one mentioned by Warrior and all of them seemed to hold her in some sort of high regard.

A loud, sharp clap ended Dick’s train of thought. He looked to Diana, who was the origin of said sound, and she was smiling a dangerous grin. “Let’s begin the exercise. Since Nightwing and…”

“Princess,” Stygian filled in, earning a light whack to his head by the owner of the name.

“Ignore him, Wonder Woman,” Astron said. “I am called Astron.”

“She lies!”

“Her name really is Princess!”

“Enough, all of you are such children,” Astron said, sending a warning glance to all of the Heroes talking.

“You’re younger than me,” Sophos stated, looking over at Astron carefully.

“And me.” You could hear the smirk in Warrior’s voice.

“Me too,” Ferox added.

“And me.” Aegis looked mighty smug.

“And me.” Stygian’s black eyes looked up at the taller woman.

“Ooh, me too!” Onyx definitely sounded too happy at that exclamation.

“Don’t forget me.” And Kallos was definitely grinning.

“Okay, only Warrior, Ferox, and Sophos are telling the truth. You three imbeciles are clearly younger than me.”

“Only physically!” they said at the same time, like it was practice and normal.

“Enough! Having you four together is a horrible idea,” Sophos muttered, glaring at the four.

The four looked at him and blinked owlishly, almost innocently. And what a shock it was to see their bickering immediately turn around and become camaraderie against the claims made by those around them.

“Us?” Astron started, pointing at herself.

“We’ve never caused an ounce of trouble in our lives,” Aegis added, a smirk playing on her lips. Or Dick assumed there was one. With Aegis you could never tell since her face always seemed to be a little blurred, a little obscured.

“Astron is right. Whatever could you mean?” Onyx added, her innocent act selling the most and her golden eyes glittering sweetly.

“I would never fight with them,” Stygian added; it sounded so honest, Dick almost believed it.

The entire League of Heroes looked at the four, three who looked like siblings and the leader of the Invictus Division. It was quite a sight, to be honest, seeing Stygian, Onyx, and Aegis loosen up. And Dick had a feeling it was because of Astron being there.

“Lies,” Kallos hissed.

Astron looked at the shorter brunette with her troublemaker smirk playing on her face. “Really, Kallos? Name one time we have ever caused trouble.”

“Yo–”

“Woah, Kallos, the times that trouble followed us does not count,” Stygian added, stepping beside Astron.

He’d noticed it earlier, but Dick had to admit that Aegis, Astron, and Stygian really did look like siblings. Pure black hair (Stygian’s was more coal black, Aegis had a more glossy black, and Astron definitely had a more bluish-tinged black, but black nonetheless), auras of power, and similar olive coloured skin (Astron was a much more pronounced tan, but it was similar), it did feel like they were siblings.

They acted like siblings too, including Onyx, the way they moved together and commanded respect merely with their presence.

“Siblings?” Tim whispered beside him questioningly.

Dick could only shrug. Astron didn’t mention having siblings, but he only thought it fair.

“Enough you four,” Sophos cleared his throat and the four in question looked over at him in sync, a little creepily too. “Please, continue Wonder Woman.”

“All right, thank you, Sophos.” Dick chanced a look at Astron, who was still with the other three, and she had a much more laid-back feel to her while around them. She seemed to fit with them like a piece of a puzzle, perfectly in place. “Since Nightwing and Astron were last, they can begin the exercise,” Diana continued like nothing had happened.

Dick looked over at Astron, who was looking at him and was definitely quirking an eyebrow up in question. He shrugged. The entire training exercise had been a secret held tightly by the Justice League, so whatever this exercise was, he didn’t know.

Astron shrugged in response.

They stepped forward.

“This way,” Diana said, motioning to the corridor to the training centre.

Dick and Astron followed, Dick falling into step beside her. “Know anything?” He made sure to not use her nickname. It felt special, that nickname, a close secret between them, something special.

“All I know is that they’re testing teamwork.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, but G– Onyx was pretty close-lipped.”

Dick looked back too to see Cass and Steph staring at him, along with literally the entire Justice League and the Team members there. He looked forward straight away, rolling his eyes. He was a great judge of character, why did they all look so worried?!

(He did not notice the dark glances of pretty much the entire League of Heroes on the Watchtower; only a select few didn’t look angry with him and more curious or interested, but Dick would never know that most of the Heroes were glaring at him murderously.)

They arrived and were promptly placed in a box with barriers around it to block them in.

“The exercise is to work together to defeat five waves of enemies,” Diana explained over the speaker systems. “You and your partner must be able to communicate and work together against monsters and human criminals alike. In this simulation, your weapons work on both, so do not worry.”

Astron turned her gaze from the crowd outside the box to Dick. “So, Blue, ready?”

“Born ready.”

“That’s honestly so cliche,” Astron replied, pulling out her swords and twirling them in her hands.

Dick chuckled, pulling his escrima sticks off his back too. “You look like you need a little cliche in your life,” he repeated his earlier words, changing them a little.

Astron shook her head, but Dick could tell it was a fond move. Or maybe she was shaking her head at his easy repetition of earlier words which Dick actually loved and believed wholeheartedly. Everyone needed something cheesy and something cliche in their lives.

“Worried?” Dick asked, as he placed his back to hers.

Her head the soft chuckle she released. “Please, neither of us should worry. I know fighting monsters like the back of my hand.”

“We will begin in ten seconds,” Diana said again.

“I don’t doubt that you do,” Dick answered easily, spinning his escrima sticks. “But do be careful, even if it’s just a simulation.”

“Seven.”

“These simulations show the injuries you would gain in a real battle, almost like faint glowing blue,” Dick said simply. “How about a competition?” He felt Astron tense behind him, as if in answer, so he continued. “Whoever gets the least amount of injuries wins.”

And Astron laughed, actually laughed. “Please, Blue, injuries?” She turned to him and Dick turned too. Faintly, he could hear Diana saying the number 3, but all he could see was the white lenses surrounded by a dark blue material, and the grin on Astron’s face. “As long as I’m here, you’re invincible.”

And just for a moment, time froze at those words. The proud way she said them, the confidence flowing from them. Dick was sure he was doomed.

“One. Begin!”

Dick didn’t get a chance to even ponder her words.

But Dick had danced with Astron before. And fighting back-to-back with Astron? It felt the same, easy and free.

He truly understood what she meant.

Chapter Text

“As long as I’m here, you’re invincible~”

Percy groaned for the seven-hundredth time that day. It was a week ago when she made that declaration in front of the entire Justice League, Nightwing’s family, and her friends. None of her friends let her live it down.

And Drew, over in Bludhaven for a shooting in a few days, was teasing her again.

“For gods’ sake, Drew, I get it! Please, just, stop!”

“Oh, but Princess, that’s as good as a love confession from you. Such bold and powerful words. Oh to be invincible with Perseus Jackson fighting at my back.” Drew smirked at her, horrifying glints in the blue eyes, so similar to Percy’s mother’s eyes. “You know, if you said that to me, I’d worship the ground you walk on. And–

“Oh my gods! You and Nightwing are such a good pair! Princess, please tell me he’s a potential love interest. Gods! I’d love for him to be it. He’s perfect.” Drew started pacing on Percy’s poor, poor blue carpet. “Likes blue. Is drop-dead gorgeous. Has little siblings, so you’ll thrive! Is, like, in love with you!”

“No he isn’t!”

“Shut the fuck up, Percy. No one asked you!” Rachel shouted from the kitchen.

Percy groaned again as a hand patted her back. “On the brightside, Princess, the entire JL is too scared to go against you because of your perfect simulation score,” Leo comforted her, or tried to. It was an interesting way of comforting her, but Percy thanked him nonetheless because, well, it was Leo and Percy loved Leo, even if he was the bane of her entire existence.

“Oh, no, Fireboy. There is no brightside,” Nico butted in, walking in with a blue cookie in his hand. “She’s on Batman’s radar. Her love profession has the entirety of both demigod camps and the Hunters of Artemis plotting murder. And Nightwing himself is indeed in love with her. I, for one, am against my cousin getting with that bluebird.”

“For gods’ sake! He isn’t in love with me!”

“Shut up, Percy!” Rachel shouted again. “We know better than you in this situation!”

Percy groaned again.

She regretted everything that happened there, but she needed to get back at Nightwing somehow after he made her dance and…

Percy’s face turned bright red at the thought of the dance. At the moment, it seemed like a great idea. Having a little fun in the rain, helping with the stinging bite of the water hitting her face. And then she had too much fun and– Gods! Percy was doomed!

So she’d said it as a way to get back at him. Make him freeze up a little too. And– Fuck! Percy had regretted it immediately.

But she couldn’t take it, she’d avoided Nightwing for an entire week, and her so-called friends hadn’t stopped being assholes to her.

She sighed again, pulling her legs up and putting her head there. So embarrassing!

She sensed it first, the drops to come. And then she heard the familiar beating, like a heartbeat. The heartbeat of the world, either racing or slow. And Percy raised her head, her piercing green eyes glowing in response to the liquid beating against the window.

Rain.

Percy used to love rain. She used to dance and run and play in it. And yes, there’d always been bad memories with the rain, but it made her feel something, biting cold water that ran down her arms when she let it.

And then it all fell apart. 21 years old, in New Rome University, and gods, it had hurt so damn much.

She watched the rain, not really hearing the conversations going on around her.

And then Nightwing came along. Percy felt the heat in her cheeks as she thought of the dance again. She’d enjoyed it a lot, she couldn’t deny that. And she’d been happy that he tried to heal her anger of the rain, but…

Percy closed her eyes.

Percy felt the cold water running down her face as she faced the blonde girl before her.

It was raining. They were standing in the rain for this talk. And Percy had really needed to talk to Annabeth before her third year of University started.

So she had asked Annabeth for some time to talk to her and Annabeth accepted.

She didn’t take anything Percy said well.

“Annabeth, please think of this from my perspective. You still call me “Seaweed Brain”, even after I said I dislike the nickname.”

“Oh my gods, Percy! It’s a fucking nickname! Get used to it!”

“Annabeth, for gods’ sake, listen to me, please,” she pleaded. “I don’t want to ruin our friendship, but I don’t think we are good romantic partners. Please, just listen to me and how I feel.”

“Not everything is about you!”

“This is the first time I’ve made our relationship about me!” Percy’s patience finally snapped. They’d been at this for hours. Back and forth, in a circle, and Percy’s patience had run thin. The line holding it together was frayed and it just snapped. “Fucking listen to me, Annabeth! I’m trying to talk to you like a normal human being.

“I don’t want to continue being in a relationship with you when you constantly tell me I can’t have friends outside of your circle. I haven’t seen my other friends in months because of you! You control me like I’m some sort of dog! Could you please, for the sake of my sanity, just think for one dam second!” Percy glared at her and Annabeth stepped back, and oh–

Of course.

Misery swore she’d make Percy miserable. And what was more miserable than Annabeth fearing her.

“Annabeth, I’m sorry. I swear–” She stepped forward, held out a hand.

“Don’t touch me!” screamed the blonde, her grey eyes cold and fear-stricken. “Don’t come near me, you monster!”

Percy froze, retracted her hand, stepped back, and stayed there. She was sure her face was the picture of pain.

Monster, monster, monster, the voice whispered in her head. It rattled in her mind. Percy shut it down.

“Annabeth, I swear I don’t want to hurt you, I just really–”

“This isn’t about you, Percy! The only reason you’re famous or anything important is because of me! I made you Perseus Jackson. So how dare you! You, Perseus Jackson, are a heartless monster with nothing but bloodlust fueling your disastrous life!

“You want to end this relationship?!” Annabeth’s grey eyes, those beautiful grey eyes, turned heartless, cold. And her mouth was set in a cruel, thin line. “No one, not a single soul, could love a monster like you. A heartless demon like you deserves to rot in Tartarus. You belong there like every single one of Po– your father’s other children. Heartless monsters, all of you!”

Percy stumbled back, horror painting her face.

But Annabeth didn’t stop. “Not to mention all you are now is a broken tool. A weapon of the gods that can’t even act like a fucking weapon! You are a heartless monster! A useless weapon! And a broken tool, Perseus Jackson! I HATE YOU!”

And then she turned on her heel and left.

And Percy was falling apart. Everything was hurting. Something cracked inside her. That crystal ball she’d thought she fixed was breaking again, snapping apart.

She was shivering. How was she shivering?

The rain was weird now. Felt wrong on her skin.

The glow in her skin looked colder, more monstrous.

Monster. Monster. Monster. Monster. Monster. It repeated over and over again.

“I’m not a monster.” Percy didn’t believe her own words. She felt like a monster. Everyone was scared of her.

Oh gods, it hurt. It hurt so damn much.

She was feeling too much. No, too little. Something was breaking.

Was that the sea or her heart drumming against her ribcage? Did she have a heart?

Something was spinning.

Oh gods, it hurt so dam much. Why was everything hurting? Where was that ringing coming from?

Monster, monster, monster, monster, monster. It sounded demonic, the chanting. Why was it there?

“I’m not a monster,” Percy whispered. Her words were hollow. She tortured a goddess. She hurt so many people. Wasn’t that what a monster did?

Heartless, heartless, heartless, heartless. You heartless monster!

Percy wanted to rip her heart out, show the voice it existed.

Did it?

The rain was still there. Cold, sharp, fang-like. Cutting at her already broken edges.

Broken. Broken. Broken. Was she? Was she truly broken?

The rain murmured, yes, branded it into her skin and scars. It whispered everything back into her ears.

Why did something so beautiful hurt so much?

(Was that about the rain or Annabeth? Percy didn’t know. She couldn’t tell a thing. Everything hurt.)

Percy hated the rain. It bit at her skin, hurtled the word “monster” at Percy.

She hated the rain.

Percy blinked, something warm was against her side. She still sensed the rain.

She turned to look at the window–

Wait, her bedroom?! She looked down. Nico was there, laying on the bed too. She heard someone humming that familiar beat of Leo’s favourite song, somewhere in her flat. It was dark outside and still raining. Rachel was somewhere too. Percy sensed her in the kitchen.

Percy looked at the rain again.

Percy quietly pulled the blanket off her, moved out from underneath it and made sure Nico was still asleep. She left her room, closed the door softly, walked into the kitchen and thanked Rachel with a soft smile for the french toast.

Percy sensed every single droplet of rain. Heard the words still being screamed at her. Still being carried by the rain. A reminder.

Percy looked to her right, looked at the window and into her reflection.

All she saw was a monster.

Damian had to spar her. He had to. And he was going to.

His plan was ready.

Go to Bludhaven, bind Grayson or knock him out, and then take over patrol that night so he could meet Grayson’s partner (He could never diminish such an accomplished swordswoman to a mere partner) Astron, and request a duel.

Then, his katana against her swords, and he could see how good he was compared to a master. He had to fight her. Needed to know what techniques she used.

And he was already on his way to Bludhaven, using the Zeta-Tube in the Batcave.

“Recognised: Robin, B38.”

He stepped out of the phone booth and his legs kicked open air.

“Got him!” a voice shouted and Grayson came into view, that infuriating smirk on his face.

“Hey, Little D. Whatcha doin’ in Bludhaven?”

Damian kicked at the air again. Nothing. He twisted in the vice-like grip to see Astron smirking too, an identical one to Grayson’s.

“Unhand me, you heathen,” he growled.

“Oh my gods, he’s like a little baby kitten. So cute!”

“I’m not cute! I am a harbinger of doom!”

“You go, Kitty!”

Damian growled again, tried kicking at Astron. It failed.

“Baby Bird, I need you to calm down. We knew you were coming because RR warned us–”

“The only good thing Red Robin did as Robin was give Roin pants,” Damian spat.

“You’re just weak,” Grayson defended immediately, the offense gripping his tone.

Astron laughed at the face Grayson made. “Damn, Ninja, you should see your face! And I gotta agree with Kitty over here–”

“Do not call me KITTY!”

“Like, RR was pretty much the only reason Robin had fucking pants. Though, he did a lot of good as Robin too, not just giving him pants,” Astron continued, unperturbed by Damian’s interruption.

Damian tried kicking again. He found himself dangling upside down.

“Look, Shortstacks, we’re not going to send you back. You’re staying here since the Big Bad Bat-daddy”—Grayson guffawed at that—“has said it could be a good training exercise. You’re stuck with us for a week. So simmer down, Kitty, because you’re here to spar with me.”

Damian stopped immediately, and he was set down a moment later, Astron’s smirk having turned into a smile.

“You ready for a fun-filled week of swordsmanship?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, what the fuck? Star, how did you do that?! He never listens to me!”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Nightwing,” Damian said curtly. He looked at Astron again. “When do we begin?”

“Tomorrow since patrol’s over today and I need some sleep. Buh-bye, Shortstacks, Ninja!”

And then she was gone, the lingering scent of the sea overpowering.

Damian turned to Grayson again. “Father has set his sights on adopting her. He’s started an adoption war with the Heroes.” He picked his bag up and walked away. “He wants her in the family one way or another.”

Grayson had the audacity to splutter. “Do you mean Bruce wants me to marry her?! Little D, what the fuck?!”

“Father and I agree that she is an excellent partner, though her…nicknames could use some work.” And with that he grappled to the roofs to get to Grayson’s apartment. Grayson’s useless and annoying splutters following behind.

What was so hard about the fact that Father wanted a competent wife for Grayson? Or perhaps, speed up the process and adopt her? Damian was here for the week, he might as well judge whether he should allow her to marry Grayson or he should allow Father to adopt her.

Lydia @l_lover_69
Just heard Robin telling Nightwing that Batman wants him to marry Astron, or “Star” to a certain bluebird hero
#bludhavenvigilantesareinlove???

      Amy @Ames.23
      Replying to @l_lover_69
      OMG! Are they lovers?! Are they??!?!?! #Nightstron #Astring

      Cassie @cas_cams.3456
      Replying to @Ames.23
      Ya know i actually heard Astron call Nightwing “Blue” the other day and Nightwing calls her
      “Star” #BlueStar #shipname???

      Dorothy @D.lauren_723
      Replying to @cas_cams.3456
      Wait?! Really?!?! they have nicknames for each other?! #BlueStar!!!!

      Jack @jacks_badboy
      Replying @l_lover_69
      Okay, but Batman approves?! Robin approves?! Can we talk about that?!?! What the hell?!

      View more replies

Steph cackled gleefully at the shitshow she was reading on Twitter. It was beautiful, just so beautiful.

As long as I’m here, you’re invincible!

Holy shit, the goosebumps Steph got at that declaration and then when she just went and proved it?!

Literally everyone had been in awe of Astron’s abilities and Steph, even though she’d seen them before, was mesmerised as she was the first time. It was just incredible watching her and Nightwing fight—or dance, maybe? Who knows?—together, they looked incredible.

And Steph also saw the way Bruce noticed it too. So Bruce’s father senses went off and the Heroes were lucky he hadn’t approached.

(Steph was nearly a victim to Bruce’s serial adoption problem. Thankfully she escaped and she hoped Astron would too! Astron was too cool for the Batfam! (Full offence to them, except Alfred, Cass, and Babs!))

Steph continued reading through the Tweets about BlueStar, as they’d been dubbed by the internet. Even Gotham was commenting.

Steph got a notification from tumblr. She tapped it to check the post and her grin turned even more feral, if that was possible.

Anonymous
Around five or six weeks ago, there was an attack at Wayne Enterprise involving Joke and some monsters. I was there when it happened and I remember seeing “Astron” there, talking to Red Robin! Is she Bludhaven’s hero or Gotham’s hero?

Steph clicked on the comments immediately.

There were thousands of arguments, all about whether she was Gotham’s or Bludhaven’s.

Steph cackled again, this time earning a look from Tim on the other side of the couch.

“What’s going on with you?” he snapped.

She held up her phone.

Tim stepped over, took her phone, and read the post. Then he scrolled through the comments, reading them quickly.

“What the hell?” he whispered in shock.

“There’s more! Check Twitter!”

He did and Steph saw his face go through the five stages “What the fuck?” in 0.4 seconds.

“I– What the hell?!”

“I know, right?! Astron for Dick!? That boy’s lucky she even looks at him!”

“No, Steph, how did they hear that?!”

“Bludhaven’s like Gotham. We’re weirdos!”

“Steph, do you not see the problem? We can’t start a war with the League of Heroes over a single Hero. If B tries adopting her, what’s going to happen?”

Oh, yeah, that might be a small problem.

“Easy fix! She doesn’t get adopted, we get Dick to marry her!”

“Steph, that isn’t the fucking point !”

Damian stepped forward, holding up his katana.

Astron held up one of her blades, smiled at him, and Grayson started the fight.

The exhilaration at fighting so incredibly great at swordsmanship was thrilling. Fire burned through Damian and he twisted between her sword, trying to get in a hit.

But Astron wasn’t a master for nothing. Her blade was an extension of herself. She moved with such grace it was impossible to not admire it.

Ten minutes into the fight and he felt the sweat beading at his forehead. Since when did he get tired this quickly?

He focused and noticed the opening immediately. Astron’s right side was unguarded and when she did her next move, stepped forward to thrust, he could strike.

She did step forward, made her thrust, and Damian twisted, katana positioned to strike her side. Except her sword was there in a flash, blocking and shoving it back. And Damian was on the defensive.

Never before had Damian ever been so outclassed. Not when facing Deathstroke. Or his grandfather. Or his mother. Not even his father.

No, against Astron, his skills looked like a newborn baby’s. She played him like a fiddle, made his moves turn against him, like it was a game.

Damian growled when he was shoved back again. “Stop playing with me!”

Astron paused, tilted her head to the side, blinked. “Then stop holding back.”

She said it so simply, so easily. And Damian didn’t know who she knew. But she did. And she pointed it out. He ignored Grayson in the background, something was rushing through his ears.

Stop holding back. His mother’s voice, telling him to show no mercy. Stop holding back. His grandfather’s voice, angry at his wish to not hurt his grandfather.

Start holding back. His father, telling him not to kill. Start holding back. Himself, he didn’t want to hurt again. Not–

Stop holding back. She wasn’t scared.

He looked up, just him and her on the roof. Then he looked at Grayson, an unasked question. Grayson nodded, just once, and he didn’t hesitate.

Damian charged, sword positioned for the kill.

And Astron met in sync. This time, his moves weren’t being turned against him, but were flowing into the next. This time, she didn’t dance around him, she fought him strike-for-strike. Oh, oh, this was what she meant. Because she could handle it.

Damian grinned, untamed and ready. He liked this.

He really liked this.

And he saw the opening again, her calf would be unguarded when she made her next move. A pin and…

He struck, his blade headed straight for a mortal injury, one that could ruin her entire career, cripple her. And Astron met it head on.

She twisted milliseconds before, right as Damian changed the trajectory of his sword.

And his katana slashed her thigh while she pressed cold steel against his neck. Damian continued the movement before he felt the cold steel against his neck, so his sword was at her neck and hers at his.

She was grinning too. A grin like his.

A master in every way.

Damian liked this.

“I injured you.”

“I would’ve killed you long before you injured me,” she shot back. True, Damian acknowledged ruefully. He didn’t voice it.

Instead he lowered his sword. “You never used the same move twice. I used the same move multiple times.”

“I got used to your movements. You never got used to mine.”

“Teach me.”

“You’re here for a week, we have time. Now, let me heal myself.” She pulled a cylindrical container, drank something from it and poured the rest of it over the wound. The wound closed, the blood clearing too. The suit stitched itself back together. Magic.

Damian looked back up into her domino mask lenses. “So you will teach me?”

“Of course, young padawan. For now, though, you need a break. You’re sweating a lot and breathing very heavily.”

Damian noticed it then, the exhaustion in his bones.

“I agree with Star. Let’s all take a break.” Grayson clapped his hands together and hopped over from the roof next to the one they fought on.

Astron turned, smiled at him. “How about some cookies?”

“I’m vegetarian.”

“Okay! Do you want sour skittles?” She held out a packet, smiling at him. Damian accepted a small amount. Grayson took loads. So did Astron, downing the rest of the packet after tipping her head back. She ate the skittles like they were a drink.

(Unbeknownst to any of them, the Justice League were having a very, very important screaming match in the Watchtower with Batman just there, sighing. Look, it wasn’t like it was his fault, she just looked so…adoptable.

(Also, unbeknownst to the people on the roof, the senior demigods and others who knew Percy were plotting the murder of Nightwing (except for a few demigods). And of course they were making counter plans against Batman, maybe several dangerous schemes that involved murder pranks.)

The next evening, Damian learnt the disarming technique that Astron said was one of the first techniques she ever learnt. She guided him through the movements, demonstrated it to him every time he asked, and was patient. She never told him to hold back, just to adapt.

The week sped by and on his last night, Damian was glad Grayson had stayed a bit back so he could talk to Astron himself.

Astron kneeled down, placed a hand on his shoulder, and smiled. “Visit again? Still want to spar against you, Little Ninja.”

“I will,” Damian replied. He had to.

Astron’s smile disappeared then. “And I want you to remember that holding back will never allow you the chance to change.”

“Father–”

“Batman believes that telling you to hold back your killing instinct will help. It won’t. It only allows it to fester. Believe me, I’d know.” She looked to the side, back at him. “I went through it too.”

Damian’s brow furrowed. “What?”

“I used to want to kill too. I always wanted revenge, was always angry.” Damian couldn't imagine that, but Astron’s words were so honest. “I learnt control through allowing my natural instincts. Holding them back just makes them build. You need to use them so they may change.”

“What if it is in my nature to always kill? I can not change nature.”

“Change is nature,” Astron murmured, her hand on his shoulder warming and a comfort of sorts. “And I believe you’re changing right now. Each time we sparred again, notice how every move you made became more for disabling me than killing me?”

Damian hadn’t noticed, he’d just copied Astron. She’d always made it seem like a killing attack and then changed at the last moment. He’d just copied that, but now that Damian thought about it…

“One day, you’re going to see yourself the way I see you.”

“How do you see me?” Damian asked.

“I see a hero.”

Something weird was in Damian’s chest. It was warm. Sticky. Weird. What was that feeling?

“See you soon, Kitty.” Astron stood, stepped away, said something to Grayson, and disappeared.

Grayson grinned down at him. “Ready to go home, Little D?”

“I approve,” Damian said.

“What?”

“I approve of her either as a sister or as someone you may decide to court. Both are fine. I approve.” Then he turned and headed for Grayson’s apartment. He needed to get his stuff before Zeta-Tubing back.

When he returned, walked into the Batcave, he looked at his father, the unmasked Batman looked back at him.

“How was it?”

Damian paused. How was it? “I…enjoyed my time there.” Then he went to the stairs and left. He enjoyed it, being taught by Astron. She taught him differently. She was always there, ready to help. It was nice. He liked it.

“I’ll give you two guesses for my eye colour,” Star offered up at Dick.

He grimaced down at her since she was sitting down and he was standing. “Three?”

“Nope, two. And I get two to guess yours.”

“Fine.” He peered at her carefully. “Blue?”

“Nope.” She popped the “p”.

“Is it…” A long, long pause, several minutes long. “Green?”

Star blinked a few times and then grinned. “Yeah.”

Dick could imagine her with green eyes. Maybe emerald green, though that seemed unlikely with how incredibly rare the other Heroes’ eye colours were. It had to be a green that no one ever thought of. Something so different, only Star had it.

“Woohoo! It's your turn,” Dick cheered instead.

Star didn’t even think. “Blue.”

Dick didn’t reply for a few tense moments. He didn’t even know how to reply. On her first try—and she sounded so confident. “How the fuck?!”

“I’m just that good,” she replied, the smugness right there. She then hopped up, patted Dick on the back. “Bye, Ninja! I’ll see you tomorrow!”

He waited, letting the lingering scent of the sea float around before he too disappeared to his apartment.

Dick entered, eyes on the bouquet of blue star flowers. It had been a week after the training exercise that Star dropped down and handed them over, head tilted away.

It’s a thank you…for the dancing! I… I had fun, she had murmured. A smile rose to Dick’s lips. They were really pretty and technically they were called amsonia, but Dick preferred the common name “blue star”.

“I should get her something,” he murmured, walking into his bathroom for a shower. “She mentioned liking coffee from that cafe… What was it called…? Special Blends, I think…”

It was unfortunate he wouldn’t see her for the weekend. She’d said that the Nightshade Division invited her for a little hunting with them, something about her and Aegis being close that they always visited each other.

Dick was terrified of Aegis.

Ever since that day, he’d somehow managed to get on the bad side of pretty much every single Hero. Aegis was especially furious with him for (further enforcing his belief that Aegis, Star, and Stygian were siblings).

As long as I’m here, you’re invincible!

He’d truly felt invincible when she’d been there. A literal whirlwind. A storm. A hurricane.

And the new information about green eyes… He wasn’t sure why but his mind had immediately gone to the green-eyed mysterious woman he’d met on the roof. He’d seen her around a little, but a vigilante (nor a cop) could exactly just go and meet a random woman off the street.

The next day, he stepped into the BPD, still thinking.

It was a relatively normal day until he got the call of monsters downtown.

Dick got into the car with Rohrbach, his overseeing officer, and they drove quickly. He was quite glad that this was a monsters only party (no human criminal attacks since the Joker one and that other one in Star City).

They arrived to see three Heroes there. Mage, Mischief, and Mayhem. No Star.

Dick bit back the feeling of disappointment at not getting to see her. She was gone for the weekend, so it was natural she wouldn’t be there.

Two more police cars pulled up and they bordered off the area, staying a very large amount away from the monsters’ attack radius.

Mage’s hands were coated in a misty green colour that looked toxic to the touch. Her eyes were glowing with that poisonous green colour too as she weaved between monsters, her power undefeated.

It was amazing, how they worked together, but also how incredible their powers seemed. Like the Justice League and the Team, they were a ragtag bunch of Heroes with powers of so many different capacities, yet they made it work.

Mischief and Mayhem were living up to their names too.

Daggers, knives, and arrows were flying around. Not to mention a scythe dropped down and then disappeared, almost like a prank, though not exactly harmless.

Dick corralled civilians by, but he kept his eyes on the area. Until he couldn’t.

Because one woman, the one before him, seemed to be very worried. She kept glancing back, kept looking like she was about to run towards the fight.

He moved towards her to keep her out the way.

And a massive gust of Mage’s power tore through the air.

Everything froze as the woman before him seemed to flicker. Scars marred her arms and face. There was something white-ish in her hair. And then it was gone and black hair in a braid was tossed over a shoulder, a small scar over her eyes was noticeable, but nothing else.

Except for the crystal clear green eyes. So deep. So strong.

Oh, Dick knew this woman. And then she was lost in the crowd.

And the tall woman, someone who easily towered over half the people in the crowds, was gone. Ducked somewhere.

He watched the spot a moment longer and snapped back to focus. However, Dick’s eyes strayed to the place again and again. He swore that it was the same one from the roof. There was only one person he’d ever seen with such jarring eyes.

And he couldn’t believe she’d looked like Star for a second. It didn’t even make sense.

Dick shook his head for the umpteenth time, walking across the roofs.

And then he was dangling from the air, tied to a lamppost, and three Heroes below were looking up at him with chaos shining in their eyes.

Oh shit, he thought.

“What are your intentions with Astron?”

Hooray. Amazing. Delightful.

This was an intervention. Of course, Aegis called her away and sent the three most chaotic members. Great, just great. Dick was having an absolutely amazing time.

Tim: hey, need help with food

Perce: huh

Tim: we dont have food at home
Tim: butler is out
Tim: any prospective chefs are not here
Tim: i literally only trust you

Perce: not a personal chef Timmy

Tim: ill pay you a billion dollars
Tim: just rlly want ur cooking
Tim: pls

Tim stared at the messages, looked up at the gathered superpowered kids, and sighed. Percy was literally his only hope, or he was going to have to order Batburgers and he was tired of Batburgers.

His phone pinged. He checked it.

Percy: Wayne Manor right?
Percy: how many of you kids are there?

Tim: yes
Tim: 12

Tim counted himself, Damian, Cass, Steph, Bart, Garfield, Terra, Jon, Andie, Cassie, Nym’ira (the new Aquagirl), and Vyr’kel (Nym’s cousin and named Aquaboy). The Atlantean cousins always came as a set; where Nym was, Vyr followed. They were close cousins having only had each other when growing up in Poseidonis.

Percy: age range?

Tim: 10-18

Percy: omw
Percy: dont touch any stoves
Percy: dont order any fast food
Percy: be there in 20
Percy: also no need for a billion
Percy: i just want to make sure you silly children are not eating shit

Tim: f u

Then she was offline and Tim heaved a sigh of relief.

“I’ve organised food!” he announced.

Everyone looked at him with delight shining in his eyes. “Who’s cookin’?” Bart asked immediately. “Or what did you order?”

“I called a friend. She doesn’t know our identities, but she’s a great cook, and she’ll be here in 20.”

“Wow, Tim has friends outside of us? And did you say “she”?!” Steph exclaimed, moving closer.

“Yes, I do. And yes, I did. She’s a great cook.”

“Drake, your ability to judge people is deplorable. How can we trust this heathen you are bringing into the Manor?”

“Shut up, Demon Brat! I met her in Bludhaven and she turned down a billion dollars in favour of making sure we, as she so eloquently said, are not eating shit,” Tim replied, sending Damian a scathing glare.

“Bludhaven? When did you meet her?” Garfield asked, stepping closer as well, as if trying to peer into the blank screen of Tim’s phone.

Tim looked over at the green child, a very public figure and his identity known, so no explanation needed on why he was green. However, Percy may ask how Tim was friends with a Hero. Tim brushed the thought aside. That was for the future (read: 20 minutes future) Tim to worry about. “Few months ago.”

“How?”

“Coffee shop?”

“Is she our age?”

“No, Dick’s age.”

“Maybe she’s grooming Tim!” Cassie shrieked, her electric blue eyes glinting furiously.

“Oh, for god’s sake! Percy is not trying to groom me. She genuinely cares about what people are eating!”

“Percy?” Nym inquired, her head tilted to the side and her pale blue hair falling over her shoulder. “Her name is Percy?”

“…yeah? Why?”

“My inspiration to be a hero was a woman named Percy. She’s a well-known figure all throughout Atlantis!” Nym exclaimed, her eyes shining. “She’s an incredible swordswoman too. Her eyes are–”

There was a loud, sharp ringing. Someone was at the gates.

Tim walked out the front door and looked at the tall figure of Percy Jackson, her motorbike behind her.

“That was fast,” he commented as he let her in.

Percy sighed, pulling off her helmet and shaking her black hair out. “Yeah, I don’t trust teenagers and food. Chaos knows how much shit they get up to!” She left her bike in the driveway, clearly not interested in where it was proper to put. Instead, she entered behind Tim, pulled off her leather jacket (why was she so committed to that aesthetic), hung it up, and followed him into the living room.

“And for the sake of my sanity, Timothy Drake, next time, start with “I have thirteen unfed kids between the ages of 11 and 18, who all have no cooking skills”. I Would’ve already been out the door before you even finished!” she said as the room looked up at the imposing figure of Percy Jackson.

Tim took in their reactions.

Cassie was looking at her in jaw-dropped awe, something akin to pure, unadulterated amazement. Nym and Vyr seemed to be in varying states of shock, that pulled together faster than they came. Cassie also pulled her face together, but she still looked at Percy like Percy hung the moon and the stars.

Steph was in a state of surprise, recognition in her eyes. Cass looked excited, recognition there too.

Damian eyed her distastefully. Garfield and Bart were blinking several times a second, Garfield’s mouth hanging open comically wide.

Andie (Mist on the Team), Terra, and Job were watching her with varying states of interest. Everyone of them were analysing her though, except Cassie, Nym, and Vyr. They almost looked scared.

Tim looked back up at Percy, who was watching Cass with an unreadable expression. Then she shook her head. “Rich kids,” she muttered.

“Hey!” Tim protested.

“Shut up, Coffee Dealer,” she murmured, and then she smiled at them. “Heard you guys need food. Any dietary requirements?”

“Vegetarian,” Tim pointed at Damian. “Other than that, none.”

“Amazing. I’ll make a vegetarian option for him. Any requests for said option?” She smiled at Damian, who just turned his head away snobbily.

Percy’s eyes narrowed. “Rich kids,” she muttered. Her eyes returned to the rest with a smile, ignoring Damian’s annoyed glower. “Any requests for your dishes?”

“Spaghetti!”

“Chicken alfredo!”

“Lots and lots of food!”

Then Tim showed Percy to the kitchen, where they had loads of food and no people around to use said ingredients.

Percy quickly gathered her required stuff and then shoved Tim out the kitchen none too politely.

Tim looked at his friends/family and teammates, then rolled his eyes. “What?”

“You didn’t say she was gorgeous!”

“She’s twenty-four or twenty-five!” Tim hissed at Garfield.

“Mama can be any age and still look like some divine being,” Garfield replied with a dreamy sigh.

“She’s trained,” Damian said. “And that scar across her eyes comes from a sword. Not to mention the burn mark on her arm and the tattoo on her inner wrist. She’s dangerous.”

“No,” Cass said simply and everyone shut up, looking at the ravenette in shock. She just looked at the kitchen door. “Trust her.” No one complained after that.

They moved and sat in the living room again.

“We met her in a coffee shop. She was doing some work, a presentation or something, for her job,” Steph explained as she sat down with Cass beside her.

Nym and Vyr were muttering in Atlantean, so they were in their own little world. Cassie was still in some mild state of shock, just looking ahead or tapping her knee, though that wasn’t out of the ordinary considering her ADHD.

Bart was cheering at getting food along with Garfield.

And Damian was consistently sending glares at the kitchen door with Jon (poor Jon, having to deal with Damian’s bullshit) trying to calm him. Jon looked excited at the prospect of food too.

(Man, behind a Bat, there’s always a Super. Bruce had Clark. Dick had Connor. And Damian has Jon. Crazy, Tim had thought when he actually took the time to realise this piece of information.)

Thirty-five minutes later, Percy opened the kitchen door with a flourish and told them to enter.

“I made chicken alfredo and mushroom risotto. There’s lots of it so don’t worry about eating too much,” she sent a meaningful glance at Bart, Cassie, and Garfield (like she knew something), “and please help yourself. Enjoy!”

Tim did help himself to a very large portion of Percy’s chicken alfredo because it smelled heavenly. It also tasted heavenly. Even Damian’s sour face had receded at eating Percy’s mushroom risotto,like it must taste good.

Percy leaned against the counter with a soft smile as she watched them. She looked proud that people were enjoying her food, and–

“Percy, you should eat,” Tim said after finishing another bite.

Percy’s eyes widened and she shook her head. “I couldn’t possibly. This is your food. I ate–”

“Lie.”

Percy turned to Cass, her eyes burning holes into Cass, who didn’t quiver. “Traitor,” Percy huffed. “I’m not hungry.”

“Lie.”

“Shut up, Chaos-bringer,” Percy muttered.

“Eat.”

This was the most Cass had said in the presence of a stranger, which led Tim to believe they were closer than just a chance meeting in the coffee shop.

Percy and Cass seemed to be locked in a staring contest, the outside world non-existent. And Percy sighed, “You’re not dropping this?”

Cass shook her head at the same time Tim said “no”.

Percy grabbed another plate and gave herself some chicken alfredo on one half and mushroom risotto on the other half of the plate. She leaned back against the counter and was about to eat when there was a loud scraping beside Cass and Cass pointed at the now drawn out seat.

Percy sighed and sat down beside Cass at the other side and started eating while everyone helped themselves to more.

It was amazing food. The chicken was cooked impeccably.

And the delicious meal was cut short with Jason barging in, along with Dick, Kaldur (who was staring at Percy with that weird, unreadable expression—Tim was hoping he hadn’t fallen in love, Connor, Artemis, and Megan.

“What is that amazing smell?!” Jason said, looking around, His eyes caught onto Percy and they widened while Percy raised a hand and waved.

“Hey, Austen Fanboy,” she said.

“Percy!? What are you doing here?”

“Tim called me.” She nodded at said boy. “Said you guys needed food. I decided that these teenagers would never be able to fend for themselves, so I came to cook. Help yourselves. There’s mushroom risotto and chicken alfredo.”

She then stood up and returned to her position against the counter, her plater held perfectly balanced in her hand.

Jason didn’t even need to think before grabbing a plate and spooning lots of risotto onto it. He then walked over to Percy and started talking to her animatedly about the latest classic book she read (she somehow managed to read The Silmarillion).

Connor, Megan, Artemis, Kaldur, and Dick seemed a lot more hesitant to do anything.

They were all still standing awkwardly in the doorway. Percy noticed and smiled easily. “Sorry, I know it’s unconventional and weird having a stranger here. Please don’t not eat with me here. I’d feel horrible if you guys didn’t have anything.”

That made Megan move, along with Connor. Both thanked Percy very happily when they ate. Kaldur came along too, right after the married couple said their thanks. Artemis followed.

Tim looked at his eldest brother. And then he sighed. Dick looked like he’d just seen the love of his life.

“Dick–”

There was a loud, choked cough from Percy. And her eyes seemed to be trained on Dick incredulously. “Your name is Dick? Seriously?”

Smattered laughter flitted around the table. And Dick sighed, rolling his eyes, finally moving for some food. “Nickname is Dick.”

“What did you do to deserve that?” Percy asked, ignoring the people around her. “I mean, you can’t be that bad in bed, not with that bod–”

“PERCY!” Tim screamed, standing as his chair was shoved back. Most of the people around the table had bright, fiery red faces, and Percy raised a hand to her mouth, eyes wide.

“Oh, shit. Sorry, just slipped.” And then she winked at Dick, who had a shocked smile on his face and interest in his eyes.

“STOP HITTING ON MY BROTHER!” Tim screamed again, face probably burning at the insinuations.

Percy rolled her eyes. “There is literally a married couple over there eating from the same plate and sharing forks. How is anything I did wrong? I mean, the youngest here is 11,” she motioned to Jon, “and he’s probably seen his parents kissing and stuff. I mean, his brother literally is doing it right now.” And she nods at Connor, as if knowing they’re related is the simplest thing.

“How did you know we’re brothers?” Connor demanded, suddenly placing his fork down.

Percy tilted her head, looking around the table. “It was obvious. Same face, same accent, and I mean, come on. When you entered, your eyes immediately went to Jon’s over there, like if that isn’t sibling behaviour, I don’t know what is. I mean, I have a sister, and that’s what I would do. Not to mention, Dick also scanned Cass, Damian, Steph, and Tim’s faces when he entered like the older brother he was.”

Oh, she noticed that. Wait! “You noticed that?!”

“Did no one else?”

Jason patted Percy on the back. “Never change, Percy.”

“Thanks, Nerd.”

“Fuck you.”

“Many have tried.” And the ravenette had the gall to wink again.

“PERCY!” Steph shouted, but she was grinning madly.

“Please, let’s all cease these conversations and eat.” Kaldur, ever the peacemaker. 

Percy nodded. “Agreed, uhm…”

“Kaldur,” he finished.

She eyed him oddly (a lot of that going on today, wasn’t there), and then smiled mysteriously. “Right, Kaldur…”

Something hummed beneath Tim’s skin. Her pronunciation of the name was perfect. Slipped, with a hint of stressing on the correct letter, almost like she’d said it a hundred times before. Not to mention the flickering glow of Percy’s eyes when she spoke. There was something queer about how she said the name too. Like she knew it very well.

She returned to her plate and her conversation with Jason about The Silmarillion.

Talk returned to normal except for the fact that Tim saw Dick look over at Percy five times while eating beside Steph.

He was sure Percy caught it too with the way her eyes lingered on Dick every few times she observed the room.

Tim internally screamed. His brother was so bad at this!

Kaldur’ahm wanted to scream. He was sure Nym’ira and Vyr’kel wanted to too.

Because the literal Princess of the Sea was here, cooking food and mentally telling them to not even dare try and treat her like the royal she was. She was literally ranked far above Queen Mera and King Orin.

And Kaldur was treating her like a commoner.

He had to admit that she did look more at home among these people than in the Court of the Sea, however that didn’t excuse the madness of her literally being a princess! A demigod princess with powers beyond anyone in the room. Not even Megan’s mental powers could breach the perfectly built fort around Perseus’ mind.

When she left, Dick sat down before everyone. And Megan started talking. “Her mind is blocked. She’s put up a wall, a very powerful wall. I don’t know who she is, but her mental walls are so strong, I don’t think I could ever get through them. Uncle J’onn couldn’t either.”

Oh no.

“She’s a swordswoman,” Damian added, mentioning calluses and such.

Oh no.

“Very strong. I could feel the air around her literally saturated with power,” Jon added.

“Not to mention observative,” Connor said, glancing at his brother with a nod.

Oh no.

“Kaldur?”

Kaldur snapped out of it. He needed to focus. They weren’t going to figure out she was royalty. As long as he managed the amount of information… “She’s very well trained and the scar across her eyes indicates she’s been in fights with swords.”

He caught the eyes of Nym and Vyr, subtly shook his head. By the gods, if the Princess' secret was revealed, she’d have a whole lot of problems.

“She lives in Bludhaven. I called her because I wanted a home cooked meal and Percy was the only person I could think of,” Tim explained calmly.

Before he could continue, Stephanie (Spoiler) butted in. “Also, Dick, up your fucking game. Percy probably has loads of prospective partners and she has a bad ex. Don’t just stare, approach the woman! Except, you’ve also got Astron! Oh my god! Dick had two people he’s interested in!”

Dick dropped his head into his hands. “Steph, kindly, shut the fuck up.”

“Both good,” Cass muttered oh so very helpfully. Because, yay, Dick had two love interests and one of them was a princess! Great job! Well done. Hooray.

Kaldur was having a horrible day.

“That is not the point, Cass. We need to know how she’s trained,” Dick managed through grit teeth.

“She went to a summer camp in her childhood. Said they taught her a lot about self defense and swordsmanship and shit,” Jason said, finally diverting the conversation from Kaldur’s literal princess benign Richard Grayson’s love interest. “I sparred with her when she was in Gotham a few weeks ago. Don’t really remember the timeline, but she was good, and she was holding back when we fought.”

Before any more words could be exchanged, Zatanna entered, along with Barry, Diana, and Batman (Bruce Wayne).

Zatanna was grinning madly. “Does Dickie really have another after Astron? What’s this one like?”

“Oh, Zee, she’s gorgeous,” Stephanie said, grinning. “Luxurious black hair and green eyes that look like they’re actually glowing. She can cook, can fight, live in Bludhaven, and you would love her.”

Dick groaned, his head in his hands and the tips of his ears red. Kaldur really felt like doing the same, but then everyone would question what was going on.

“I’m here to pick up Bart, but now I’ve gotta hear all about Dick’s new girlfriend,” Barry said, dragging out a chair and sitting down.

“Well, her name is Percy Jackson–”

Diana banged her glass down on the table, choking and spluttering. Zatanna was too, with Stephanie very kindly patting the magician’s back.

“Who?” Diana asked, her piercing blue eyes trained on Bart.

Bart gulped. “Her name is Percy Jackson. She’s Tim’s friend from Bludhaven… Why?”

“No, I–” Diana looked over at Kaldur, who shrugged uselessly. “The name sounded familiar. I recognised it. Sorry, please continue.”

“Hang on, no, we need to talk about Zee’s reaction.”

Zatanna gulped, eyes wide at the attention. She calmed herself easily and then grinned. “Would this Percy Jackson happen to be a hot woman about 6’3 tall and green-eyed?”

“Yes!”

“Oh, then I know her. I met her through our mutual friends, Carter and Sadie. She’s a really fun person and her cooking is exquisite. I love her cookies; they’re literally perfection with soft insides, lots of chocolate chips, and so perfect!” Zatanna said, her eyes starry, like she was remembering a brief visit to heaven. Though Kaldur had to agree that Lady Percy’s cookies were indeed delightful.

He remembered his first time meeting Percy.

It had been a simple day in Poseidonis, a few months after the Giant War that wrecked the Godly World, Kaldur had been home and was wandering around when he noticed a woman, perhaps a few years younger than him, and she was hiding behind a pillar.

She looked suspicious, looking around corners and moving quickly. But it was clear she held Atlantean blood with how she breathed beneath the ocean easily and moved effortlessly—though that should’ve been what confused Kaldur’ahm since this woman moved through water far better than any Atlantean.

He approached slowly, so as to stop the stranger, but a dagger aimed at his neck stopped him.

Kaldur stopped dead still, back pressed against the pillar and a dagger at his neck as the woman pushed him against a pillar.

“Who are you?” he asked carefully, so as to not have a dagger tear into his throat.

The woman tilted her head. “I am who I was, who I am now, and who I will always be,” she replied cryptically, her Atlantean perfect, but the way she said it made Kaldur feel like something was crawling beneath his skin. Her tone, perfectly ordinary, and yet her words thrummed with power.

Kaldur gulped as he looked up at the significantly taller woman. While Kaldur was bordering 6ft, this woman was at least two or three inches taller. And she had much more strength than a normal Atlantean. Atlanteans were naturally blessed with the above-average strength of a human, but this woman’s strength was more, maybe even stronger than King Orin.

He got the distinct feeling that what the woman said was some sort of inside joke, or perhaps a reference, but he just stared at her as she kept her dagger there and looked around the pillar.

There was a scar across her left eye, ending just below her sharp cheekbones. Another scar ran up her jaw on the right side of her face, ending around the same area of the edge of her lips.

This close, Kaldur could see a small spray of freckles across her tanned face. They were faint, very faint, but this close and they actually looked quite cute.

And then the woman sighed, lowered her dagger. “Forgive me, Kaldur’ahm. My sister has been quite the nuisance as of late and I did not wish for you to draw attention towards me. Allow me to heal the wound.”

Kaldur could say nothing as the water around the woman’s hands swirled and glowed as it coated his neck. But she had no visible tattoos glowing. She had nothing to indicate her being Atlantean except her powers, and Kaldur could hardly believe any Atlantean would perform magic of this amount without an incantation.

“I do not recall giving you my name,” he managed after her hand lowered from the cut on his neck. No scar, no pain, no blood. It was perfectly healed, something only high-ranking healers could even think of doing after years and years of training. Not to mention, healing magic was rare among Atlanteans and did indeed require incantations.

The woman smiled mysteriously, her eyes glowing an unnatural green. Kaldur had never seen a shade quite so vibrant. “I did not require it, Kaldur’ahm. May you serve Orin well.”

And then she was gone.

It was quite a peculiar meeting and he had not known of her status until five months later, where she entered Poseidonis with her sister, Lady Benthesikyme, a platter of blue cookies in her hand as she easily conversed with Lord Poseidon’s second eldest and first-born daughter.

And she’d smirked at him, all mischief and grins, like the secret of her pressing a dagger to his neck was all between them.

Their friendship grew, was halted during his brief joining to Black Manta, and then continued with easy banter and such, though he did address her far more formally than she desired.

The silver streak was not in her hair when she visited, so she had been using the Mist to hide it. A fair idea considering her status as Astron, which she dropped her Mist-image.

Kaldur sighed again. This was tiring.

Zatanna was doing well in not spilling what she knew.

How Zatanna knew Percy was a funny story. Magicians of Zatanna’s kind knew of the Godly World due to their link to Hecate and other deities with control over magic.

So, they knew of that world, but Percy only met Zatanna through Carter and Sadie Kane, some of the last Pharaoh descendents in the House of Life. And though the three had never hung out together, Zatanna had spoken to Kaldur on numerous occasions of when Percy and her had spoken or when they tried dating (a failed attempt, only five months after the legendary break-up of Percy and Annabeth—Percy had tried, but she’d still been quite empty and distant from relationships).

Not to mention that Kaldur and her had sparred very often. He’d never won, much to his chagrin and Percy’s delight (she had pictures of his ultimate fails; she called it memories, he called it blackmail).

“…not to mention she’s definitely got trauma. I mean, did you see how cracked her eyes looked?” Jon was saying. And…

Oh. Oh no.

The esteemed member of the Justice League, Batman (commonly known as Bruce Wayne, the man with a serial adoption problem), looked interested.

Kaldur really wanted to just give up then and there. Poor Lady Percy.

Percy turned her head to the side as she handed Dick Ninja the bouquet. When she handed him the bouquet of blue stars, he’d literally lit up, so Percy wanted to make him smile again, and it seemed that receiving flowers was a good start.

Also, Bludhaven lacked the brightness of flowers grown by one Katie Gardener. So, Percy decided she would provide Nightwing with lavender and white roses.

She smirked, bowing. “My Lord.”

“You didn’t have to, My Lady,” he said, accepting the bouquet with a flourish.

Percy straightened, annoyed by the inch difference between them 6’2 and the guy before her was 6’3 and a half.

Three days ago, she’d found out that the man behind the mask was actually really pretty. Like drop-dead gorgeous. His eyes were the most incredible shade of blue and his floppy black hair was so smooth. Fortunately, he had siblings too, all of whom she’d met (Robin was so dam adorable outside of the mask!!!) and enjoyed her cooking.

“So, Green,” Ninja smirked at his nickname for her, “what say you to a little competition?”

Percy’s smile grew into a challenging grin. “You want your ass to be beat, is that it?”

Ninja shrugged. “Who said you could win?”

“Well, speak of the challenge and allow me to decide if my win is certain.”

“You know, sometimes, you randomly let this formal way of speaking slip through. It’s like you were trained to speak formally and are learning to keep the two ways separate,” Ninja murmured in amusement.

Percy rolled her eyes. He was annoyingly perceptive.

“Also, I noticed that many of the Heroes look up to you. Seems like I have competition.”

Percy didn’t understand what he meant by that. Not in the slightest. She rolled her eyes instead. “What’s the challenge?”

“It’s–”

He got no further because Percy’s watch beeped. She glanced down, tapping the watch. A screen projected upwards, the ancient Greek on it so easy to read. “Shit.”

Ninja’s hand was ghosting over her other arm as she read. “Major monster attack in downtown Bludhaven. I’m calling back up, but for now, you’re it.” She dropped her arm and pulled out her swords, eyeing Ninja. “How good are you with swords?”

“As good as I am with escrima sticks,” Ninja replied seriously.

“I’ll take your words for it. Use these.”

“Hang on! What about you?”

Percy allowed herself a smirk as she turned. “I’ve got spare.” And then she was running.

She heard the commotion before she saw it. And when she dropped down, there were already three mortals dead and two being held hostage.

Percy stopped herself from thinking about that, instead, she focused on the rings on her fingers, twisting them.

She heard Ninja drop down behind her, her blades in his hands (slightly unbalanced in his hands), and her spare sword set in her hands.

Ninja didn’t question, he just stepped beside her, a quick glance at her swords, and then at the monsters.

“Back up?”

“Just us for now.”

“That’s all we need.”

“The day I only need you is the day I go through hell again,” Percy murmured, but she couldn’t fight the way her lips turned up slightly at the edges.

“So cold, my Lady.”

“Just kill some monsters, Blue.”

Ninja was indeed proficient in swordsmanship. But, he had two very sword-orientated siblings, so Percy expected as such.

He was, unfortunately, not as fast as a demigod, so Percy had to accommodate for that slower pace. But that was fine since the monster too had to get used to it, the constant varying speeds of two people. It was quite a pain to defend against that.

Percy ducked under a slash, her sword already slashing back.

She sensed a spear sailing towards her head and twisted to the side, dropped her sword, and caught the spear. She spun it around, threw it right back, and then dropped to the ground, sweeping a baby cyclops off its feet at the same time as she picked up her second sword.

The cyclops, as it fell, found itself without a head.

And then Percy’s back hit Ninja’s and she grinned. “Didn’t realise you were actually pretty good with swords.”

“I have two siblings who love swords, thank you very much.”

Percy laughed, turned and ducked under Ninja’s arm. She stabbed the next monster straight through the chest.

“Believe me, I know!” she called.

The civilian hostages were at the back, ignored, and Percy was steadily making her way towards them.

Seven more monsters between her and them. Six more. Five more.

Something ripped at her exposed arm. The warm liquid flowed from the cut, not too deep, but enough to sting and maybe impede her ability too.

Percy ignored it.

She found the monster at fault, a dracaena, and easily cut her clean in half.

Three more.

She had the final monster at her mercy in seconds, swords positioned at the head of the laestrygonian giant, which was on its knees after she’d made it kneel through a lot of force.

It glared at her, the hatred so clear she could physically feel it grating against her.

She didn’t want to stay like this for any longer. “Say hello to Tartarus for me.”

“Tartarus yearns for only one hello,” the giant replied with a growl, ancient Greek slipping from his tongue. Percy stopped her swing, paused, head tilted.

“What?”

“Lord Tartarus yearns for only one hello. He will find her. He will do it. And he will drag her back to the pits for us to feast on her flesh–”

The laestrygonian giant spoke no more. And gold dust coated everything.

But something was clenched around her heart. Everything was tight, too tight. She couldn’t breathe.

He was manifesting everywhere.

The Styx was flowing towards. No, the phlegethon. There was something there.

Percy saw the five rivers converge. Saw it growing.

Her swords were falling from her hands.

Glowing red eyes glinted in every shadow.

“Breathe.”

Percy took a deep breath.

“Come on, Astron. Breathe.”

She recognised that voice. “King?” she muttered, looking down.

“Yeah, it’s me. Come on, you’re fine.”

Everything felt like a rush after that. She said goodbye to Nightwing, asked him to return the civilians to their homes, and then left with King, who had taken it upon himself to watch her.

But he was still there. In the echo of her steps. In the shadows of the night.

He still loomed over her, promising death and pain.

He will find her. He will do it. And he will drag her back to the pits for us to feast on her flesh.

Tartarus—the one he was after, there was only one person he could be after. The one who tricked him, who released herself and her friend ally.

Me. The thought made Percy freeze, cold seeping into her fingers while her hands clasped a mug of hot chocolate.

Lord Tartarus yearns for only one hello.

Percy was terrified of what he meant. Because she did escape, at such a high price, but she could never truly be free of that darkness. It screamed at her, begging her to let it out.

Misery had said she'd never escape without a cost.

And as Percy stared into the mirror of the bathroom that night. The mirror cracked and broken from her punch, her fist bleeding as she gripped the edges of the sink, Percy knew that Misery was right.

In that mirror, everything looked shattered.

Broken. Broken. Broken.

She stared right into the green eyes that gazed back. They turned red and gold. Godly ichor and mortal blood. They twisted and turned with every drop she spilt.

Percy blinked and the green returned. Broken green stared right into her soul.

But it was there. The red and gold. Twisting and turning. Dark and dangerous.

The water in the sink turned red. Shining strands twisted inside the red.

Blood and ichor.

Perseus Jackson looked down into the mixture in the sink. Looked down into it. And red eyes blinked back.

You will never escape from me, Perseus Jackson! Everything will become hell for you! And your only reprieve will be me!

Perseus screamed, stumbled back.

It was everywhere. Blood and ichor. Blood and ichor.

Five rivers. Blood and ichor.

It was on her hands. On her face. In her mouth. Her tears were of ichor. She was bleeding red.

But she wasn’t truly bleeding red.

She was watching gold dust fall from her scars.

Monster, monster, monster. It chanted it, the mantra etched into Perseus’ very bone.

She caught a look of herself in the cracked mirror on the ground.

All she saw was a monster.

Chapter Text

Bruce Wayne was not actually considering adoption, contrary to popular belief.

With the latest Hero rotation and a little change to the Hero schedule, the most monster-prone area had far more Heroes for two months and it seemed that Astron was among them.

Which brought Bruce to his “adoption” problem. It wasn’t a problem per se and people assumed that he adopted black-haired kids too often, but that wasn’t exactly true. What he could say was true was that Astron was indeed an interesting person.

Watching her for a week into her time in Gotham, he had to agree with his kids the reports from the others that they were right about her. She was serious most of the time, and she certainly commanded far more respect for just a normal Hero, not to mention that she was far better than anyone Bruce had ever seen when wielding a sword (Ra’s Al Ghul could never).

Three days ago, he was running across the rooftops and on the coms, he’d suddenly heard Astron say, You, who are without mercy, plead for it? and then she cut off a monster’s head in one fell swoop, or Barbara said it so.

Three hours ago, he’d been watching her and she’d been grinning like a madwoman as she fought, spinning intricately through the ranks of monsters like it was a choreographed dance and they were props upon her stage. He’d also heard her say, You don't decide my fate, I decide yours . She said that after a monster said her fate as a…something (it was a garbled mess, the words it said) was to always die.

So, yeah, Bruce was intrigued by this young woman who had so easily ensnared the care of his kids partners.

And now, three hours after watching that, he stood upon a gargoyle mounted upon a wall, while Astron was hanging from the nose of the gargoyle beside Bruce’s, her feet firmly planted against the side of a building.

“Ya know, I’ve noticed something,” Astron suddenly said, as if the silence that enveloped the two warriors was unwanted, “your children adore you and look up to you. Yet, you don’t reciprocate the feelings as much as they need. Why is that?”

She looked up at him as Bruce remained steadfast in watching the horizon of Gotham City.

Was this how she wormed her way into the hearts of the others? Profound questions and the empty silence to answer with, to be comfortable and have the peace of talking to someone.

He looked down briefly, wondering about the woman.

She seemed so put-together all the time. So clear-minded and ready, and yet, he knew that something floated upon her shoulders. A weight.

“Did you have special conversations with all of them?” Bruce asked in reply.

Astron flipped, landed on the gargoyle, and tilted her head to the side as she considered the Gotham skyline.

“All children deserve parents, but not all parents deserve children. I don’t believe you to be a parent undeserving of children, I just think that perhaps in a family as emotionally constipated as yours—with Nightwing being the exception—speaking is perhaps the only way to get across your feelings.” She turned to him and even with a mask covering her eyes, Bruce got the feeling she could see past everything and into his soul. “I only ask because of Red Hood. He pushes you away, yet he still loves you and wants you to love him.

“I’m one who could kill a human, but I respect your decision not to. Afterall, who are we to decide the fate of another life when we have yet to understand our own?” She paused, an intake of breath. “And really, Red Hood is focusing on the wrong thing. Because the tragedy was of a child dying, not of the death not being avenged. And I don’t think he sees how much you love him. Because you do because you didn’t allow his memory and he himself to become a reason for revenge. He was loved enough to not become a reason for murder.

“He doesn’t see that, Batman because you’ve never truly tried to explain it.” And then she returned her head to the skyline. Returned her gaze to the direction of Bludhaven. “I’m not really one for profound chats. And honestly, it’s a bit hypocritical of me to speak to you of feelings when my own ability to communicate my own thoughts are about as good as eating fire from a dumpster, but I do know Red Hood is trying to heal. And perhaps, the only way to do that is for both of you to recognise that and talk about it.”

She spoke like someone who had lived thousands of lives and yet never got to live her own. She spoke like someone who had been cut but she stopped herself from bleeding over others. She spoke like someone who understood not speaking, not acknowledging the problem but also like someone who needed to have the problem acknowledged. She spoke like someone who had faced so much loss and pain that she knew just how much anguish it brought.

She spoke like someone Bruce would go to for advice.

She spoke like Alfred. And maybe even Dick tossed in there.

“Thank you,” Bruce found himself saying, uncharacteristically soft. His voice sounded hoarse to himself.

There was a smile on Astron’s face. It wasn’t sharp like her other smiles, but kinder, still with a hint of mischief. “Got any mysterious advice for me?”

It was a testament to Bruce’s years of training that his lip didn’t quirk up at that. Such a Dick thing to do. Give an emotional speech about getting better and then, somehow, crack a joke.

But it was also a coping method.

She’d dropped small parts about herself. She was as emotionally constipated as the rest of them with perhaps the ability to regulate her emotions as well as a rock, which is to say not at all. Throughout her entire talk, she spoke like she understood. Understood that anger and pain and all of it, but she only wished for others who went through it to heal. He’d heard so much about helping himself that he wondered if she helped herself.

Traumatised, he recalled his…kids saying in their reports.

It made him wonder what she went through that gave her such insightful thoughts. A woman in her early years of adulthood and she already knew too much loss to know how to give advice about it. A woman so deeply entrenched in some sort of suffering, she gave advice but took none for herself.

Bruce had a feeling she bottled it all up. And perhaps there was only one piece of advice he could give her.

“You’ve survived,” he said and he noted how she stiffened. “Now, it’s time for you to live.”

There was a silent moment, nothing but the two of them. So similar yet so different.

“Perhaps,” Astron started and then stopped. Another pause. “Perhaps…you are right.”

Thinking about Batman’s words from the other night, Percy could honestly say that he was a good father. Maybe emotionally repressed and shitty at talking (look who’s talking), but a good father. He cared. It was sad that others couldn’t see that.

She’d actually had the conversation knowing Batman was Bruce Wayne by a logical thought process of if Bruce Wayne’s kids were the other guys, the dad is Bruce Wayne. And thus, she spoke to him about it not just for Red Hood, whom she’d only met outside the mask for longer than five minutes, but for Robin (because the poor kid was literally told to stop his natural instincts).

Percy sighed as she took another sip of her coffee.

“Geez, woman, stop sighing,” Amy said, dropping her tablet on the table. “It’s so tiring.”

“Shut up, Ames,” Percy replied, grinning slightly.

Amy Hawthorne, daughter of Nemesis, and certainly a cool woman.

Amy was a natural redhead, though her orange coloured hair looked darker than most redheads. She’d also dyed parts black for—in her words—undertones of vengeance. Her most striking feature was perhaps the glittery indigo eyes she’d gotten from her mother, Nemesis. Or Nemesis in the form she took when she met Amy’s father. Sometimes, if you looked close enough, the indigo eyes flashed blood red and back. A side effect of Nemesis’ powers that manifested in her daughter.

While Tyche was the goddess of goodluck, Nemesis was the goddess of balance and thus she too had the ability of Tychokinesis. Amy, unlike her brother—Damian White—with umbrakinesis, had gotten the side of luck. So, if by chance you annoyed the child of revenge, it was not uncommon that more often than not, your day was ruined.

“Well, after that pan– incident three weeks ago, someone’s gotta keep you grounded,” Amy said, stumbling over it. Right, the panic attack. She hadn’t been able to leave her apartment for a week. The sidewalks, the stone, the bricks…everything was caked in ichor and blood.

Her much needed escape was going to Gotham for the increase in monster activity. The entire world faced a decrease while Gotham suddenly spiked in monster activity.

Lou, Travis and Connor had been sent to Bludhaven again. In Gotham, Percy was there, along with Amy, Paolo Montes, Julia Feingold, Alice Miyazawa, Arthur, Will, and Kayla Knowles. Yes, quote a lot of demigods, but the spike had been severe.

Monster attacks had already happened six times in less than a week. Twice in one day. And they were wearing everyone down. Two hours ago, Percy had just sat through a meeting of sending more to Gotham. And in another hour, she was set to go to the Watchtower for a meeting with the Justice League on adding more.

Technically she wasn’t meant to go to the meeting as it was “leaders” only, but Malcolm, Clarisse, Dakota, Hazel, Reyna, and Thalia had all requested her attendance. Something about her basically being the leader in honourary terms.

“Amy…” Percy started hesitantly and the younger woman turned with a tilted head. Percy looked up. “First, I hear a monster say Tartarus is yearning for my blood. Then there is a spike in the most criminally populated city of America, along with a decrease of monster appearances worldwide… You don’t think that they could be connected, right? I mean, Tartarus searching for me and the most monster-prone area having a spike in monster activity.

“It’s natural to assume that I would be in the area with the most monsters…” Percy stopped herself. She sounded so stupid, she knew. Making it all about herself. It sounded idiotic; why on earth could she turn suffering into something about her? How fucking selfish to think she was the only important thing–

“That’s actually very logical. Every monster is terrified of you, a known rule of the godly world, but Tartarus wants to drag you back to Tartarus…so he could possibly be affecting their minds to drag you back with them,” murmured Amy. She suddenly grabbed her tablet and the stylus connected.

She was scribbling on it ferociously, the ancient Greek there, but Percy could not read upside down, so she knew not what was being written. She watched for a little longer before taking a sip of her coffee. And spitting it out, but catching it in the air before it could spill anywhere.

“Fuck, it’s cold!”

Amy said nothing at Percy’s exclamation of her coffee, too focused on building on Percy’s ill-spoken theory, like it was an actual viable thing to say. So Percy heated her own tea and drank the scalding liquid, the cold part she spat dropped into the sink, unwanted.

Five minutes later, Amy handed Percy her tablet. “These are notes I’m sending to Malcolm. Check over them and add whatever you need.”

Percy added nothing, but she did hand the tablet back with a thankful nod.

Forty-seven minutes later, she was in her Hero uniform and Amy was walking with her in her own suit. They dropped down by an old phone box and Percy entered with a wave to Amy.

Percy tapped the holoscreen. The Zeta-tube scanned her and then she was whisked away.

“Recognised: Astron, Hellenics Division,” the computer announced.

She nodded at Batman in a sort of greeting as she walked over to the six others already there.

“Hang on, why is Astron here? I thought this was a leaders-only meeting,” Green Lantern, the light-skinned one, said.

Malcolm nodded. “That is true, but Astron has fought the monsters far more than any of us and she is technically a leader of both the Hellenics and Invictus Divisions.”

Percy moved forward then. “Besides, if you want a report on the increase of the situation in Gotham, I’m your best bet.” She noticed how most of the occupants of the room straightened at her voice. She noticed how they seemed to sharpen. She noticed how they listened to her words like they were a command. She hated it. “Let’s get down to business.” She didn’t show it.

Superman, Batman, Diana, Green Lantern, Flash, Green Arrow, Black Canary, Martian Manhunter, Orin, Kaldur, Captain Atom, Hawkman, Hawkwoman, La’gaan, and Cyborg were there.

On the League of Heroes—okay, seriously, what kind of name was that?—side Percy, Malcolm, Clarisse, Thalia, Reyna, Dakota, and Hazel were there, naturally.

“First things first,” Percy started, “the increase of monsters in Gotham has caused a decrease in attacks worldwide. However, monsters are working more closely with human criminals–”

“You say human like you’re not human,” Green Arrow commented unhelpfully.

Percy, in true Perseus Jackson fashion, ignored him. “All monsters during the attacks in the past few weeks were subdued with minor injuries on the Heroes' part. However, what’s worrying is how they’ve attacked. Even without human criminals attacking with them, their movements are more controlled.”

Percy pulled her watch off her wrist and tapped it as she stood and walked into the centre of the “U” shaped table, placing her watch on the ground. A 3D map of Gotham popped up in a cold blue light. Dotted in the city were red dots for monster only attacks and yellow dots for monster-criminal attacks. Certain red and yellow dots were circled in black, signalling more than 60 monsters in the attack.

Percy expanded the map so everyone could see. She pointed at the red dot at the city centre, this one circled in a thick black ring. “This was the largest group, numbering 131 monsters. The second largest was the group with the Scarecrow attack a week and a half ago, the monsters numbering 109.” She spun the map and then pointed at Crime Alley. “The pattern is that there have been no attacks in Crime Alley with monsters. Actually, there’s been a decrease in criminal activity in Crime Alley.

“All attacks are around Crime Alley, thickening in the further areas from the place than targeting richer parts of Gotham.” She lowered her hand and the map shrunk, but the hologram still hovered, just miniaturised. “With these patterns in mind, we,” she motioned to her friends, “have theorised that the monsters and criminals are purposely avoiding Crime Alley due to…something, for a lack of better words, going down there.”

The map disappeared and Percy picked up her watch, placing it back on her left wrist and returning to her seat beside Reyna as Malcolm stood, eyes trained on Batman.

“We request to investigate with a few of your people, no children. A team of four from each side should suffice if we want to stay covert,” Malcolm said.

Batman nodded. “Which four of yours?”

Malcolm looked at Percy, who shrugged. “Astron, Pyro, Moss, and Stygian will go.” He looked back at Batman. “Who will come from your side?”

“Nightwing,” Batman replied immediately. Percy barely stopped herself from sighing in relief. Batman looked over at Diana before he said more and Diana tilted her head consideringly.

“No children, you say?” she asked.

“Yes,” Thalia confirmed with a sharp nod, not rude, just Thalia being, well, Thalia.

Diana nodded and looked around her again. “Batman, can you not go?”

“Red Hood and Nightwing will go for me,” Batman replied, his voice gruff as ever. Percy narrowed her eyes consideringly. She wondered why he would send two of his sons rather than go himself.

Of course, Gotham would need protecting, but– Percy once again just managed to stop her soft smile. Batman knew they were better than him, perhaps not at everything, but, on this occasion, they were the ones more needed. Red Hood was far more familiar with the area and Nightwing, on all accounts, could leave Bludhaven. Gotham would need Batman.

“Then Tigress and Superboy shall accompany them,” Diana finished.

Percy looked over at her sort-of cousin, eyes searching that electric blue for a reason. Red Hood and Nightwing were obvious. They knew the area, were incredible at stealth, and Batman trusted them explicitly. Tigress was an unknown to Astron. And Superboy was Connor Kent, Superman’s clone.

“That’s good. Now let’s plan the date of the operation,” Hazel said.

Percy listened silently as it continued. The date was set for a week from then, and they would meet just outside of Crime Alley.

As they were leaving, Percy stepped towards Malcolm. “You got Fury’s report?” she asked softly, though she said it in ancient Greek as a precaution since they were surrounded by super-hearing people.

“Yes, and it is plausible.”

“Then why send me?”

“You’re our best fighter, Astron. You and Stygian together should be enough, the other two are as a precaution,” Malcolm answered, patting her shoulder. “Besides, even if it is a way to target you, they don’t know you’re you, so you should be fine.”

Leo’s Hero suit was gorgeous in his very humble opinion.

His suit was a shadowy black with red accents because it was not Leo without his red, like Percy without blue. Around his hips was his tool belt, naturally holding his weapons and other random things he needed. He used a Kakashi mask (and yes, he calls it a Kakashi mask, sue him), like all demigods, barring Percy and her preferences. His headset, however, looked like fire when not in stealth mode. Like he’d actually taken his coms and added a fire design because Leo was extra like that. And it was perfectly fireproof, of course.

He just needed to get that off his chest before they got the point of infiltrating whatever operation was going on in Crime Alley.

As Leo leaned against a wall, Nico and Miranda (daughter of Demeter, part-time professional chef) standing around too, Percy was yet to be seen. Two of the JL’s guys were there already, however. Tigress and Superboy.

Leo sensed her, the unmistakable presence of Percy Jackson as she dropped down from the roofs. He only knew she was there since he knew her aura, and even then, he barely sensed it. Every demigod technically had an aura, but Percy’s was by far the strongest, followed closely by Nico.

However, everyone assumed Nico’s aura was the strongest because, well, Nico never really reined in his aura. Percy rarely let hers loose.

Anyway, back to the point, Leo turned with a grin (not visible considering he was wearing a mask, but whatever) as Percy, flanked by Batman’s eldest children, walked forward.

If he hadn't known any better, he’d have thought they were siblings. All were tall, confident in their walk, deadly silent, and the shadows covered them like a cloak (and yes, like a cloak—Nico’s shadows followed him like servants, bended towards him, and he wore them like a crown and clothes, these shadows were more like cloaks to be shed, not something that rested upon their head forever). They made for an intimidating trio.

“Princess,” Leo greeted with a nod. Miranda whacked him over the head.

“Hey, cuz, been a while hasn’t it?” Miranda said, pulling Percy into a hug.

Percy reciprocated the hug and the intimidating factor melted as she smiled kindly in her cousin’s embrace. “It has, Moss. Let’s meet up soon, hopefully not on a job.” And then the commanding presence returned as Percy straightened. “We’re splitting into pairs,” she announced.

Tigress and Superboy had come over by then and they nodded, though they did eye Percy and Miranda oddly, like the interaction had been otherworldly.

Leo shook his head and focused. “So, how are the pairs going to work?”

This time, Nightwing answered. “Tigress will be going with Moss. Me and Pyro will be a pair. Red Hood and Stygian are a pair. Leaving Superboy and S…Astron.”

Leo caught the sharp look Percy sent Nightwing’s way, almost like he’d said something wrong. He also noticed the cheeky smirk Nightwing sent in reply.

“Split up and report every seven minutes,” Percy finished. “Me and Superboy are taking the east side.” Then she and Superboy disappeared to the roofs.

Once everyone was gone (Nico and Red Hood headed west, Tigress and Miranda headed for the southern areas of Crime Alley) and Leo was left with Nightwing, he turned to the taller man. “We've got north, so let’s go, Loverboy.”

Nightwing’s brow unmistakably furrowed as Leo turned to move. “Hang on… ‘Loverboy’?” he echoed uncertainly.

“Yeah, you and Princess.”

“Why do you call her ‘Princess’?”

Leo laughed. “Not my story to tell,” he replied cryptically.

As it turned out, the northern parts of Crime Alley were relatively normal (as in Texas standard, not Gotham standard). Petty criminals, no monsters, and no major criminals.

Their first check-in was to report nothing as everyone else. No one missed the second or the third or the fourth report. Miranda and Tigress reported a minute late on the fifth report, but that was because of a simple criminal they stopped that delayed them. The sixth report, still nothing. And soon twelve reports of nothing after patrolling and rechecking the same areas twice over.

Leo was getting bored of the repetitive nature as he tapped his com, his hand brushing over the fire design (in stealth mode, so it was just black flames). “Nothing here, again.”

“Nothing,” Red Hood said.

“Nothing,” Percy repeated for the fifth time. “Moss, Tigress, report.”

No reply. Leo and Nightwing paused in the alley they were in. They glanced at each other and then Leo pulled up his map from the holoscreen on his wrist. He tapped and checked for Miranda’s signature. It was there, but the normal blinking to show movement stopped.

“Tigress, Moss, report,” Nightwing said this time.

Another minute passed. No reply.

And another. A total of four minutes, hitting the 11 minute mark, passed and there was no reply.

Miranda’s marker on Leo’s screen blinked. And then it disappeared.

“Shit,” he exclaimed quietly. “Astron, Moss isn’t online.”

“Nor is Tigress,” Nightwing added, checking his own tracker.

“Regroup and we’ll go from there,” ordered Percy, her voice steady.

Leo and Nightwing moved, but something stopped Leo. And he noticed Nightwing was in a similar predicament.

Leo’s heart was racing.

Something was wrapping around his legs, gripping and dragging him down, down, down.

He couldn’t breathe.

“Py… Pyr… Pyro!”

Leo’s vision faded. Where was all the air going? Something black gripped his body.

Leo was in pain, so much pain. His arms felt freezing, cold, caked in ice. No fire was erupting from him. In fact, he felt so weak.

He tried to call upon anything. Something. Someone. Everything.

He couldn’t feel.

It hurt too much. He didn’t feel anything in another part of his body.

And his fire was not coming. The familiar call of fire was not answering.

“PYRO!”

Was that Percy? Leo couldn’t tell. Everything was hurting too much, he was feeling too little.

Did he let out a yelp? Leo wasn’t even sure he could speak, let alone scream.

And his fire. It sputtered out of existence. The burning in his chest was gone. The everlasting fire that Leo turned to was missing. A part of him was missing.

Why wasn’t his fire coming to him?

Connor was pacing. No reply from Dick, Artemis, Moss, or Pyro. Stygian and Jason were there too, having regrouped.

Astron wasn’t pacing, but she was speaking to Stygian softly, her words another language Connor could never understand.

“We need to search for them,” he said.

“We can’t split up,” Astron added.

She was right, of course. Connor remembered the conversation months ago, during that sparring session against Warrior, who’d said he reminded her of a woman. Well, it had to be Astron for they both were quite similar from the brief period they spent together patrolling.

Steadfast, effective, a few jokes here and there, but normally serious. A figure looked up to by their team.

And now, the two thinking while Stygian stayed back silently and Jason, though outwardly calm, raged a storm inside.

“Splitting up is the fastest way,” Jason got out as evenly as he could.

“That may be so, Hood, but it is not the safest and with half the group gone, I want safety prioritised over speed,” Astron replied easily. She looked over at Jason carefully, who didn’t seem happy, but he nodded. Astron then looked over at Stygian (her brother?). “Sense anything more from the shadows?”

“Nothing. And they haven’t reported anything suspicious either. Something much, much stronger is obscuring my powers,” Stygian replied.

Astron took a deep breath. “That cancels out Fury. Fury’s mother, but she has no reason to betray us. Your father would never. So, who could possibly–”

She cut herself off as her and Stygian both exchanged glances, an unidentifiable emotion flitting over the exposed parts of their faces.

“You don’t think…”

“Let’s not think about the idea, yet,” Astron cut Stygian off, her voice tense. “However, since they were lost to the shadows as you managed to catch, we will have to find them in the shadows.” Astron looked back at Connor. “Check the sewers with your vision. Red Hood, you are to defend Stygian while he meditates three roofs over–”

“Hang on, why three roofs over?” Jason interrupted.

Stygian answered, “Three is considered a safe number for us. And as for why I need to be away, her presence,” he nods to Astron, “interferes when I try deep-sensing movements in the shadows. Three roofs over gets her out of my basic field.”

Jason nods and follows with a glance back, his face covered with his helmet, so Connor is unsure of what expression he has on.

“And you?” Connor asked Astron as she looked around.

Astron turned to Connor, her mouth set into a thin line. “I will be sensing for something separate. I’m unsure what, but the presence I am looking for will be unmistakable if I catch even a waft of it.” And with that she turned away.

Connor watched as she pulled her swords out of the sheaths on her back. She stabbed her swords into the roof, not digging too deeply, but enough that they were stable. And with that, she plopped down and crossed her legs, her knees touching the swords on either of her sides.

A minute of watching and the swords started glowing, the edge of the blades letting off a blue glow while the intricately wrapped handle shone with a black light before everything shot into the ground and Astron stayed there, her entire body faintly outlined in a greenish-blue haze.

She was a blurry figure as her energy seemed to just increase.

Connor turned away. Instead of worrying, Connor focused on using his infrared vision.

The sewers were, well, sewers. Dirty water running through everything, rats scurrying along walls, and small patches of relatively recent heat in the shape of footprints…

Connor swivelled his eyes back in the direction of footprints, searching the footprints. Some were deep, some light, some scraped across the floor like the person owning them had been shoved.

And even while the heat was fading, the footprints clearly meant that a group of things had been down there recently. Very recently since they were still warm enough to be seen by his infrared vision.

“I’ve found footprints!”

He turned to look at Astron, deactivating his infrared vision because, well, no point wasting his energy when he could see she was there.

Astron’s swords and she herself had stopped glowing. She was standing and had already pulled her swords from the ground when she turned to him at his exclamation. Connor watched as she sheathed her swords.

“In the sewers, right, heading towards the direction of the western parts of Crime Alley?” she said, phrasing it as a question, as she towered a few inches over him.

Astron had an odd effect on people around her, he’d noticed. But being this close, Connor could say with absolute certainty that she wasn’t human. In fact, he had a feeling she was far, far more than a simple human.

“Yes,” he replied.

“Good because I sensed something too. And it isn’t good. I’m calling backup, please send word for two or three of your guys, hopefully close by,” Astron said and turned, tapping her ear.

Connor turned away too as he contacted the Watchtower. “Who is available for some backup?” he asked as soon as he got online to see only Diana there.

Diana looked over at him and placed her mug of tea down. “Near you?”

“Yes.”

“Robin, Orphan, and Kid Flash,” she answered.

“That’ll do,” Connor responded instantly. Sure, it was less than favourable, but two trained kids of Batman and a superspeed user was better than nothing. Get them to my location, and tell them to go by the rooftops, no ground usage.”

“Understood.”

The line cut and Connor turned to see Stygian was back with Jason.

“What did you confirm?” Astron asked her colleague.

Stygian glanced at Connor and Jason then sighed. “No deaths, thankfully. I sense no new deaths and no one can interfere with that power, so I can report definitively that your teammates and ours are alive. Maybe not well, but alive.” Connor couldn;t help the relief on his face and the hope blossoming inside him at Stygian’s words. Stygian continued, “Definitely taken by a shadow user and one more powerful than me. It’s also definitely a derivison from our magic. That’s all I could confirm, something interfered with my senses.”

Astron looked a little sheepish as she rubbed the back of her neck and turned to the side. “Sorry, should’ve warned you I was using that technique.” And then she was back to the calm and serious Astron, a very sudden change. “Anyway–”

“What do you mean by ‘that technique’?” Jason asked. “We have time before backup gets here and I too would like to understand the glowing blue thing around you and your swords.”

Astron glanced at the tallest of them and nodded. “That’s fair, I suppose.” She took another deep breath. “Different Heroes, depending on their powers, have different sensing techniques and certain things can amplify those abilities. For me, I usually sense through liquid, but since I was delving into more powerful things, I needed to amplify my senses to locate the source of power.

“Now ‘source of power’ is an entirely different topic and will take weeks to explain, so don’t ask, but essentially, I used my swords, which are made of a special steel only available to certain people—much like Stygian is the only person, apart from Onyx, who can use the metal his sword is made of, my blades are made of a special steel that can enhance sensing ability since it was crafted by my people.” She was tapping her foot now and Connor noticed the way her hand drummed against her thigh. “With those swords, I could channel my power better and further my sensing range.

“Sensing range meaning, uhm, what’s the word…?” She muttered several words in that sharp tongue, the one that raised the hair on the back of Connor’s neck, the language that set him on edge. “I guess the closest word would be…spiritually, but even that doesn’t fit. Anyway, I don’t physically increase how far I can sense, I increase how much I can sense.”

Stygian patted her back. “Well done, you lost them.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

Stygian rolled his glittery black eyes. “Anyway, I was sensing in my power range, so I technically didn’t need to enhance my sensing range. If I sensed for powers out of my range, I would’ve needed to enhance my sensing, and I’ve said sensing so many times, I’ve decided the word has lost meaning.”

“I completely agree,” Jason said.

“Like, gods, though, we need a better word for ‘sensing’. I mean, using it like fifteen times in one explanation makes the word lose any use,” Astron said.

And Connor was glad they were not dwelling too much on their missing teammates. Sure, it was worrying, but they had a path to follow and back up on the way, so the lighter atmosphere was a good thing.

Of course, Connor was also amazed at the “sensing” thing. It was weird as hell and certainly delved into magic that Connor could never hope to understand, nor did he want to, but definitely crazy. They couldn’t enhance all of their powers, but they could enhance certain aspects of their powers with certain tools? Not to mention how Astron glowed and turned blurry, whereas Stygian just disappeared, no heat signature at all!

It was creepy as hell!

Another six minutes of waiting and two Heroes were suddenly there, two materialising out of thin air and one dropping down from a pegasus that flew away after it had deposited the Hero on its back.

Connor recognised two of the Heroes. Fury, 5'8 and her dark eyes sharp with unknown power, stood beside the guy Connor assumed to be another of Gotham’s permanent Heroes. And the third was the other Hero he recognised: Rage, 6’1 and a half, with blood red eyes and that scar zigzagging across his forehead, across his cheek, and disappearing below his mask.

Then, Connor’s backup arrived. Cass, silent as ever, appeared beside Astron with a quick side hug. Internally Connor was shocked she even initiated the contact, but Astron had returned it then they broke apart.

The next to arrive was Damian—current Robin and bloodson. He nodded at Astron, who sent a small, tense smile back, and then straightened beside Jason. And finally Bart Allen, his suit thankfully in stealth mode.

“Okay, here’s how we’re going to do it,” Astron started as soon as everyone was fully there.

Bart had only seen Astron once. And that was when she’d made the proclamation that Dick would never get hurt as long as she was there.

He’d only ever seen that intimidating figure when she towered above him when she passed him on her way to follow Dick to the training room on the Watchtower.

And now, standing before her again as she explained the plan, he noticed why the other Heroes deferred to her. Even if they were the leaders, this woman commanded as easily as eating. Like she was born for it. So yes, the Hero Divisions had their leaders, but they all looked to Astron because she commanded a sort of respect that was earned through so much hardship.

How terrifying, he thought as she explained, not an ounce of fear or worry in her tone. She was skilled at adapting in the field, but she was clearly a strategiser. And due to her plan, Bart had the pleasure of being in her company, along with Cassandra Cain’s.

Which was what was happening as they dropped into the sewers.

They were going to follow the group that took the others. Connor was staying on the roofs with Vitality, while Jason, Damian, and Rage were to go from the opposite direction, like they were cornering them. And finally, Fury and Stygian, their umbrakinesis users, were in charge of monitoring the movements of shadows above and below ground from ground level.

So, Bart followed the deadly woman. This team was about speed. Catch up quickly, a search party if you thought about it. Get a gist of the situation so the other three parties could plan from where they were at.

Sewer systems were disgusting no matter where they were in the world.

Grimy, slimy, questionable substances coating every surface, a stench so unbearable that Bart was using a breather, and creepy sounds. Always with the creepy sounds.

Astron held up a hand, halting Cass and Bart. She knelt, her gloved hand touching the sewer ground. “They went left up ahead, but then they split up. Maybe a fake, or to take our guys to separate areas.”

“Trap,” Cass said in her one-word fashion.

“I thought the same. Kid Flash,” he straightened subconsciously, “you and Cass will take the fist right we see after turning left. I will go the other way.”

“Dangerous.”

“Certainly,” Astron replied to Cass’ warning. And then she managed a grin, crooked and mischievous, but transforming her face into something of more than just power, but divinity. Look, she was way too old for Bart, but she was gorgeous, way more gorgeous than a natural human, even with her eyes covered at the scars peeking out on her exposed skin. And then the grin was gone. “Now, let’s get moving. I want to make sure Hood, K…Robin, and Rage have some semblance of understanding so they do know whether it’s a trap or a way to save the others.”

When they split up and Bart was left alone with Cass, the mythical Orphan, Batman’s most elusive child, he couldn’t help the nervousness creeping in.

Bart trusted Cass with his life. He knew she was amazing and she, without a doubt, could save his life. Hell, he trusted her with his life more than he trusted himself because Cass was incredibly loyal! But she was also unnerving in a way different to Astron.

They said nothing, small talk unnecessary in this situation.

Whatever could take two very-well trained Heroes and two senior-members of the Team/Outsiders was definitely a terrifying power.

The tunnels grew narrow as they moved further along.

The dripping and running of water seemed to rebound around Bart’s skull, louder and louder. His heart was drumming in his chest, a beat too fast to be safe.

They emerged into a large chamber after a semi-long walk, and both quickly hid behind a wall. Cass was the one who peaked around the corner before motioning for him to follow.

Bart did and as he did, he caught a look at what was going on. He barely held onto the gasp begging to escape.

Vials of golden liquid lined the walls. And on the opposite wall, two people were chained and gagged and everything in between. Their suits were still intact at the face part, so their identities were safe, but the two Heroes were physically destroyed around the midriff.

Blood ran freely from the dozens of cuts.

And then, faster than he saw it, Bart was behind a wall again. Terror.

All he felt was terror.

“Don’t worry, Dick! We’re right here to catch you!”

Dick looked down at his parents. The leap seemed massive and yet he wanted to fly. He really wanted to jump and take the leap and fly.

So he did. He jumped and he fell, and pain struck him across the stomach. And everything was hurting. Why was everything hurting?

That wasn’t the correct memory, was Dick’s first thought when he came to. Because that was a memory of his first time flying without falling. The first time after every damn fall he finally did it and leapt and landed perfectly.

He felt the shackles first and the blinding pain around his stomach second.

It was burning his skin, whatever had happened. Even with blurry vision, he managed to glance down at the massive wound in his stomach.

And he vomited. Because something golden was coating his wounds. Something so powerful and golden and so disgustingly strong, it burned his injury.

“He’s awake!”

He heard that being shouted before his face was roughly grabbed by human hands. And he came face-to-face with a vaguely humanoid creature, save for her glowing yellow eyes and stark-white hair that turned yellow at the tips.

“Oh, this one’s prettier than expected. If only those stupid masks came off, I’d see the full face of the man I will feast upon.”

And she was a creep. Or, perhaps, a monster.

Dick must’ve shown some form of disgust on his face because the weird woman-thing haphazardly shoved his face back, eyes wide with annoyance. “This stupid boy! He thinks he’s so incredible!”

And she transformed into something else entirely. Her hair was aflame, her wicked yellow eyes glinted, black slits within them. Her nails grew into black claws and Dick was paralysed. He was so terrified as she licked her lips with a monstrous tongue.

She stepped closer, somehow, her claws raking down Dick’s front. The moment they touched his skin, it hurt. It hurt so much.

And then Dick let out a strangled yelp, but his aching throat allowed no other sound to escape, when the monster dug her claws into his skin.

“Awww, poor, wittle, birdie,” she cooed monstrously. Her claws dug in further. And it hurt, it hurt, it hurt– 

Any more pain she could cause ended when she burst into gold dust and a very familiar blade appeared in the shower of glitter.

Dick couldn’t stop the joyful grin that quickly turned into a grimace of pain because the stinging in his wound would not fucking stop!

Star cut him down and caught him as he fell forward. She gently laid him down and did the same for Artemis, who Dick felt guilty about not noticing earlier.

And then he heard growls and screams and Star wasn’t watching him or Artemis, but she’d disappeared with the scent of the sea still there. It always followed her, like a moth to a flame.

Dick was delirious.

And the pain was not lessening in the slightest. In fact, it only seemed to grow more. Whatever the monsters put on the wound they made, it burned him so badly. Everything was hurting.

And then–

Something soft and smooth moved against his skin, the flesh stinging and then the burn disappearing. As the pain lessened more, he noticed Star was back, her hand hovering over his stomach and her other hand hovering over Artemis’. Her eyes were closed in concentration.

He then noticed the glowing blue liquid that floated around his wounds, stitching it together until only a faint white scar was left on his skin.

And the pain was gone.

He watched Star healing him a little longer, wondering what the hell happened. All he could remember was him and Pyro patrolling and then pain and then…nothing.

“Are you alright?” he heard her soothing voice ask and Dick managed to nod, his throat still parched from… Actually, he had no idea why his throat was hurting. Not parched, hurting.

The soothing feeling was back, this time around his throat.

Oh, he was choked. That explained…a lot.

Both he and Artemis sat up at the same time, Star watching them both with a furrowed brow and her mouth set in a thin line. Dick had gotten pretty good at reading her emotions and it turned out, she was angry.

“Hey, Green, I’m alright,” he managed softly. Artemis, thankfully, was too disoriented to hear.

Star looked at him, really looked at him, like she was seeing into his souls through her mask. She sighed, deeply, and the weight on her shoulders lessened. “And you, Tigress?” she asked Dick’s teammate.

“As good as I can be,” Artemis rasped out tiredly.

“Well, we’re blowing this facility up and I’m collecting the data left in this room.” Star stood, brushed the dust off herself, and turned. “You guys rest a bit longer while I get the data.”

Dick decided to listen to that order. He turned to Artemis, thankful she was alive.

“Tigress,” he murmured and she turned to him, head tilted slightly in question, “are you sure you’re alright? Whatever the golden liquid they put on our injuries was, it was dangerous.”

Artemis nodded. “I know, but that partner of yours healed us up nicely. She’s pretty handy, you know.”

Dick nodded, eyes trailing after Astron, who was typing away at the screen. “Yeah,” he muttered, “Yes, she is.”

He didn’t notice the knowing glance of Artemis.

All he could do was watch his saviour (he was certain he was going to die and then she just appeared) move around easily. She grabbed the golden vials, shoved them into one of her many pouches, nearly every single vial. She placed small cylindrical containers containing something green. She placed five around the chamber in total.

And then she motioned for Dick and Artemis to run out the tunnel. “Go that way and don’t stop running. I will catch up, don’t worry!”

Dick didn’t want to leave her, but Artemis grabbed him and pulled him along. And he watched Star disappear from view.

They ran and ran and ran straight down.

They continued until Dick’s already empty lungs somehow failed him further. Until Artemis was heaving and–

An explosion shattered the silence that enveloped the pair. They exchanged terrified glances and Dick was ready to run back.

He was already moving until Artemis grabbed him and pulled him back and told him no and no and no.

 “Blue, I’m here,” a different voice whispered, soft and kind and calm and steady and there.

Dick pulled her into a hug. “Why would you do that?!”

“You two wouldn’t have gotten out of the blast zone fast enough had I not sent you ahead,” she replied. “I’m sorry, but we really must get going. The others are in trouble. And communications are cut off. We’re backup.”

Well, that was just joyful. Back from the brink of death, but Dick nodded along with Artemis. They moved.

It was hard to believe a little over an hour ago, Dick had been patrolling with Pyro. Now he was mutilated, spent of energy, somehow had weapons back in his hands thanks to Star, and was dead on his feet.

Artemis was not much better. In fact, she was worse. Her pale complexion said as such. Not to mention she’d definitely taken longer to heal. Her wounds more severe and more caked in that horrifying golden substance.

Dick stopped himself from shivering at the substance, whatever it was.

It had glittered so monstrously when he first caught sight of it. And then it continued to burn and burn and burn his injuries. He’d never felt pain like that in his life.

“Tigress, Blue, please do follow my lead. Two of my Heroes have been caught, both injured badly. Robin and Red Hood accompanied Rage as backup, but they’ve been led astray by the Mist,” Star explained as they ran. “Kid Flash and Orphan arrived, but they could not do anything against the monsters. Well, Orphans could as I gave her one of my daggers, but there was a massive group, so I told them not to engage.

“What’s going to happen is I’m giving each of you one of my swords and a spare dagger that you will give to Kid Flash. Then, try to hold off the monsters until I get back with Robin, Hood, and Rage.” She paused in her run and looked back. “This is the only plan I could come up with without Pyro and Moss actually dying in the process of a rescue. Please save them. They’re–”

She choked on her words and Dick pulled her in. She stayed for a second in his embrace, allowing herself to stay there. Then she pulled away. “Please, just save them.” She handed them the swords, a dagger, and disappeared.

Artemis and Dick looked at each other and continued following the same tunnel.

Jason punched a wall only for the wall to disappear and more walls to appear around him.

He’d been running around in circles for ages. It was infuriating. It reminded him of when the side effects of the Pit randomly hit him.

The first time had been horrifying.

Jason ran and ran as something chased. A lumbering shadow. Large, monstrous, there.

Every turn he made and he felt like he was going around in circles. What was this madness?

Why was everything tinted green?

He wanted blood. He wanted it to stop. He wanted clarity. He wanted the red to return to his gaze and the green to disappear forever.

There was a haze somewhere. A haze over his shoulder. A shadow burned in his peripheral vision, disappeared, appeared further along, chased him.

A wall appeared and he turned crazily in another direction.

What the hell was going on? Where was the exit to the forest? Where was his escape?

Green and green and green.

A fog shifted around him and a warm liquid coated his hands. He looked down.

Red, red, red.

He looked up.

Him. Lifeless, dead, empty.

And another wall slammed in his face.

Another again. And again.

“Robin!” he shouted for the millionth time. “Rage!” No answer.

It was becoming repetitive. Tiring. Infuriating.

Red was building up in his vision. Green was entering his field.

Everything was blocking his path. It was annoying as fuck.

Jason wanted it to end.

He punched another wall and this time, his fist stopped. He blinked at the wall–

No, he blinked at the person before him. Astron, in all her shadowy glory, was back. She was bleeding from a deep wound on her shoulder, there was a cut on her cheek, blood matted her hair, gold dust coated her suit, and some weird gold liquid glinted around her hands and a little in her hair.

But was it Astron? There’d been so many illusions, how could it be Astron?!

“It is me, or I went through all the trouble of ending the illusions for nothing, Red Hood,” Astron said.

Well, that was definitely Atsron.

“Thank whatever divine being out there sent you,” he muttered, meaning every word.

“Thank them? They’re the ones who put us in this mess! Thank me!” she shot back, a quip in her voice, before her smirk faded. “Let’s get Robin and Rage, then we go. I found Nightwing and Tigress. Orphan and KF are meeting with them as we speak.”

“The others.”

“Something blocking my coms. I can’t get Superboy, Stygian, or Fury. Nothing, not a peep.”

“Let’s get out of here and see what’s the problem.”

“After we save the others.”

Jason nodded and the two moved in sync.

The next person they found was Damian.

The maze was, frankly, ridiculous because every corner Damian turned, his mother was shouting at him, his grandfather was working him to the bone, his father was disappointed, and his family were turning their backs on him.

He wanted it to end.

This maze, this madness, this everything. He wanted it to stop.

Breathe, Kitty, breathe, he recalled Astron’s words during their second sparring session.

He stopped and took a deep breath.

Do not think with your eyes, think with your mind, she’s said.

Eyes. He was using his eyes to turn and turn, thinking and exit would come. Yet all he met was disappointed family members and destruction.

His mind. He remembered every interaction with his family.

His mother did care in her own way. She visited sometimes, asked after him, and maybe she shouted at him for his decisions, but here, whenever she appeared, he was her greatest disappointment. And that hurt like hell.

Grayson would never glare at him. Sure, he scolded Damian and could be quite sharp sometimes, but Grayson always was kind. He hugged Damian, grinned at him, smiled and spoke to him. Whoever Damian met in this maze, it wasn’t Grayson.

Nor was Drake Drake. Or Todd acting like Todd. Or Cass, who was talking too much about Damian’s failures.

None of them were correct. Especially his father. Father, who never once screamed that Damian was a disappointment. Never once said Damian would never be good enough. Father who tried, and sure he failed in many ways, but he tried.

And with a clear mind, Damian rounded the corner and came face-to-face with his father.

Before any words could be passed, Damian pulled out his katana. “You are not my father! Do not steal his face, heathen!” And the thing before him erupted into mist just as his sword passed through it. Except that his sword clanged against something else, a slimmer sword.

He recognised the metal immediately and looked up at Astron.

“Well done, Kitty. You escaped a Mist enchantment much faster than I expected you would. You’ve got a very strong will,” Astron congratulated, her sword disappearing back into the ring on her right index finger.

Damian sheathed his sword too, eyes narrowing at Astron. “What happened?”

“Well, the plan worked…kind of. I got Nightwing and Tigress, but Pyro and Moss were in a more defended area with far more monsters, so they’re there with Nightwing and Tigress. Backup from above isn’t coming, coms cut off,” Astron explained.

Damian nodded and looked over at Todd. “You?”

“She helped me,” he nodded at Astron. “Same Mist enchantment growing off fears… I believe?”

“Correct. Now, let’s get Rage.”

Something was blocking his powers. Leo knew it. He knew it and yet he couldn’t push through the blockage.

It hurt to even think about it. Hurt to even try pushing through the barrier between him and his powers.

And for some reason, he had a terrible sinking feeling that if he did push against the barrier, he’d become even more disconnected with his fire. His flames. His strength.

Any thoughts could not even form. Not with the biting pain that froze his insides. The horrible cold that clenched around him. Blocked his powers, created a barrier of ice. It was cold, so cold. He felt numb, but pain was coursing through him. It made no sense why the cold was burning him, like an icy tsunami that doused his flames.

It hurt and hurt and hurt. Ached like nothing else.

And so Leo faded from consciousness only to awaken elsewhere.

There was so much of that golden blood, the one that made up half of Leo’s nonexistent DNA. It was running across the ground like streams you’d find anywhere. It was caking the land.

And then thin streaks of red mingled with the godly blood. Thin veins of human blood mixed with the gold.

It was beautiful, truly it was, but every surface it touched lit up with powers and then burned, disappeared from existence. It was there and then it wasn’t.

The scene changed. And Leo saw Percy. Percy, blood dripping down her face from a cut on her head, mask half torn off, the visible eyes ablaze with fury so extreme, it rooted Leo to the spot. Fear destroyed him, not at Percy, but whoever earned her ire.

Because this wasn’t Percy. This was Perseus Jackson, daughter of the sea and saviour of the gods. This was Perseus who incinerated armies within a second. This was Perseus, the hero, the defender, the princess, and the gods’ greatest fear.

Perseus was caked in a blessing. Her father’s blessing. Gold dust fell from one wound, ichor from another, blood from a third. And they dropped to the ground, mixed, and flowed to Leo.

He was screaming as it touched him.

This ice cold mixture, so horrifyingly monstrous, burned him when it touched him. But Leo could not move. And so he stayed as the pain flooded him.

When he opened his eyes next, he was at Camp Half-Blood, yet it wasn’t. Everything was in flames.

And he realised his hands were boiling.

Leo looked at the flames, the bright blue flames coating his hands, stared at the blue flames coating Camp’s cabins, and he screamed again.

So much blood, it dripped from his hands and everything.

And the tears that poured from his eyes were not of normal salty water. They were metallic tasting and red, dark, bloody red.

Leo screamed as something stabbed at his stomach, wrenching him from his nightmare to his nightmarish reality.

Everything was a garbled mess.

He could hear screams, lots of screaming, and maybe a familiar voice shouting, but he could hardly think with the stabbing pain that struck his stomach at irregular intervals.

It was torturous. There, gone, back for longer, and then gone for longer, only to destroy his moment of reprieve with more.

Through his hazy vision, Leo saw ichor dripping from his wounds, Except, he had no ichor. He never did. Never would. So whatever fell from his wounds, it was another gods’ ichor. And that was a terrifying thought, had Leo been able to think it.

He could not. He could hardly even breathe through his bruised throat and the torment that racked his body.

Leo just wanted it to end. Every drop of this unspeakable agony to fucking end. Put him out of his misery.

He got the feeling he was begging aloud for the end to come. And maybe he was. Who knew? He certainly didn’t.

Perhaps someone heard him and would take pity on his misery. Would remove him from this horrible world if only to give him some peace.

He was hurting so much, death was a blessing he would welcome. He was certain he could see a scythe anyway. Perhaps Thanatos had come to greet him.

“Not yet,” a calm, soothing voice murmured. “You’re not dying yet, Pyro.”

The pain was coming to an end.

“Please,” the voice choked out again, ancient Greek so crystal clear, it was a kind break from the harshness that had riddled his mind for hours on end. “If not for yourself, Pyro, fight for me and your friends…please.” Feminine in nature and distinctly smooth, that deep calming voice Leo knew anywhere.

“Please, Pyro, please,” she begged, her voice cracking now. “I will fight through Tartarus again just so you could live. Please, Pyro, please, please.” And please became her whispered words as it continued and continued. She was breaking down and Leo could do nothing as his best friend shattered and shattered.

He wanted to help her. To get to her. Console her. But something stopped him.

“Please, please, please, Pyro, if you die, you’re taking me with you. We promised each other, so you can’t die.” Percy Jackson was begging for him to fight just a little longer to survive and who was Leo to disappoint when she was right. They were siblings in all the important ways, how could he leave her or her him?

“Keep…me…alive,” he managed, croaking in the ancient tongue.

He heard someone whisper a thanks to whatever deity out there allowed him his words. Leo thanked them too.

“Keep fighting, Pyro,” Percy whispered again, her tone back to being even and soothing. The unmistakable feeling of water running across Leo’s stomach was there, more noticeable and definitely the work of Percy. “Thank you,” she whispered, “for staying alive.”

Did Leo smirk? He hoped he did even in his delirious state. He also hoped he managed to say what he thought, that he would hate to disappoint her and they still had pranks to pull. Maybe he heard a chuckle. He wasn’t sure.

“Still…pull or…thank you.” And she repeated those final two words again and again and again, like they were a prayer and Leo the god they were given to.

The words, over and over again, flew in his ears, spun around his head, and that was what lulled Leo to his much wanted rest. Was this death?

His vision darkened again.

This time, no nightmares plagued his mind. He dreamed of darkness and the peace of silence.

What a kind, sweet escape…away from the pain…

Chapter Text

They were running up the hill to get to the entrance. Clover was a little ways ahead. Katie Gardner, a girl who’d been with Clover when they picked her up, was a step behind Miranda herself. And Miranda Gardiner, well, she was feeling alive as she raced through the grass, ,like something was feeding her energy.

And then they reached. Clover was through first.

The girls paused, looked at one another—looked at each other because how could they look so similar, so close, and yet seem so different. Miranda and Katie stepped through the barrier.

She felt it then, the power of life flourishing. She smelt every little bush or flower or plant. Everything was overwhelming and yet so beautiful.

Clover, their satyr guide, smiled at them. Miranda smiled back. They were safe from the monsters. Free of the burden of running and running and running.

Miranda felt something bubble in her chest. It grew painfully, burned inside her, and suddenly, it erupted. Something broke out of her. She felt free, so free, and… She was laughing. She sounded crazy as she laughed and laughed and laughed, but her sister held her, her sister laughed too.

They were free and safe and…hopefully, they were home.

The scene changed suddenly.

Miranda was older, the battle raging around her. Katie was at her back. Seeds Katie threw were erupting as soon as they touched the ground.

“Well, sister, this is joyous!” Katie shouted over the cacophony.

Miranda laughed. “Indeed, Kate, indeed!” And she raised her hand, her scars glittering green as her power escaped her, as vines tore through monsters.

They fought back-to-back. Fought like the world was their dance floor and they could remake it for themselves. Fought and fought and fought. But nothing touched them.

Not as Katie ate oats and her power grew, not as the shrubbery became cages through Miranda’s power. Not as they danced between vines and flowers and everything.

The scene changed again. Miranda’s laughter echoed in her ears as she found herself beside Sherman.

He had handed her a dagger he’d designed himself. Had asked for help to make, but made himself. And he smiled shyly as he handed it to her.

“What do you think?”

Miranda grinned and jumped, her arms slinging around Sherman’s neck. “I love it,” she whispered against his skin. “It’s beautiful.”

And it was. A dagger with a handle made of flowers encased in resin and a crossguard with Miranda’s name adorning it. Engraved in the blade were the faintest traces of lilies, Miranda’s favourite flower.

Miranda loved the blade. Loved the feel of the dagger in her hand. How perfectly balanced it was.

But that feeling stopped. And suddenly, Miranda was no longer reliving memories, but nightmares.

And everything hurt and hurt and hurt and hurt. Why was there so much pain?

Something gold flashed in her vision. Something silver burned into her skull. Something bronze stabbed into her gut.

End it, she begged endlessly. Nothing answered.

It tore at her. She felt her soul escaping, returning, damaged and fixing itself.

Why was she in so much pain?

“Lilly? Lilly, please, listen to me.”

Oh, Miranda knew that voice. Miranda knew it very well.

“Sher…man?” She couldn’t even hear herself, but she heard Sherman’s breath of relief.

“Lilly.” And he whispered his nickname for her endlessly. Pulled her close, didn’t touch her wounds, brushed away her dirty hair, and whispered it again and again. Like the world was ending and Miranda was the only thing solid. Like the whole place was on fire and Miranda was the ocean to wash it out. He whispered it in her ear, engraved it into her skin.

Miranda blinked.

His voice was leading her somewhere. Back to consciousness? Rather than this–

Pain erupted in her right arm. She screamed. Her vision was white, something burned at her, flames licked. And it was gone.

And then it was back. And it hurt more. And it struck at her again and again and again. Stabbed, slashed, cut, burned.

She screamed. She could see nothing. Hear nothing. She screamed and screamed and screamed. Did she scream until her throat was destroyed? Or was that her imagination?

Miranda called for vines and grass and moss and leaves. She called for nature. Nothing came.

Something blocked her power. Whether it was the pain or her inability to think straight, Miranda wasn't sure, but something was blocking her and her vines. She was cut off.

And another sharp stab of torture, this time her left calf aching, overrided any thoughts she had formulated.

End it. End it. End it.

She begged endlessly for relief. For something to stop.

And then it did.

“The female is awake. The boy remains in slumber,” a dark voice whispered and only because ancient Greek was hardwired into Miranda’s brain did she understand. A girl and a boy; Miranda and…

The garbled reply was too far and Miranda’s senses had shut down, she barely heard anything unless they were close.

Miranda yelled as claws dug into her skin, pulled her head up, and directed her face towards an empousa. “Hello, daughter of divinity.”

They had yet to know her identity. Miranda thanked every deity out there that they couldn’t bypass their suit mechanisms. But she wondered who the other person they got was. It was safe to assume Tigress had been captured along with Miranda. But who else was captured–

Miranda’s thoughts got no further when something raked across her chest. She screamed.

And then the claws left, the empousa dropped her face, and a mortal walked over. The mortal stopped before her with a mad grin, or she assumed it was one. Miranda didn’t know this mortal. But he certainly wasn't a sight for sore eyes.

With a hairless head and a thick, trimmed beard, the mortal before her glanced between her and the vial. His round glasses certainly added to the effect of a mad scientist.

“Demigods and ichor react very differently to humans and ichor. But this is only with wounds,” he muttered, ignoring her gasp from seconds earlier. He grasped her chin as well, jerking her face to the side roughly.

Miranda struggled against his hold, which earned her head being thrown back and pulled forward again by her formerly blonde hair, now dirty and caked in blood. Miranda wasn’t sure if it was hers or someone else’s.

“She still retains strength,” the mortal murmured, traces of amazement in his voice.

“They are demigodsssss,” another voice murmured from the shadows. Miranda only knew one monster who drew out their “s” like that: a scythian dracaena. “Demigodsssss are remarkably good at bouncccccing back. It’sssss a sssssshhhhhhame though, that we caught a ssssimple demigod and not the child of the sssssea. Ssssshhhhhe’sssss the desired ssssspecccccimen.”

“It is unfortunate,” the mortal replied. “This child of the sea girl sounds powerful, very powerful, and to be able to test her against different godly ichors… She would not tire quickly, would she?”

“ Perseus Jackson is the strongest of demigods. There is no doubt in my mind that if we caught her and after Tartarus is paid his due, you will not run out of material to test for a long time. She’s durable, annoyingly so,” the empousa added, her voice going cold at the end.

Miranda wasn’t sure why they would speak this in front of her. But maybe they realised that they shouldn’t as the group of three moved away.

Miranda's breaths came in shallow gasps, her body trembling with pain and fear. The words of the empousa and the mortal scientist echoed in her mind: Perseus Jackson is the strongest of demigods. The words carried weight, pressing against her chest like a boulder. Why Percy? Why her?

Miranda and Percy were close. They were cousins. They fought together. And any threat to Percy was an enemy to all demigods. Percy was their leader, their pillar, their glue and strength and everything.

Perseus Jackson was different. She would always be Percy, but Perseus had always been more terrifying as a name. Had always felt stronger. Like a secret to be whispered, not a name to be said.

Miranda remembered how she first met Percy. The memory rose unbidden, a memory of some scrawny child.

Miranda stared at the new girl as she adjusted her breastplate straps.

She looked ridiculous, the girl, in oversized armour and an unbalanced sword at her hip.

The new girl who defeated the minotaur. No one knew how, only that she had his horn as a trophy. But the girl did not boast or declare herself incredible. She said nought of the incident, explained nothing on how she defeated such a creature, and was silent on most occasions.

Her first swordsmanship lesson was also a thing among legends already. Defeating Luke in a stroke of luck after just learning the skill. And Luke had said that if she had a good balanced sword, she would go far.

Miranda watched her a moment longer before tuning away. She didn’t know about Annabeth’s plan, all she knew was that Percy Jackson, the girl, would be near the creek. No one really passed through the creek, so it was a good idea, keeping her separated as it was her first game of capture the flag.

And besides, Percy looked far too small that any amount of fighting could destroy her. She was underfed, clearly, and too short for a twelve year old. She had too many scars littering her arms and legs. The scar on her cheek looked particularly bad.

Miranda shook her head. The game began.

As it turned out, Percy had been bait.

Percy Jackson got Clarisse and other Ares campers away from the flag, thus keeping their flag safe and diminishing the defense of the other team severely. Except, Percy was new to this, and Miranda arrived in time to see Annabeth pushing Percy back into the creek, the echoes of a monster attack still ringing around the area.

Percy stood slowly, fury dripping from her.

And this was definitely different from the girl Miranda had seen earlier.

Her scars shimmered blue, the water around her bubbled, and above Percy, glinting menacingly—a warning, perhaps—a three-pronged spear glowed sea green, the exact same shade as Percy’s eyes.

“It is decided,” Chiron said, his voice low and pained.

“Decided?”

“You’ve been claimed,” Chiron answered.

Miranda caught it, the lack of happiness in Percy’s eyes. Most people loved to be claimed, but Percy looked scared, worried, confused. She did not look like a minotaur slayer, but a child. A child thrust into something far too much for her.

Annabeth was muttering something along the lines of “this is not good” and “shit” and such. And Miranda wanted to scream at the insolent daughter of Athena that Percy didn’t need to be told that her being claimed by her father was bad. Didn't need to hear that. But she could not because before her stood a walking problem and maybe, just maybe, even if her timing was completely wrong, Annabeth was right.

“Earthshaker, Stormbringer, Father of horses.” Miranda dropped to her knees as Chiron continued. She kept her head down. “Hail, Perseus Jackson, daughter of Poseidon.”

Miranda glanced up as the claiming faded. Percy’s aura still caked the area and Miranda was terrified of angering this girl. Terrified of the girl.

But she looked up and saw, not Perseus Jackson, but Percy Jackson, who didn’t look happy in the slightest. Didn’t look excited. Or proud. Just scared and confused.

Miranda shook her head. That was Percy, perhaps she’d grown into her looks and become far more confident, but that was Percy. Percy, full of humility and kindness. Percy, the woman who grew to be their hope.

She’d always known Percy was different to all of them. Percy had always been different. Stronger. Better. Braver. Something…else. A demigod in everything, but something was missing too.

What made her different from the rest of them?

The scientist’s words played over and over in her mind. To test her against different godly ichors… What did that even mean?

And when the monsters mentioned the Pit. Its mere name sent a shiver down Miranda’s spine. Was that the price they planned to pay for their experiments? To draw power from the darkest depths of the Underworld?

Miranda’s thoughts churned. Percy’s strength wasn’t just physical. It wasn’t even about her powers. It was her unyielding spirit, her refusal to back down even when the odds were stacked against her. That was what made her so dangerous to their enemies.

And—the thought was a horrible one, but it must’ve been true—that was why they wanted to break her. Because Percy was the hope of the demigods. The power in their very blood. The daughter of the ocean. The strongest of their generation, perhaps all generations. They storm on the horizon.

Miranda needed to get out. She and Leo needed to escape. To warn everyone.

Sherman Yang pressed his back against the cold stonewall of the maze, breathing heavily as he tried to assess his situation. The air was thick with the stench of decay and sewage, a constant reminder that he was deep in the labyrinthine sewers of the city. The walls, slick with an eerie condensation that shimmered faintly in the dim light, seemed to twist and stretch when he wasn’t looking. Mist drifted along the floor, curling like ghostly fingers around his boots. Shadows danced and flickered like taunting phantoms, and every corner he rounded revealed another nightmare pulled from the darkest recesses of his mind. The maze wasn’t static; the Mist had altered it, warping the already confusing sewer tunnels into a shifting, malicious trap. The faint sound of dripping water echoed off the walls, but each drop seemed to come from a different direction, adding to the disorientation.

He clenched his fists, the familiar heat of anger sparking in his chest. That anger, a signature trait of Ares’s children, had kept him alive more times than he could count. But now, in this cursed maze, it felt like a double-edged sword. Every time he gave in to the rage, the maze seemed to twist further, mocking him.

He pushed off the wall, shoved himself off to keep moving.

At the next turn, the sight before him made his stomach lurch. Miranda. Her floral green eyes, usually so full of life, stared blankly at him as blood dripped from a gaping wound in her chest.

And suddenly, he couldn’t breathe. The walls were too close. Everything was too much. He could only see her eyes, blank and empty. A call for help.

He‘d heard her scream and scream. But now she was here, dying in front of him.

She reached out, her voice weak, “Sherman… you did this.”

“No!” he roared, his voice bouncing off the walls of the maze. He charged forward, but as soon as he reached for her, the image shattered like glass, and he was left grasping at air. The ground beneath him felt unstable, like it could collapse at any moment.

“Get a grip,” he muttered to himself, running a hand through his sweat-drenched hair. “It’s not real. None of it is real.”

But it felt real. The Mist—or whatever malevolent force powered this maze—wasn’t pulling any punches. Sherman had faced monsters, rival demigods, and even the occasional Olympian temper tantrum. None of it compared to this. This was personal. This was a battlefield he couldn’t fight his way out of with brute strength.

The next turn brought him face to face with his father. Ares stood there, towering and clad in his intimidating biker-leather-and-battle-gear ensemble. The god’s sneer was unmistakable. “Pathetic,” Ares spat. “You think you’re worthy of my name? Look at you, cowering in a maze, letting your little fears control you. You’re nothing but a failure.”

Sherman’s first instinct was to lash out, to prove Ares wrong with his fists. But he forced himself to stop, to think. This wasn’t his father. It was another trick. The maze wanted him to react, to lose himself to anger and fear.

“Nice try,” Sherman said through gritted teeth. “But I’m not biting.”

Ares’s image dissolved, leaving Sherman alone again. The maze seemed to groan in frustration, the walls vibrating as if alive. Sherman’s lips curled into a smirk. “Didn’t like that, huh?”

He turned another corner, only to find himself in a familiar scene: his childhood home, or rather, the memory of it. His mother’s voice echoed through the air, sharp and cutting. “Why can’t you be normal? Why do you have to ruin everything?”

Sherman froze. He hadn’t thought about her in years. She had been a fleeting presence in his life, quick to anger and quicker to leave. Seeing her now, even as an illusion, was like a punch to the gut.

“You’re not real,” he said, his voice shaky. “You’re just another trick.”

But the illusion didn’t vanish. Instead, it grew stronger, more vivid. His mother’s face twisted with contempt as she stepped closer. “You’ll always be a disappointment, Sherman. A monster. Just like your father.”

For a moment, Sherman felt the familiar sting of her words, the helpless rage that used to consume him as a kid. But then he remembered Miranda’s voice, soft and grounding, cutting through his self-doubt during his darkest moments.

You’re more than your anger, Sherman , she’d told him once, after a particularly brutal training session. You’re more than what people see on the surface.

Sherman’s hands curled into fists, not out of anger, but resolve. “I’m not a monster,” he said, his voice steady. “I’m not you.”

The illusion shattered, and the maze trembled again. Sherman’s confidence grew. The maze fed on fear and anger, but if he could keep his head, he could fight back.

“Is that all you got?” he shouted, his voice echoing through the twisting corridors. “Come on! Show me something real!”

The maze obliged. The next corner brought him face to face with a version of himself. This Sherman was drenched in blood, a wicked grin on his face as he swung a brutal axe.

“You can’t escape me,” the doppelgänger growled. “You are me.”

Sherman stared at the twisted reflection, his heart pounding. It was a lie. He wasn’t that person. But the sight of it, the possibility of it, was enough to shake him.

Every child of Ares believed themself a monster. They were always treated more viciously than the rest. And Sherman believed it too, when he fought like hell was on fire and the world was his to paint red.

Monster. Monster. Monster. Everything would chant it at him.

He hated it. Hated it all.

The image snarled, lunging at him. Sherman braced himself, but the doppelgänger dissolved into mist before it could reach him. The maze groaned one final time before the walls began to shift, creating a path forward.

Sherman hesitated for only a moment before following it. He didn’t know if it was leading him to freedom or another trap, but standing still wasn’t an option. As he moved, he found himself thinking of Miranda again. He wanted her smile directed at him. Wanted her kind eyes back against his.

He’d seen the lifeless glances too much. Every other turn and a different Miranda was there. Dead.

Sherman took another step and this time, something sharp cut his leg. It felt bad. Terrible. Horrible. But everything was an illusion, so how could he have been hurt by–

Sherman barely turned around and blocked when he was met with a cyclops. Or, four cyclopes would be more accurate. It explained a lot. How the Mist maze was so powerful. Hecate’s followers, the monster of Mist.

Sherman groaned. “Seriously?”

“Take him alive!”

Sherman groaned. He preferred– Actually, no, these guys were physical and easy to fight. Illusions messed with everything he understood about reality.

He pulled out his sword.

And everything was back to normal. No twists and turns. No stupid mazes. Just monsters and fighting. Sherman could do that.

Or he thought he could.

Fifteen minutes later, and another gash on his arm, Sherman hid behind a wall in the sewer chamber (what the hell is wrong with this sewer?! Why were there so many chambers?!) and tried to keep his mind off the pain of the new gash, courtesy of one of the three hellhounds who had appeared out of nowhere, just when Sherman had nearly ended the final two cyclopes.

He heard a growl and something like footsteps padding from around the wall.

Sherman held up his sword, barely holding back the sigh.

This was so tiring.

He waited another second, allowed the footsteps closer, and then he turned and aimed his sword straight at…Percy’s head.

Sherman dropped his sword with a relieved gasp, though he’d deny it if asked.

He looked around quickly, noted the two Bats that had been with him were with Percy, and then looked back at Percy, who was not smiling or grinning or anything at the situation of him turning around and nearly slashing her. She would’ve made a joke by then, or maybe–

“Moss and Pyro are in trouble,” she said quickly. “We’ve gotta go.”

Any questions Sherman had were destroyed.

Moss—Miranda—was in trouble. And by the gods, Sherman was not losing her.

He’d rather die. He couldn’t live with himself. He’d burn the world if anything

Sherman followed Percy.

Everyone was dead. Everyone in this damn sewage system was dead.

If Percy found any single dead person, she’d raze the place to the ground. She would. She’d collapse everything. Burn it. Destroy it. She’d ruin the place if she found a single corpse from her family, her friends.

And it was only if they died because captured demigods were going to certainly be injured, but not killed.

She’d kill every single person if any of them were dead. Whether it was a demigod or a mortal hero.

She could tell she was scaring Jason Red Hood and Damian Robin. She knew she was scary when she walked like this, with power dripping from her. And maybe she could control it better, but Percy was furious.

Dick Ninja Nightwing, injured. Tigress, injured. Both tortured with godly ichor. Jason Red Hood was stuck in a nightmare of a maze. Damian Robin too, their fears brought to life. Sherman’s fears dragged from the depths of his mind.

She’d murder every single monster in this damn sewer system. Make them wish for Tartarus rather than her before them. If a single person died, no one was surviving Percy. Not tonight.

Cass looked around the corner. She could hear nothing of the conversation between Dr. Hugo Strange and the two monsters. But she did manage to catch “child of the sea” and “demigods”, so her assumptions of the Heroes had been right.

Demigods. Half-god, half-human. Children of gods, of power, of divinity. From the myths and legends, painted in the stars, stories for little kids. And yet, here they lived, real and powerful. And “child of the sea”, well, there was only one deity that could have children called “child of the sea”.

Poseidon. Which meant that their target was Percy—Astron—who certainly was not someone Cass wanted hurt. Percy was nice. She was kind. She was funny and helpful and fun to text. Her memes were cool, she had an interesting life, and maybe Cass didn’t know everything, but Cass liked Percy. If Percy was in danger, then Cass was not letting her get hurt. Percy was part of her family now, whether she liked it or not.

Cass kept one arm around Bart’s body, keeping him pressed against the wall. The boy looked terrified when he first saw the torture the Heroes were enduring.

They were demigods. They probably had faced so much adversity, but this torture was clearly different, even Cass had to admit it was a horrifying scene. She could not interfere, however, because the room was surrounded by monsters.

Sure, two were down there with Hugo Strange, but there were monsters everywhere.

And Cass was one person with two twin knives Percy had pulled out her hair and gave to her to use. Bart had none of Percy’s weapons since he knew not how to wield them. And Percy’s swords stuck with her.

Cass heard something else at that moment. Her coms crackled to life.

“Cass? Bart?”

Dick! Cass felt a tiny smile appear on her lips. Percy saved Dick and Artemis. “Here,” Cass whispered softly in reply.

She heard the sighs of relief on the other side of the coms. “Good. We’re coming, and I have…daggers,” Artemis said, her voice turning a bit confused at the end.

“Astron gave you daggers?” Bart asked quietly, barely holding his voice together. He’d seen it too. The scene of torture, the vials of gold…

“Yeah. She’s quite caring, despite appearances,” Artemis murmured. There was a silent pause, something hissed from Dick. “Gee, sorry, it’s not my fault our first meeting was her dramatic declaration and then decimating the simulation. She’s scary, Dick.”

“I know, but–”

“Stop,” interrupted Cass. She did not need to hear Dick and his defense of his crush. She understood his want to, but there were monsters, tortured Heroes, and they were the only back up as Percy, it seemed, had gone to meet up with the third task group.

“We can’t get in touch with Connor,” Bart added. “Coms are only working between us guys down here. Something…magical is interfering. I think.”

“Astron said as such,” Artemis said. “She said she couldn't contact the backup above. And she mentioned it was probably Hero magic interfering, since their coms operate on something other than ours…or something.”

“Their coms operate on a magical frequency,” Dick supplied. “But not right now. Situation?”

Cass glanced around the wall again, watched as Moss blinked and dropped her head again, her eyes glazing over. The screaming from Moss minutes ago still rang in Cass’ ears.

“The Heroes are being tortured by this golden liquid,” Bart answered as Cass stayed watching silently.

There was no answer for a few seconds, seconds that felt like minutes.

“Gold, you say? Semi-thick, same consistency as blood, screaming from pain?” questioned Dick, his voice tense.

“Yes.” Bart’s reply was thick.

“It’s good news that we’re back online, then,” Jason’s voice finally said. Relief flooded Cass, her brothers’ were safe. Which meant Percy had saved them too, or found them.

“Tt, what kind of gold liquid can be used for torture.”

“The worst kind,” came a dark reply to Cass’ youngest brother’s question. Percy, and she sounded furious, vengeful. “That liquid they poured upon your wounds, it’s no mere liquid.”

Cass returned to leaning against the wall and thought about it. No mere liquid. Golden in colour. And Percy’s tense voice.

Well, in Greek mythology, wasn’t the blood of gods’ golden? And wasn’t it called ichor?

Cass shook her head. She needed to focus and continue scanning the area, formulate a plan.

Or she should’ve, but the screaming was back. Heart-wrenching, painful screams. It destroyed Cass to hear such pain from two demigods, Pyro and Moss, Percy’s friends family.

But Cass was a realist, much to her own annoyance, and she knew she would never be able to face all these monsters with the speedster or not. Because monsters were faster than normal humans and even speedsters could not confuse them with speed.

“Orphan, what is that screaming?” Percy asked, the burning anger in her voice gone in an instant. And now, her voice was freezing, rigid, a different anger in it. Cass knew a voice like that, but she wasn’t scared. Percy wouldn’t hurt her.

“Heroes,” Cass answered softly. “Torture.”

“I’m going to murder them,” came Rage’s harsh words.

Cass could see it. Percy’s placating hand placed on the man’s shoulder, her mouth set as she turned to him. “We shall both, Rage, but we need a breakdown of the situation. How many monsters?”

“At least forty,” Bart responded quickly. “But I think more are coming. Something big is going on.”

There was silence again as the screaming ended and harsh, ragged breaths from both Heroes below filled the space. It echoed everywhere, the torment in their gasping breaths obvious.

“Robin, Hood, get to above ground, find Fury and Stygian and Superboy. Bring them down. Me and Rage will go on ahead.”

A wise decision. They’d need more demigods.

“What?” hissed Damian. “We wish–”

“You are part of this operation, Robin, but I will not be entering this situation without Stygian and Fury.”

“I hate to agree with Astron, kid, but she’s right,” grit out Rage. “Stygian and Astron are our best fighters. With them, there’s no worry of the monsters doing more harm. And two going is safer, less chance of sneak attacks.”

“What about the shadows? They got us before,” Artemis asked, her breaths now more laboured. She was running with Dick, clearly.

“The shadows are under Fury’s and Stygian’s control. If you get to the surface, they can protect Hood and Robin,” Percy replied. There was silence, and then Percy said, “Robin, I trust you, but I will need Stygian and Fury. You are not trained to fight these monsters, and while you have spirit, you do not have the battle senses of Heroes. It is the truth, so please, go to the surface with your brother, and come back with Stygian and Fury.”

A harsh truth, but Percy said it so well, that Cass knew Damian would listen. There were very few people that Damian trusted, but Cass had seen when he returned from his visit to Bludhaven, he respected Percy, or her Hero persona, Astron. He respected her and, albeit reluctantly, he would listen.

“Tt, understood.”

Three minutes later, Cass heard a buzz, and the lines with Jason and Damian were cut. They were out of the sewers. And their coms were no longer in the loop.

Cass glanced around the wall again.

Pyro was awake now, his hazel eyes glittered with fire. His eyes were darting everywhere and he was talking endlessly, chatting the eras off everyone. But Cass noticed how his hands were fiddling with the bonds holding him.

The bronze chains, the same metal as the Hellenics Division’s weapons, holding the two Heroes were clasped around their wrists, holding their wrists up. The Heroes were hanging from a wall with their feet inches above the ground, the chains holding them tight around their wrists, and as Pyro moved ever so slightly, Cass saw raw, red skin beneath the clasps.

Cass hated torture. She hated seeing others hurt, other people who protected the world too. And she actually liked the Heroes, or some of them.

“We’ve got to do something,” Bart muttered. “They’re in so much pain, I can feel it from here.”

“Same.” Cass could say no more. Because it was true. Their pain seemed to echo everywhere, seemed to burn itself into Cass’ skin. She didn’t like this. Didn’t like monsters. And she really, really wanted the screaming to end. Because it was so painful to hear, especially when it wasn’t hers.

Nico was worried. Yes, he was worried.

Nico wasn’t exactly close to Miranda, but he was close to Percy and Leo, Percy more so. And he did not want his cousin or friend to get hurt. He did not want to go down to the sewers to see their blood caking the walls as he’d seen in his dreams so often recently.

Nico glanced at Amy beside him, and he saw the concern in her indigo eyes too.

It had been too long. Too long since their check-in. Too long since they went down.

“Superboy, Vitality, land!” Amy shouted suddenly, and the hero in question did so immediately.

He looked between them, concern shining in his blue eyes too. “What do you think happened?”

The coms were cut off. He couldn’t get through. And look, Nico knew Percy was strong and would definitely be fine—or as fine as she could be with her severe depression and disinterest in fixing it—but he would always worry about her because Percy was his sister. No matter what anyone said, Percy was his sister and he’d rather die than let her get hurt. Same went for Leo. Miranda was the odd one out.

Paolo Montes—Vitality—also looked worried, which was natural. Paolo was the son of Hebe, and while he pretended to only speak Brazilian Portuguese (he could speak English, but he liked messing with people), Paolo was quite serious in times of need. Much like now.

Paolo closed his eyes. As the son of Hebe had the powers of hebekinesis and vitakinesis. It wasn’t that he could control youth, but he could make himself look younger. Vitakinesis was more his superhealing. He had a much better healing factor than most demigods, save for Apollo’s children. And sometimes he could heal others, or extend their life until a healer got to them. He could also sense life, faintly, but he could do it.

“Vitality, think you can check for them–”

“No need,” someone interrupted.

Nico turned with a glare at the offender, Percy’s favourite Batfamily member: Red Hood. “Hello,” he greeted curtly. “I will assume Astron, Pyro, Moss, and the others are alright.”

“No. Moss and Pyro are being tortured as we speak,” the little red demon said simply. And why the hell did Percy like this menace?! Nico doubted his cousin’s ability to judge people sometimes.

“What do you mean?” Amy managed evenly, but there was a chill in her voice.

“He means,” Red Hood said, squeezing his younger brother’s shoulder harshly, “that your friends have yet to be rescued because the situation is too dangerous. There are too many monsters that if anyone attacked, your friends would be dead in seconds. So, Astron sent us up here to bring you guys down. She and Rage are currently scouting the area closer than anyone else.”

Paolo nodded. “Makes sense, Astron would rather attack, but she’s not stupid. How should we do this?”

“Oh, we have instructions! Stygian, you are to go and meet Astron and Rage in the third tunnel from the chamber. Enter through this manhole  and turn right twice, take a left, reach a three-way fork and go through the middle fork, you’ll find them,” Red Hood explained. He then turned to Amy. “Vitality is to come with me and Robin. Fury and Superboy are wanted to join Nightwing and Tigress in the seventh tunnel connected to the chamber.

“I don’t know how she got detailed layouts, but Fury and Suoperboy should enter through this same sewage entrance and then turn left instead, continue dead ahead, and then turn right. You should meet Nightwing and Tigress there.” Red Hood took a moment to breathe. “Also, Astron told me to tell you, Fury, that, and I quote, “shadows are foes and the Mist shall be a burden, trust nothing”. Cryptic as fuck.”

“Makes perfect sense,” Amy replied. It did. The shadows were against them, some deity was clearly working with the monsters here. The Mist was working against them, which meant that there was either a child of Hecate, Hecate herself, or a powerful monster with Mist magic down there. Perhaps a group. And “trust nothing” implied that nothing was safe, the Mist magic too strong to be overpowered by pure will.

“O~kay, whatever that means.” Red Hood turned to Paolo last. “Astron wants you to come with me and Robin, said you would be needed to heal Pyro and Moss. We’re going to enter from the first tunnel, the one with the least number of traps. Astron mentioned it was because she’d need you there quickly to heal the other two while she, Stygian, and Rage stopped the monsters. Fury, Astron said you were to shadow travel with Vitality, Pyro, and Moss.”

“When did she come up with this?” Superboy asked.

Robin glanced at the taller, half-Kryptonian man. “Fifteen minutes ago, she explained the plan to us, after hearing a quick report from Kid Flash and Orphan,” he answered.

“And she made this plan on the spot?” Superboy looked at the three Heroes, Nico eyed him back. “You have really amazing strategists.”

“Oh, Astron’s not a strategist,” Paolo responded quickly. “But she’s great at thinking on her feet. Now let’s get moving.”

“None of you question her plans either,” Red Hood commented.

Amy glanced at Red Hood as Nico lifted the manhole cover. “Of course we don’t. It’s Astron.”

Nico dropped down and immediately turned right. When Percy gave orders, no one questioned them (except, perhaps, Chase, but that was a special thing). Not even Nico because he trusted Percy with his life.

(Unfortunately, he did not trust Percy with her own life, but he was being hypocritical, so he never really voiced that, lest he wanted her to rip into him. In a verbal battle, Percy had the upper hand. She also had the upperhand in physical combat, but that was beside the point.)

Nico moved through the labyrinthine sewers with a grim determination, his dark eyes scanning the environment for any sign of danger. The walls, cracked and coated in years of grime and filth, seemed to close in on him. Streaks of green and brown slime clung to the jagged surfaces, oozing downward in slow, nauseating trails. Occasionally, he brushed against the walls, the slickness making his skin crawl. The stench was overwhelming, a sickly mix of rot, waste, and decay that clung to his clothes and hair like a second skin.

The scuttling of insects echoed in the oppressive silence. Cockroaches the size of his thumb darted across the floor, their glossy bodies catching the dim light from his flickering flashlight. Spiders spun their webs in corners, their thin legs twitching as if sensing his presence. Nico suppressed a shudder as something small and quick brushed against his ankle. Rats, too, were everywhere—their beady eyes glinting from cracks and crevices, their tails whipping around corners as they fled the shadowed figure invading their domain.

Faint noises reached his ears, carried by the twisting tunnels. The growls and hisses of monsters patrolling somewhere deeper in the sewers. The sounds were distant but unmistakable: claws scraping against stone, heavy breathing, and guttural snarls that echoed endlessly. He gritted his teeth, his hand instinctively tightening around the hilt of his sword. The monsters didn’t know he was here—yet—but the noise served as a grim reminder of what lay ahead.

Water dripped from above, the droplets striking the ground with maddening regularity. The air was thick with the fetid odor of stagnant water, tinged with the sharp tang of sulfur. Nico’s stomach churned as he tried to breathe through his mouth, but even that offered little reprieve. The moisture hung heavy in the air, clinging to his skin and making his clothes stick to his body. He longed for fresh air, for the crisp wind of the open sky, but that was a distant luxury in this suffocating labyrinth.

His own footsteps were a constant companion, the echoing rhythm bouncing off the walls and returning to him in a distorted cadence. Each step seemed louder than the last, a relentless drumbeat announcing his presence. He tried to tread lightly, but the damp, uneven floor made silence impossible. It made him wonder about Percy’s unearthly skill to stay silent in areas like these. Nico was normally a silent treader, but he’d never be able to stay silent near water, almost like water mocked him. Perhaps the water aided Percy’s silence, her steps alive from them, but hidden from the world.

The shadows in the sewer were not merely an absence of light but seemed alive, sentient. They bent toward Nico as he passed, bowing at his feet like loyal subjects acknowledging their king. They clung to him, wrapping around his form as if drawn to the darkness within him. To anyone else, the shadows might have been a source of terror, but to Nico, they were almost comforting. He felt their deference, their willingness to obey his unspoken commands. They whispered promises of concealment and power, should he choose to embrace them fully.

The oppressive darkness of the sewer reminded Nico of the entrances to the Underworld. The air was cold, carrying a bone-deep chill that no amount of movement could shake. The dim light from his flashlight barely penetrated the gloom, casting long, distorted shadows that seemed to stretch endlessly. A sense of dread hung heavy in the air, a foreboding presence that seeped into his very soul. It was the same feeling he’d had the first time he’d ventured into the Underworld: an unshakable awareness of death’s proximity, of the fragile boundary between the living and the dead. It was a place where hope was a fleeting, fragile thing, easily snuffed out by the weight of despair.

He turned right, his second right, meaning left was next. This place disgusted him.

He had never liked water. Never would like it. But this water, this stench of blood and water mixed, it was probably worse to Percy. Nico saw all water as a danger, his father directly opposing an element that usually meant life. Water, it healed and none could survive without it. But sometimes, it smelt foul, smelt like death.

And Percy hated that stench far more than Nico. Water mixed with death was never a good thing. Nico could survive with the smell. But Percy was so finely attuned to every water source, she could probably be getting a minor headache by then from the mere disgust of this water. It’s revolting and rancid malodour…

Percy was affected by water sources around her. Sure, they gave her strength, but if the water was wrong, like something was fundamentally incorrect, it could hurt her at the same time as help.

So Nico ignored his annoyance with the water because Percy was clearly not having a better time, despite the front she had most likely put on. In all fairness, Nico, Percy, Thalia, Leo, Drew, Rachel, and Hazel were the only ones who knew this about water sources and Percy’s mental state with them.

He listened to the shadows instead. Heard their whispers of his reverence, listened to their reports on Percy and Sherman being close.

Nico exhaled as he took the first left.

Every wall in this place was the same yet different. The tunnel he crept in now was the same and yet different. Darker, more narrow, and yet the same cracked walls haunted his right and left. The same nauseating reek clung to the tunnel, like a cloak. The fading paint from long past graffitists would appear and then disappear as the tunnel wound on and on.

He caught a certain drawing in his peripheral vision. He paused momentarily to glance at it.

This artist was different. And the paint was not paint but blood. Someone used blood to write upon the walls. It looked engraved in the stonework, branded there forever, like a seal to the fate of the one whose blood was used.

“Thou hadst not heard of pain, not before thou felt my wrath,” the first sentence said. Nico wasn’t sure why someone wrote it like that, but it felt oddly specific. Revenge, of course, it meant. Someone that had hurt another had not felt true pain, not until the other person had taken revenge.

The sentence below looked more recent, almost like a reply. “It is not your wrath that I fear. Nor is it you who will exact revenge upon me.”

The conversation between the two continued along the tunnel. And Nico knew he was wasting time, but it felt different to read this conversation, engraved in stone. A conversation in blood.

“You cannot escape my ire.”

“Ire alone will never aid you in your retribution.”

“You will fear me, you foul incongruent child!” the fifth sentence said, this one far more hazardously written. “I will destroy you, my anger shall be your death sentence!”

“The anger that warms you now will leave you cold in your grave,” replied the child in blood. And right below that final sentence, there was a heap of bones. Children's bones.

Nico stared for a long time. This conversation had taken place approximately five years ago. Before the monster problem. He sensed it through the remains of the child murdered. And by the looks of the bones, the child had been at least fourteen.

Gotham’s underground is truly a horrid place, Nico thought as he turned away. But the child’s words resonated within him.

The anger that warms you now will leave you cold in your grave, the child had written. Written in warm blood from who knows where. And truly, he didn't know how an eleven year old would have such wisdom, but it reminded him of his anger towards Percy. His wish for revenge against Percy. It very nearly had left him cold in a labyrinth, much like this one, though perhaps a tad more deadly.

Nico shook himself from his stupor and took the middle fork he came upon.

But he could not rid himself of the blood upon the walls. Because it reminded him too much of Percy. How she too had only been a fourteen year old child when Nico’s sister died. How she too, had tried, truly tried, and Nico had used his anger as a means for revenge.

Nico stopped again, took a breath. He was panicking. He’d seen a fourteen year old’s heap of bones and had immediately thought of Percy had she taken Bianca’s place. Imagined her remains, but there would have been none.

It was crazy to think Percy had had such a profound effect on his life that he could not even dare to think of her death without some sort of pain gripping his chest. But she had and if Nico lost her, lost Hazel, lost Thalia, if he lost any of them, he would destroy the world. The world meant nothing without them.

He closed his eyes to regain his own mind and not the mind of a scared boy. But when his eyes shut, all he saw was blood.

The dream was a recurring one. He’d seen it many times and yet every time he saw it, he shook.

Because beneath his feet lay Hazel, her lifeless gold eyes gazing at him. To his right, Percy was on the ground, her back embedded in arrows. Thalia was stuck in a wall, a spike of earth stabbed through her chest. Leo was dust, nothing but dust, as Nico had been the cause, had crumbled him front inside out.

Nico screamed as he faced them all.

“Your fault,” they whispered. Whispered and whispered.

Death followed him like a second skin. Thanatos may have been its god, but Nico was its own making. He was its master and its feast. Its leader and yet its favourite toy.

Death stoll everything from him.

The world crumbled. Gold flashed in his vision. Red liquids ran towards him beneath the ground. And the shadows turned against him. Became hands that dragged him down. Threw him down.

They grasped at his warmth. His humanity. His lifeforce. His soul.

The shadows were against him.

Nico yelled. He tried to control anything around him, but nothing was there to listen to him.

Nico gasped. He checked his watch to see it had only been a minute. And yet it felt like hours.

The same dream, over and over again. But everyone died differently each time.

Sometimes it was him destroying them, turning their lungs to dust. Sometimes, they just died around him, protecting him. And sometimes, there was no death, just graves surrounding him, names of everyone.

Nico hated the dream.

Before he could continue down the now less narrow tunnel, Nico sensed the monster. A single monster.

His sword was out in seconds, the stygian iron blacker than nightmares, and the monster met a swift end. He sheathed the blade again and quickly moved down the tunnel.

When he exited, a sword met his throat. Percy’s spare, the slim blade cold against his throat. “You took too long.”

“There was blood upon the walls,” he replied, “I saw a child’s remains heaped at the bottom.”

Percy lowered her sword. “Indeed. We must move quickly. I fear it may have taken you too long.” She turned along with Sherman as Nico followed.

He did not need to apologise. He knew Percy understood why he had stopped. He was certain she would’ve stopped too.

“These remains?”

“Bones.”

“And the writing upon the wall?”

“A conversation between the abused and the abuser. The child’s words were striking,” Nico answered.

“I would like to see them afterwards,” Percy murmured.

“ Afterwards ,” Sherman stressed. “Moss and Pyro are top priority.”

“Agreed,” percy responded calmly, but Nico knew her enough to know she was worried.

Nico pulled out his sword again.

He followed Percy and Sherman as the two before him remained absolutely silent. He noted, somewhat amazed, that he too was silent. Percy’s powers, of course. She’d extended that silence in water to them. Sometimes, Percy’s powers amazed Nico. he was always shocked by how strong they were and how they always seemed endless.

Nico knew the limits to his power. But Percy’s powers always seemed limitless. She always surpassed what he believed possible. And it was quite intriguing.

Nico shook the thought away. He needed to focus.

Especially considering the scene they came to.

Exiting an unguarded tunnel, the three demigods hid behind a wall. And Nico looked around it briefly to see Miranda and Leo both chained to a wall, head drooped, deep cuts all over their body and blood dripping from more places than one should be able to survive.

He quickly grabbed Percy’s arm, shaking his head. Rushing in would get them killed. He also grabbed Sherman for good measure. He understood their want to get there, but they had to remember that the monsters could easily kill Miranda and Leo, especially with Nico and Percy both not having much water or shadows to work with.

It seemed that the monsters had foreseen their use of shadow travel to get closer.

“Please think clearly, Astron,” he requested. “You had a plan, let’s stick with it.”

“I agree with Stygian,” Nightwing added. “The mortal is Dr. Hugo Strange. He’s quite skilled in biochemistry and he very clearly is interested in you Heroes. He may escape at any sign of capture, which involves three Heroes and rushing in.”

“So, instead of rushing in, Rage, Astron, how about we formulate a plan,” Paolo added much to Nico’s gratitude. Paolo was good at diffusing situations.

“I’m listening,” Astron managed through grit teeth.

“No shadows around Moss and Puro. How about vapour travel? Can you get to them with that?” Amy asked.

“Yes,” Percy replied immediately.

“Okay, let’s alter your plan slightly. You cut Moss and Pyro from their bonds while Stygian uses shadows on the other side to attack monsters. Since Orphan has weapons, she’ll aid Rage from the fourth entrance tunnel. Nightwing and Tigress are equipped with monster-effective weapons, so when we enter from the seventh tunnel in approximately three minutes, they’ll join the fight.” Amy paused, gave herself a moment to breathe. “While Astron is defending Moss and Pyro, I can get in and shadow travel them out, along with Vitality to heal them. Red Hood, Kid Flash, Superboy, and Robin, you four will be watching for any escape of Hugo Strange. Clear?”

“Agreed.” Percy and Sherman were in perfect sync when they answered.

“Good. Now, let’s move,” Paolo finished.

And Percy disappeared in a puff of mist, the lingering scent of the sea a nice relief from the stench of the sewers.

“Tch, I hate it when she does that,” Sherman muttered.

Nico allowed himself a small smirk. And then he too disappeared, shrinking into the shadows as they welcomed him.

Jason took a deep breath as he followed Vitality. It was amazing how the foulness of the sewer seemed to disappear around Vitality, almost as if the stale air around him was returning to its normal form, breathable and revitalising.

The thought nearly made Jason stop in his tracks. Revitalising, and the man’s name was Vitality… Jason nearly laughed. So, he revitalised things around him/ Maybe that was why he was the designated healer or sorts.

Jason looked at the weapon in his hand. It was a sorocaban knife, a traditional Brazilian knife—or short sword—and he looked comfortable with it in his hand. So, a healer and a fighter.

Every single Hero from the Hellenics Division Jason encountered had very diverse weapons. Astron used dual swords and seemed to have an endless supply of daggers or knives. King held throwing knives. There was a group with bows and arrows, except a multitude of types (longbows, recurve bows, shortbows, and more). Spears seemed to be a favourite of theirs, though they were a bit more common in the Invictus Division. Then there were many people who used scythes. And of course, swords. Except, so many different swords.

Many Hellenics Heroes used xiphoses, kopides, broadswords, longswords, and some used dual swords, like Astron.

Though Astron was the enigma. She used dual swords, looked comfortable using them, but she also looked comfortable with own sword. A dual wielder, dangerous. But also interesting. Did she just want to have more options, or did she switch for personal reasons?

Thinking about the elusive partner of Dick, it also made Jason think of her silver streak. It prayed on his mind a lot actually. The silver streak. And the haze of death that hung over her shoulders. He’d recognised it the moment he saw Astron in her suit.

So, he clearly was very confused as to how she hid such an obvious silver streak as a civilian. Unless of course, his hunch was incorrect and Astron was not Percy Jackson. Which should be impossible because every person had a different death haze over them and no two people had the same one.

Which meant that Astron was indeed Percy Jackson and she somehow hid her silver streak of hair without a helmet, like Jason.

Jason shook his head. Focus.

They finally reached the end of the tunnel. And Jason nearly flinched from the signs of torture.

They got a full frontal view of the two Heroes.

It was, for a lack of better words, sickening. Absolutely abhorrent. Monstrous, though that was expected of monsters and Dr. Hugo Strange.

Pyro seemed to have been experimented on far more than Moss. Pyro’s entire arm was littered in tiny, miniscule cuts, but it covered every surface. His suit was torn around the midsection, a deep gash with the gold liquid lacing it glinted in the dim light.

Moss had a massive gash on her right arm and her left leg was cut through in the back of her calf. It was disgusting, what they’d done to the Heroes.

Jason felt green tinge his vision for a moment. Sure, these two were maybe a little older than him, but they were still people, and no one deserved to be tormented like this. Especially with how their mouths opened in silent screams, their throat too raw from all their previous screaming.

He noted how Vitality looked ready for murder, even with half his face covered. He well and truly looked like he was about to charge in with no regards to the plan they’d spoken about seconds earlier. But he held himself back right as chaos struck.

Watching three Heroes with no one around and their pent up anger finally being let loose was exhilarating in a different way. This anger was different to the fiery red everyone usually associated with the motion.

While red was big, loud, deadly. While red roared its ire. While it reared its wrathful head in all its glory. This anger was different. It was cold and cutting and sharper than any anger.

The monsters who so diligently guarded areas were sliced without remorse. There was nothing, not even a squeak, as their wrath became a whetted blade. Cool steel, razor-like. This wasn’t red. No, this anger was something else.

Jason had seen anger in many forms. Bright, too much. Smooth but still powerful. Roaring like a wildfire.

He had never seen anger so lethal. So cutting. So terrifyingly piercing.

He couldn’t help but watch in awe as monster after monster fell. Their screams never left their lips.

But something was off. They were going down too easily. Like they’d known they were coming. Like…they’d been waiting for it.

Jason’s eyes widened. “Watch out! The tunnels!”

Percy Astron heard him and she turned to look at the tunnels they hadn’t used. The ones Astron had said were crawling with too many monsters. Too many monsters as in an ambush. One none of them had thought would be coming.

Jason could do nought against them. Well, he could do nothing until four knives appeared in the wall beside the tunnel he and Damian were still standing in.

And they were Astron’s throwing knives.

He glanced at Damian then both of them took two  knives each. They had a weapon, now they needed to fight.

He understood then, why Tim had once frozen in the face of these guys. Their normal weapons didn’t work. It was petrifying, not having a way to fight against creatures. Having the skill but not the actual tools.

And with Astron’s throwing knives, he understood why Astron had helped Tim. She wanted him to understand that he too had a chance to fight. Maybe not all the time, but it was there, and it was accessible. They weren’t invincible.

And maybe Jason was angry too. At how invincible these monsters had seemed to him. How annoying it had been to not be able to fight them. And he channeled that anger into every single one of his strikes.

Sure, it took a few slashes with the small knives, but once buried in deep, the monster turned to gold dust. And Jason turned to the next one.

Invigorating. That was all it was.

He caught a brief look at Cass as she danced through the ranks of monsters expertly, another of Astron’s weapons in her hands. She had dual knives—Jason remembered Astron’s hair missing their usual knife pieces.

He caught Dick with Astron’s normal swords. They looked a little unbalanced in his hands, but it was expected since Astron and Dick had completely different physiques.

Vitality had already gotten to Moss and Pyro, both were being healed as Astron twirled in front, her swords nothing but blurs. She herself was mostly a blur of grey and blue. Her movements were swift at the moments where Jason could catch a glimpse.

Fury wasn’t there yet. Fury was still fighting her way–

There was a scream of pain. Jason instinctively turned to see Fury keeling over, a spear buried in her side.

And before anyone could even fathom, as Fury hit the ground, Astron was there. And one slash of her sword, five monsters gone.

Astron stayed above Fury’s body, defending it while Stygian moved to defend Vitality. There were no words exchanged between the two, almost like they spoke in each other’s minds.

And then Connor was there, throwing a monster to the side in Jason’s stupor at Astron’s reaction speed. Jason blinked and then ducked just as a spear sailed over his head. Connor caught the spear and threw it right back.

The monster crumbled before it was even fully impaled.

“Thank you,” Jason managed before turning to cut down another.

That reaction speed of Astron’s was inhuman. Actually, every single Hero had inhuman reaction speeds. Not to mention that Jason was tiring quickly against these monsters.

Was that what Astron meant when she said that they were not equipped nor able to fight monsters? Jason’s reaction speed was never going to be that fast, no matter how much he trained. And monsters didn’t seem to tire out.

They kept pouring into the chamber. Endless monsters, like a rushing river.

Jason twisted out of the way again, but something clipped his side, and he barely jumped away before a claw struck where he had just been.

This was painful. Even with weapons that worked, they were outnumbered and half of the people in the room were not Heroes. They were never going to have the Heroes’ abilities to fight endlessly, to keep up with these monsters, the instincts of a Hero It was almost like the instincts to fight monsters was engraved into their very soul.

Jason didn’t have that.

And Damina didn’t either.

Because while Rage had started his defense over Moss and Pyro while Vitality healed them, Stygian was over with Fury’s downed body (the spear was no longer in her side, but she could barely sit upright, let alone stand, while holding the wound), Astron had materialised right in behind of Damian.

Damian, who had been about to be struck by arrows from…normal humans. Normal humans and some monsters mingled among each other on the upper levels of the chamber. Arrows pointed down, and some aimed straight at Damian.

But Astron had stopped them. Not with her sword. Not with anything practical. She’d blocked him with her own body.

There was a pin drop silence. Because there weren't that many monsters left. And everyone was tired, but alive, or semi-alive. But Astron had several arrows stuck in her back. And she was hunched over Damian, her hair had fallen from her tie, shadowed her face.

And then she somehow straightened. She hadn’t even screamed. Hadn’t uttered a sound as the arrows hit her.

Jason knew why she’d done it.

She wouldn’t have been fast enough to block with her swords, lest she wished to decapitate Damian. And shoving Damian away would not have helped as there were more archers. So Astron’s own body became a shield.

But he could not believe it—even as he watched—Astron straightened like a dozen arrows in her back was nothing. And there was something faint glowing around, that bluish-green haze that had been around her on the rooftops earlier.

And then Astron managed a very weak, ghost of a smile at Damian’s shocked face. “You didn't see that coming?”

She dropped like a potato sack to the ground. Her swords clattered beside her.

There was a high, piercing sound.

Someone was screaming.

Chapter Text

Annabeth’s eyes widened as Percy slapped her hand away.

It had all been a stupid argument in a forest and Annabeth was sure it would blow over like the rest. But Percy held firm in her wish to break up and Annabeth couldn’t believe Percy’s stupidity.

Annabeth made Percy Jackson. She was the reason Percy was famous.

But as she watched Percy walk the gilded halls of Olympus redesigned, all she saw was Percy’s shadow cast over her. As she watched Percy speak easily, calmly, smoothly to gods and nymphs, she wondered where it had gone wrong. Because minor gods and major gods revered Percy. Nature spirits kneeled to her, bowed to her, like she was above them.

Percy was stupid and insolent and arrogant. She was above no one!

Annabeth was the hero. She was the reason everything worked out. She was–

“I am very happy to see you have finally rid yourself of Perseus Jackson. Now, you can grow on your own.”

Annabeth glanced over at her mother as she grasped a glass of champagne from the passing nymph. “Percy is being silly. We have not broken up and we will not, mother.”

Athena eyed her, her grey eyes glittering. She didn’t look like she believed Annabeth, but Annabeth knew she was right. Afterall, Percy always came crawling back to her. She and Percy were a duo, unstoppable, together.

“I would have thought that you of all people would finally listen to wisdom rather than rely on your hubris,” Athena replied tiredly, voice cold.

Annabeth rounded on Athena. “I have not–”

“Yes you have. You are now Annabeth Chase, architect of Olympus, not Perseus Jackson’s girlfriend. You are now out of Perseus’ shadow and you still have a chance to make a name for yourself outside of Perseus’ quests,” Athena’s sharp interruption came.

“I have a right to be proud of my work,” Annabeth snapped angrily. “I fought two wars and rebuilt your city.”

“Perhaps you did, but that was in Perseus’ shadow,” came the reply of one goddess of wisdom.

Annabeth’s fury enlarged. How dare her own mother dismiss– “Speak, mother! Have I not made you proud? Have I not done more than most? Why must you dismiss me like a mosquito!?”

“Enough, Annabeth, here is not the place.”

“No. Speak to me, Athena! I have done more than enough! Name what I have not achieved of my own merit!” Annabeth was far too angry to care about where they were. Besides, they were separated, most of the crowd had moved along and were…crowding around Percy.

Of course they were. Annabeth would make sure to teach Percy not to allow men or women near her, whether they were mortal or divine. She’d said it enough, but Percy was clearly too imbecilic to understand.

Annabeth ignored it, her stormy eyes focused solely on her mother. “Tell me what impossible standards I have yet to meet!” demanded Annabeth.

“My standards are appropriately high,” Athena responded, placing her glass down on the balcony railing. The one Annabeth had designed to overlook the grounds below, the gardens of Olympus. “It is me who is at fault for believing Perseus would succumb to her flaw. It seemed that you were the one who had a weaker will.

“You are not the greatest hero to have ever lived,” Athena continued coldly. “There are very few who can make this claim, and one is a woman with feats far surpassing yours.” Perseus Jackson was the unspoken name. “You are a good hero, Annabeth, a great one even, but you will never be the greatest. However, you still have a chance to engrave your names into history. You must begin now, out of Perseus’ feats.”

A fucking wildfire screamed inside her. The blood, sweat, tears, pain– She suffered for the gods. For Athena. And Athena dared to stand before her in a perfect white toga and talk down to her, like she was some common bitch. “How dare yo–”

“Do not use anger, Annabeth,” Athena cut in. “Use your wisdom. Your quests. Prove me wrong.”

Annabeth took a deep breath. “All of them. All of them prove you wrong,” she hissed.

“Really? How so?”

Annabeth glared, but she took another breath as she unclenched her balled fists. “The second titan war. I–”

“Perseus’ strategy. In fact, it was Perseus who saved us from Typhon through her strategy. Was it not Perseus who sacrificed Hope to Lady Hestia? It was Perseus who delivered the final blow to Luke Castellan.” Athena stared down at Annabeth, her neverending grey was far too frosty. “Next.”

“Arachne.”

“And your own pride led to you falling into Tartarus. Was it not Perseus who saved you? Was it not Perseus who slayed Arachne in the end?! You would not have survived without her.” And then Athena’s eyes sparked angrily. “Besides, you did not retrieve my Parthenos. You found it, but it was Nico di Angelo, Praetor Reyna, and Satyr Hedge who truly returned my Parthenos.” Athena’s glare disappeared. “Next.”

Each point Annabeth made was cut down. Destroyed. She’d considered all of these achievements incredible and yet somehow, they all linked back to Percy. Percy fucking Jackson.

“Disappointing, truly.” Athena turned from Annabeth, her eyes finding Percy, now laughing with Hermes as they seemed to be poking fun at Apollo. Like friends. “Perseus Jackson surpassed my expectations. In fact, she destroyed them. You have yet to meet any.” Athena looked back at her, her unforgiving grey still icy. “You were too proud, Annabeth.”

“I was proud because I did something! I know I achieved much, mother!” Annabeth defended, though her shock did not leave her.

Percy… It was always Percy! Annabeth made Perseus Jackson. Annabeth was the reason Percy was even known. Percy wouldn’t have survived without her, she would've been destroyed without Annabeth Chase. Why couldn’t Athena see?

“I’m still climbing higher. I am a great hero. Percy was nothing without me!”

“And yet, you do not fear the fall,” Athena replied, eyeing Annabeth like she truly was a cockroach. “You reach and reach for something, climbed a ladder. It’s not the heights you’ve climbed that will destroy you, but the belief that the world owes you the summit. It is the shadows still cast upon your so-called achievements when Perseus played a larger part.” Athena turned away again, once again looking at the stupid, seaweed brained daughter of Poseidon. “Perseus Jackson was the only reason half of what you accomplished was possible. In fact, you would have never even left camo had Perseus not taken you on her quest when Perseus was 12.

“You have achieved nothing of your own merit, Annabeth. You are nothing without Perseus, Annabeth. And now you two have parted, it would be wise to remove your ladder from Perseus’ still growing apple tree and find another tree to climb. Pick your own apples, do not find fruit from another’s.” Annabeth could say nothing as her mother spoke. As her mother ripped into her. “It is time to do something on your own, Annabeth. You are behind Perseus’ tower of feats, feats most heroes can never claim to have achieved. You will never have light shine on you lest it is reflected from Perseus.”

“That is not true!”

“History will forget you.” And Athena turned and left.

Annabeth’s world shattered. History could never forget her. She was Annabeth Chase, the architect of Olympus. Percy was just that stupid girl–

Annabeth stared at Percy as she easily weaved among divine beings, beings Annabeth feared healthily. Beings Annabeth revered and respected. She watched As Percy tapped them, made no move to bow, smiled easily.

She noticed how Percy was some sort of beacon. How Olympus turned to Percy. How she stood and spoke to gods and creatures as easily as breathing.

History will forget you.

It wasn’t fair, Percy had everything: power, parents, love, acknowledgment. Annabeth hated her. Hated that stupid, clueless girl Annabeth had molded. She had molded Perseus Jackson! No one else.

But then their eyes met. Grey to sea green, and the kind waves that Annabeth usually lost herself in threatened to drown her. They darkened with fury, cold. Annabeth knew that look. And suddenly, it wasn’t Annabeth who was untouchable, but Percy.

Annabeth shot up, a sheen of sweat covering her. She was an architect, a woman of strength, and yet one glance from Percy in her dream and she was terrified. Terrified of the dormant monster inside that thing.

She shivered subconsciously. All she had ever seen since Tartarus was Percy and her bloodlust.

When Annabeth had told Piper, Piper had agreed with her. Had said Percy should be controlled. Annabeth did that. She had been the sole reason Percy never went crazy, until Percy broke up with her, destroying her image. She’d tamed Percy. History could never forget her.

But her mother had cast so much honour upon Percy’s achievements, and had made hints towards godhood. Annabeth deserved godhood. Annabeth was more than Percy could ever be, wasn’t she? Wasn’t she the reason Percy even survived to the age of 21, before they broke up.

Annabeth was certain of one thing: Percy would never ascend to godhood. She hated the very idea of immortality, of things staying the same forever. A weakness. Annabeth would accept, she’d be immortalised, could create for thousands of years. Percy was weak. Pathetic. Stupid.

But as Annabeth moved around her apartment that morning, her eyes often wandered to the seashells. And she wondered: would history truly forget her? Was she really just a stepping stone in Percy’s glory?

And she hated that. Her pride would never allow her to be nothing more than a stepping stone.

Annabeth sighed. She had her patrol rotation of San Francisco that night. She’d be fine. She was Annabeth Chase.

Thanatos was death itself. Not the dead. Not dying. He was death. The embodiment of death. The entire reason death existed. In more common terms, he was the Grim Reaper.

Death was a normal part of life. It was, truly. Death was in life and life was in death. As was the rule of the world.

So Thanatos would roam the lands every day, collecting souls, for he was Death.

But as he shimmered in the chamber to see Perseus fall, her back looking more like a pincushion than a back, he rethought it all.

Thanatos was not affected by death. He would not feel pain for the loss of another, but Perseus had always been different. She was ailed by the death of another, but her own death meant nothing to her. Her own life meant nothing to her. Thanatos would know, afterall, his first true meeting with Perseus involved her sighing about the beauty of death.

See, Thanatos had watched many times as Perseus neared death. Neared the line between life and death, perhaps crossed over slightly, and then returned to life. But her fate had yet to be decided then, her thread still not fully woven, and her death not yet to come.

But when he first truly met her, sixteen years old and a veteran of the Second Titan War, Thanatos knew she cared for nothing more than the life of her friends. And her own life was lesser in her eyes.

It was made truly obvious upon the glacier in Alaska.

And Thanatos recalled the memory as Perseus’ fading heartbeats drummed in his ears.

Thanatos was chained. It was annoying that the dead were not remaining dead due to these chains holding him. But he knew his escape was coming. It was obvious when three demigods appeared.

The first was a girl, 13 years old, young and her golden eyes a clear show of her parentage. Hazel Levesque, an escaper of death, and yet her name was not on Thanatos’ list when he last checked. The second godling was a boy, 17 in age, and tall, well-built. A son of Mars from the aura of war that he reeked of, but a descendant of Neptune from the blessing woven within. And he saw the fire of life that tethered the child of war to the world.

But it was the final demigod that was with the other two that Thanatos had to blink at before it settled into his mind which godling was before him. Perseus Jackson, daughter of Poseidon, the rejecter of godhood, slayer of the Minotaur, and far more titles than a sixteen year old should have. Especially after only four years of questing. But her death was also what he saw. Her name flashed on his list sometimes and then disappeared. Her fate was yet to be decided. She was an enigma to death. Escaping it by a hair’s breadth and still grinning at it like it was a friend.

She did the same now. Smiled at Thanatos, her eyes sparkling as they came to be before him. “And I suppose we have found Death, chained… But who would have thought Death was beautiful?” And she smirked in a way no other had ever.

Thanatos eyed the demigod of the sea. “You flatter me, Saviour of Olympus.”

“Why of course, I must, Thanatos,” Perseus replied with a sweeping bow and a twinkle in her sea green eyes. “For, though I had my doubts, I see now why Death is considered beautiful. For who would not wish to escape misery?”

Oh, Thanatos realised then just what kind of person Perseus Jackson was. She did not have the normal fate of a demigod, not because Fate had yet to finish weaving her thread, but because she greeted Death like a friend. Embraced it willingly. Perhaps she saw its wings as freedom or perhaps she liked how simple it would be to escape.

“You are not to die yet, my Lady.”

“Most unfortunate, Lord Thanatos. But perhaps, we can meet again, one day, when your chains are not so cold and your wings are not so dreary,” Perseus offered with a mischievous grin.

“Okay, Perseus–”

“Percy,” she automatically corrected, and then her thoughts halted, like she could hardly believe her own words. Perseus blinked, Thanatos could see the pain she held back her flinch of pain, something shooting at her head. “My name is Percy,” she finished, the flash of hurt gone.

There was a pause in which Perseus’ companions looked shocked before Hazel once again nodded, “Sorry. Percy, let’s not flirt with the embodiment of death, please.”

“But why not? When else shall I get the chance to speak to Death. Besides, the chains that hold death can not be cut by my sword nor melted by my power–” Perseus’ eyes widened, her sea green irises flitting between the chains and Frank. “I see, well I suppose we shall meet again, sooner rather than later, Thanatos. The fire of life will be your aid to escape, for only life can fight death.”

She was wise, he realised, contrary to the rumours. Rumours of Perseus painted her as a reckless child with no idea of her mind till the plan came to pass. But this Perseus was not. She was smart and quick.

“Frank Zhang, your friend is correct,” Thanatos murmured to the child of war.

Frank looked at him as he held his hand out to Hazel, eyes blazing with determination. “I understand.”

And Thanatos could not help himself as he looked to Perseus once more. “Your time will come, one day, Lady Perseus.”

“Indeed, it shall, I suppose.” She grinned at him as her sword materialised within her hand, “But for now, I shall settle as your defense.” And she winked at him.

When Thanatos was freed and had checked his list, he noted the lack of Hazel’s name, but Perseus’ flickered upon the list for a moment before it disappeared. Again, he wondered of her fate.

And as he gazed upon the storm, the one conjured by the child of the sea, he found himself more confused. Perseus Jackson flirted with Death like it was a joke, but Death knew otherwise. Death saw through her quick quips, saw to the dislike of her own life, and Death wondered. The line between life and death was a precarious line, one Thanatos watched often. And it seemed, Perseus Jackson did not watch the line, but she used it like a skipping rope, or perhaps like a thread to sew into her life, weaving into her own tapestry.

As Perseus had said, Thanatos supposed. Only life can fight death. But perhaps, she had forgotten how easily life and death kneeled to each other.

Thanatos often recalled that memory because she was one of the few heroes in any generation to ever so easily welcome Death, speak to it like a friend.

Thanatos often wondered why people feared death. It was a part of the cycle of life, existed because if it didn’t life would not exist. So, why did people fear it?

And now he saw, or caught a glimpse, of why.

Because Perseus’ crumpled form was not turned into monster food. Instead, a scream escaped Miranda Gardiner. A scream so powerful, the earth shook and vines erupted from the ground, greenery that did not exist roared and clawed out of the very confines of the concrete that covered it. And Miranda Gardiner screamed, her power let out as green coated her in a glow. Vines wrapped around her body, crept over it, covered her in an armour of thorns.

The second child, a child of fire, did not scream. His fire was blue, a cold blue despite the intensity of the flames. And his fire whipped out in sharp tendrils of power. His anger was palpable at just how much Perseus’ crumpled form affected him. The fire danced in and out of the wines, lashing flames.

This was not a place for death, not yet, it seemed. Well, not for Perseus. The other mortals who faced the wrath of demigods were not so safe from death.

He checked his list and Perseus’ name flickered upon the screen then disappeared again.

What an interesting fate, the god who wasn’t, he thought, the barest hints of a smile touching his lips.

He checked his tablet one last time, noticed a new name glittering below a few different names, and suddenly his former thought retracted. This was not a place for Perseus to die. But the mortals and one other would certainly not be so lucky.

And then Thanatos faded, flickered from the sewer chamber. He would return when the soul he needed to collect left the world.

Damian was thankful for the knives Astron had allowed him to use. He was very thankful for it, until he realised that he could not keep up with these monsters forever.

While it was exhilarating to be able to strike down monsters, formerly invincible creatures, the difference in speed was clear. The difference in his battle instincts was clear. Astron fought not purely on instinct, but with senses ingrained into her very being, she could most likely move between a crowd without touching a single person. Much like how she fought then.

In the brief glimpses Damian caught, he saw how she fought and admired it even more. It was mesmerising, truly, to see a fighting style so well crafted, so unique, so deadly.

Well, his former thoughts of not being fast enough were proven very true when someone yelled his vigilante name. And Robin turned to see Astron’s tall, built frame towering over him. Her swords, the spare pair, were held tightly in her hands as she stood over him. He glanced up, past her hunched shoulder, to see bowmen and monsters with bows.

And Damian caught sight of the arrows buried into her back.

He looked at Astron’s face as she straightened like the arrows were nothing, not even a hindrance. He saw the way her lips curved into the ghost of a smile, almost mischievous. “You didn’t see that coming?” she asked, her tone teasing.

And then she dropped to the ground, swords clattering to the ground, eyes shut, mouth still stuck in that faint smile.

Before any more arrows or monsters or human criminals could attack, a scream echoed through the chamber. Damian slowly turned, eyes widening as he saw vines breaking through the stonework of ground, rising to wrap around Moss. Moss herself was glowing, her hands raised as vines whipped out and tore down monster after monster.

It was the same for Pyro, whose fire leaked off him in brilliant blue flames, white flashes, red eyes. He was encased in them as his fire whipped out like uncontrollable lashes. Burned monsters to fine gold dust.

The human bowmen did not escape either. Stalks with thorns squeezed around them, blood dropped from the wounds. Pyro’s flames destroyed the body, the bones, everything. There were no bodies left for the humans who met flames instead of thorns.

And then Pyro’s flames died as the monsters and humans were ended.

Moss walked forward slowly, out of Rage’s arms, her eyes set on Astron’s body. She kneeled as her power almost worked unconsciously. She brushed over Astron’s wounds, her eyes closed now.

From her hands, a softer green glow emitted, brushing against Astron’s wounds.

Damian watched, enraptured, as the glow encased Astron for a moment. “She is alive,” Moss called out. There seemed to be a collective breath of relief from every Hero in the room. “But she must be removed from the sewers last. Though the water is…disgusting, there is no close water source other than this one, and she draws upon its strength, even in this state.” Moss stood again, her vines dropping from her, retreating back to the earth it erupted from. “Begin moving, take Fury out first.”

No one questioned Moss as they agreed.

Rage stepped over to Moss and Damian pried himself away from Astron’s body. He couldn’t look at it any longer, her back marked by a dozen arrows, taking the injuries instead of him.

It felt foreign, having someone jump into the way of injury. Yes, his family tolerated companions had done so, but an injury to this extent… In fact, Damian had never seen anyone try to take an injury of this extent, whether it was family or not.

Grayson pulled him away softly, but Damian felt his trembling hands. He noted Cass’ frantic glances (well, not really frantic, but she glanced back sparingly, which was more than she ever did). Todd too, who would occasionally turn his head, like he was watching the protected form of Astron before shaking his head and turning away to help Stygian collect the vials.

He’d heard all about this operation, Damian had. It was meant to be covert, eight people doing a simple recon of Crime Alley and it turned into a kidnapping, torture session, and near-death experience.

Damian tried to focus. Tried to think straight. He was twelve! He was trained! He should not be so affected by this, but Damian got the feeling that had it happened to Grayson, Todd, Cass, Father, Alfred, hell even Drake, he would’ve acted the same. When did he become so soft? When did he begin caring for these people? And how had Astron wormed her way into the group when he didn’t even know her identity?!

As Damian followed Pyro’s fire through the dark tunnels to the manhole they would use for an exit from the miserable sewers, he could not help but wonder about the powers displayed. If only to take his mind off Astron.

He glanced at the fire in Pyro’s hand.

The League of Heroes had never explicitly withheld the information of owning powers, but all the powers were so different, it made Damian wonder how they came to be.

Metahumans? he questioned, but it seemed unlikely. Metahumans’ eyes did not glow when their power was used. They did not have an aura of power, and they certainly didn’t have battle instincts like the League of Heroes.

Damian wondered about the powers he had seen.

Pyro and fire, which made sense as the word “pyro” meant fire. Moss could control vines and…plantlife? Stygian held control over shadows, similar to Fury, though Stygian’s control seemed more refined than Fury’s. Rage didn’t have a specific power, but he seemed more physically enhanced than the others. And Astron…

Vapour travel… Water vapour is water in gas form, so vapour travel could refer to teleportation through water vapour, Damian thought as he climbed the ladder leading to the exit.

Vitality was staying down with Moss and Stygian. Pyro was leading them out. Kent had already taken Fury out with Rage, the two Heroes already gone to get Fury medical attention.

“Why must Astron remain down there?”

“Astron has a powerful healing factor, but it is only activated near water, and until we are certain of Stygian’s powers being available for use and the safety of the chamber is certain, we cannot move her,” Pyro answered. “Besides, she’s unconsciously sustaining her life down there. Removing her could possibly remove her chance at living, and none of us want Astron dead.” He rounded on them. “Right?”

There was a big “no” from everyone, Damian included.

Damian hoped that the entire kidnapping and Gotham city experimentation was over. And yes, it was unfortunate that Dr. Hugo Strange managed to escape in the end, but having Astron was a good thing.

Except Damian jinxed himself and everyone down there.

Because right as they exited the, there was a loud, resounding, ear-shattering boom.

Hugo Strange was mostly a psychiatrist. But he was also a biochemist and when the Heroes came to light, he had to just understand how they worked. How their powers worked. They could’ve been extremely powerful metahumans.

But when he finally got a hand on one in his own lab, with the aid of some monsters, it was so much more.

Demigods. The Heroes were extremely powerful demigods with ichor and blood. And he needed to do more tests.

He caught unclaimed—or unfound—demigods, demigods yet to get to the safety of their camps. He took them and tested and tested, but none lasted long enough. They died and died. Until they’d captured demigods in the field. And suddenly they took longer to die, lasted longer during experiments.

It had been going for seven months before Hugo realised that the Heroes picked up on the problem, the increased monster activity in Gotham.

He couldn’t help how delighted he was when he got two people. But now, he realised just why these two were sent with the other two. This was their recon, but they sent strong ones. Ones who were not afraid of Batman’s order for no killing.

He watched, hidden, as flames consumed everything. Blue shone in every corner. And the fire that was hotter than lava, it shone colder than ice.

Hugo feared this one. In fact, he feared them all. When the one in darkness had easily destroyed fourteen monsters in milliseconds. When the angry one had shouted a cry of war and souls rose from the ground. When the girl with blonde hair and green eyes encased everything in vines and thorns and called forth the earth, breaking through the barrier of her power. When the one ignited controlled fire into thin whips, burned humans and monsters alike. When the healer one emitted a surreal glow, his eyes glinting powerfully, and how he revitalised the air around him from its stale state.

And how he saw one cut chains, break through a rank of twenty monsters, her hair glittering with a silver streak, her blades a whirlwind, and she stood fine for seconds after arrows striking her back.

Hugo was straightforward. He did not believe in fear. He believed in furthering his understanding of specimens with experiments. But these were no normal specimens. They were trained demigods with fight branded into their souls and a call for blood engraved into their hearts.

He made eye contact with the woman embedded with arrows.

He wasn’t sure which demigod she was. But she looked straight at him, through her domino mask, and suddenly Hugo turned and fled.

He was glad for the failsafe. The Greek fire that lined the caves would destroy everything. He just needed to get out of the blast zone. The blast zone, which was very, very large. Meaning he had to get out of the sewer system below Crime Alley.

Twists and turns, no illusions from those pesky empousai thankfully, and he passed the red markers. He was out of the blast zone. Out of the frying pan. The demigods and annoying vigilantes were in the fire.

Hugo detonated the chamber and connected tunnels.

Nothing would survive lest they were above ground.

Perseus Jackson, the god that wasn’t. The bearer of the sky. The Child of Ocean. The blessed. The favoured. The Princess of the Sea.

The names followed Perseus, every monster whispered it as she passed them, as they chased her. She’d only just left Lady Lupa and she already knew it all. Her name was revered, feared.

Perseus Jackson, the Saviour of Olympus. Perseus Jackson, the Daughter of Poseidon.

But Lady Lupa told her she was a child of Neptune. Except it felt wrong. Neptune wasn’t correct. Nor was Poseidon. Neither felt correct.

Everything was too much as she took a break.

She gained looks from passersby, people staring at her like she was an alien. Maybe she was. Because something clawed at her insides. Her skin felt wrong upon her, like she wasn’t Perseus Jackson. But then, who was she?

She didn’t like the titles they gave her.

Slayer of the Minotaur.

The favoured of the sea.

The blessed Hero.

Waker of Typhon.

The defeater of Medusa.

The conqueror of the Labyrinth.

Fear fears her.

She felt like an outsider in her own skin.

She wanted to rip her skin off. Figure out what lay beneath. She wanted to understand why she could not remember anything. The faint memories of a blonde, the kind smile of a blue-eyed woman, the bleating laughter of someone she could not name nor see.

“Perseus Jackson,” she whispered her own name, wondering what it meant. “The god who almost was. The god who wasn’t.”

They resonated with her. These titles she never remembered gaining, but she knew them, she’d heard them from somewhere.

Perseus stared up at the sky, her eyes tracing the Huntress constellation.

“Who am I?”

The constellation only continued running across the sky, no answer in its footsteps.

Perseus pushed herself off the wall. Who was she? Who was the god who almost was? Why did she have these titles? Where did she gain them? How did she come by titles so strong even Lady Lupa knew her name before Perseus knew her own?

She shook her head, ridding herself of her wonder.

Perseus took another step onwards. She needed to get to Camp Jupiter as Lady Lupa instructed.

Clarisse La Rue remembered when the problem first started and she went out into the field. She remembered when it became harder and harder to manage. When they started working with the Justice League. She remembered it all.

Clarisse had always been stereotyped as a lover of fighting. War was in her blood, her veins, her heart. It reared its monstrous head in her nightmares, it was her greatest fear and closest ally. War was ingrained into her very bones. But Clarisse didn’t like it. She didn’t like how she constantly fought, how people called her the Monster of Battles. She was not a monster. She was not like her father.

Crazy, wasn’t it, how Clarisse had once worked so hard to be accepted by her father, but now she rejected the entire idea of him?

Most children of Ares were mistaken as born warriors, children of war were thought to be monsters in battle. Every child of War—Greek child of War because Mars was calmer, yes violent, but smarter, and those with smarts were never considered monsters—they carried the weight of it upon their shoulders.

Clarisse hated it. Hated that her entire cabin was ruled as a monster.

But there was someone else who also held that title. A child of the sea.

When Clarisse first met her, the girl had been a scrawny, wimpy girl with no muscle, no skill, and pure luck. But then she’d seen it, the dormant anger, the fire, the power. She’d seen the eyes directed at her, the glow of power beneath her skin. Clarisse hated her.

Until she couldn’t hate her. Because the child of the sea had given her honour and more than just the title of “monster”. She’d given her her quest, her win, her strength. And then she’d aided Clarisse again. And suddenly, Percy wasn’t someone to hate, but someone to respect,to battle alongside, and maybe have the occasional spat, but she was an ally, and later on, she became a friend.

Clarisse remembered it clearly. The moment she feared she’d lose it all, and then Percy did the unthinkable. Clarisse’s first quest, and the one who Clarisse had thought only ever wanted glory, relinquished it all for Clarisse.

She remembered it like it was yesterday. The moment where all the pressure her father placed upon her became an unbearable weight and then the pressure lifted and Clarisse was returning home.

It’s your quest. We only have enough money for one flight. Besides, I can’t travel by air. Zeus would blast me into a million pieces. That’s what the prophecy meant: you’d fail without friends, meaning you’d need our help, but you’d have to fly home alone. You have to get the Fleece back safely.

Percy had said it so easily, like giving Clarisse honour and glory was nothing. Like safety was far more important than winning. And Clarisse was glad she’d trusted her.

Because they truly had become an unstoppable force when they fought together.

Child of war, Monster of Battle, she held these titles with no pride. Hero of Olympus, Slayer of the Drakon.

But, Bringer of Strength… She liked that title, the one bestowed upon her by demigods, the one she gained when she became the strength of the demigods, defeating the Drakon. Clarisse owned it with pride.

And sometimes, though Percy would never know (thankfully), she internally thanked Percy for calling her that at the celebratory feast. Percy who wanted no glory, yet held so many titles, gave others titles they truly did like, not ones given by the gods.

Clarisse had known since the little runt (not so little anymore) had defeated her soundly in battle that she was like Clarisse. And really? She hated the title of monster just as much as Percy. So really, she was glad that Percy somehow gave her that title, no one else, just another woman like her who was called a monster, but wasn’t.

“Mom… I… I broke up with Annabeth.”

Sally stared at her daughter before pushing the mug of hot chocolate towards her. “Do you think it was the right decision?”

“Yes.”

“Then I support you,” Sally replied.

This was her daughter and while Percy may doubt her decisions, Sally trusted them explicitly. Percy was a smart young woman with so much strength, Sally would never doubt a thing about her daughter. Her amazing, brilliant daughter, who survived.

Percy looked up at Sally’s words, her eyes cracked and glistening. “Why does it hurt so much? I know this was the right decision. I– I’m certain I was correct to do this, but Mom, it hurts. It hurts so much. I hate it.”

Sally rounded the kitchen island and pulled Percy into a hug. She felt the tears soak into her shirt and felt good that her daughter was comfortable to cry in her presence. Even if it was tears of pain, she was glad her daughter was comfortable to cry in her presence.

“Mom, why does it–”

“Sometimes, the memories we make with someone, no matter how much they hurt us, are always special to us. Sometimes, little parts of our heart that we gave to them need time to return to us and to heal. It’s always going to hurt, losing something so close to you, but that’s just a part of life.” Sally pushed back and cupped her daughter’s face, made her look up at her as she brushed her daughter’s tears with her thumb. “We love and we lose the love, but the memories that hold the love need a little more time to right themselves. It’s going to hurt, but that’s the first step to healing.”

Percy nodded, closing her eyes and leaning into Sally’s hand. And suddenly, it was Sally and her 7 year old daughter after a fight in school. And then it was Sally and her 21 year old daughter after a broken relationship.

Sally pulled her daughter in for a hug again. She didn’t know what exactly happened between Percy and Annabeth, but Sally was always on her daughter’s side. No matter what.

Sally shot up, fear clinging to her. Something was warning her.

Percy was going to visit them in a week. Percy said she was only in Gotham to scout out the problem and then she’d visit, but something was utterly, absolutely wrong. And Sally knew in her very bones that it was to do with Percy.

Sally quietly got out of her and Paul’s bed, her footsteps soft as she entered Estelle’s room.

The wall she faced upon her entry was the one with Atlantis painted with all its towering turrets of Atlantean architecture. Fish swam around it, sometimes moving ever so slightly, showing the magic cast upon the art.

The wall to Sally’s right was the one Estelle had specifically requested. It was of Percy, her eyes glowing and her scars all painted to the finest detail. Estelle had said that when she woke up, she wanted to be reminded of her strong and brave sister everyday. Percy had cried at that and Rachel had been all too happy to paint it. And while it was incredibly cool, Sally had also found it terribly odd to stare at a perfect painting of Percy with her power let loose and the water around her almost bowing in the painting.

The wall to Sally’s left was the one Estelle’s bed was pushed against, along with where Estelle rested. This was of the galaxy, stars adorning it. Percy had said Estelle deserved the galaxy, but because she couldn’t give it, she’d asked for Rachel to paint it. Estelle had beamed so brightly, Sally had been so glad to have her two daughters.

The final wall, the one with the door, had waves painted over it. And a beach at the corner of the wall, with surfboards leaning against a shack.

All in all, the room was beautiful and Estelle had been very happy with the painting. And now, Sally entered and sat down on the edge of her younger daughter’s bed, brushed a hair from her face, and stared at the child.

Estelle had Sally’s brown hair, though hers was a few shades darker, and she had Paul’s green eyes. Sometimes, Sally saw Percy in Estelle, but Estelle’s eyes were too green, her hair a tad too light, and her face not tanned nor as sharp as Percy’s. But Sally saw all the difference and still sat there if only to feel alright because no matter the differences, no matter the lack of full-blood relation, Estelle and Percy were similar enough that sometimes Sally could fool herself into thinking she was gazing upon Percy as a child again.

She blinked a few times to rid herself of the thoughts.

She felt something prick at her eyes, a sting, and something salty touched the edge of her mouth.

Something was wrong with Percy and Sally was worried. But she couldn’t do anything. She couldn’t protect Percy like she used to. She wasn’t the mother Percy needed. She was still part of Percy’s life, but she wasn’t entirely in it. Because Percy was cut off.

Sally’s daughter could never break. She was too strong, too smart, too good to break, but she could hurt a lot that sometimes she felt broken enough to fool herself into believing she was, and Sally didn’t know how to help because she didn’t understand. She wasn’t there to see. There to hear. She could never understand what destroyed Percy, what made her edges smooth and what made them sharp.

Sally held back her sob, but it still escaped in a strangled noise.

Sally caressed Estelle’s face again, the soft cheeks full of baby fat, and she imagined it was Percy for another moment. That it was her daughter, safe in bed, and she understood her. And then she was back and Sally was with Estelle, not Percy. Sally was with her youngest daughter, not her eldest. Sally was with the child she understood, not the one she ached for endlessly.

Then she stood and left as silently as she entered.

Once the door was closed, Sally leaned back against it, rested her head against the wood, and allowed the sobs to rack her body.

Sally loved them both. Loved her daughters more than her life. But only one of them she could understand. Only one of them could come to her for all their problems. Only one of them wasn’t always in life or death situations. Only one of them didn’t destroy herself to protect everyone around her.

And that broke her heart. It utterly killed Sally that she could be there for one, but the other could not come to her.

She slumped to the ground.

Fear grasped her heart, a weight in her chest.

She hadn’t just come to Estelle’s room to see one of her daughters and remind herself of the other. She’d come because Percy was in danger and Sally had to prepare for the worst news.

So she stayed, slumped against the door, crying endlessly as fear wormed its way into her veins. As she thought endlessly of the news that may await her the next morning, or more accurately later that morning.

And Sally yearned, begged, prayed that Percy would be alright. Because she may not be able to always be there, but this was her daughter, and even if somewhere, deep down she knew that there was a slim to no chance of Percy coming out perfectly fine, Sally begged for at least a sign that her daughter was alive.

She begged and prayed and cried.

Because this was all she could do.

Blood tasted odd in Perseus’ mouth. It was metallic, maybe a tad sweet. Perseus wasn’t sure.

She spat the blood out her mouth, used the back of her hand to brush the blood from the edge of her lip (though perhaps she had made more of a mess by spreading the blood across her cheek like war paint), and she stood up.

The wolf before her bared its teeth, growling darkly.

Perseus bared her teeth back.

This training was of no consequence. Perseus had trained–

The sharp thought was cut before that infuriating headache reared its head. Perseus had to ignore her lack of past lest she wished for her weaknesses to be seen. For if there was weakness, then she was wolf food. And Perseus was sure, by the way many wolves seemed to watch her with eyes glinting, that she was a tasty meal.

Perseus glanced at the blood upon the ground, heard the wolf growl again, and then she lunged.

Wolves were fierce and strong, but that was in packs. Alone, a wolf was no problem for Perseus.

And as she finished it off, the wolves surrounding pounced.

The weak were not fit to stay among the pack. So they were eaten.

“Well fought, Perseus,” Lady Lupa complimented. A month into training and she finally agreed to praise Perseus rather than stare sternly at her.

Perseus nodded. “Thank you, Lady Lupa.” She did not join the wolves in their feast. Wolf meat was disgusting, too tangy, and rubbery. Perseus was unsure of its allure to wolves, but they were different species, so perhaps it was expected their tastes differed greatly.

Instead, Perseus turned to the deer she had cut down—more accurately, ripped apart—and tore the meat off it. The young wolf cubs, those fit enough to have survived to the age they were now, crowded around her as she gave them pieces of the deer. And Perseus set her share upon a fire she built herself.

Afterwards, when all wolves slept and the night watchers gazed across the pack from rocks and bushes, Perseus knelt by the stream and looked at her reflection.

Dried blood, twigs and leaves in her hair, and old scars. No new scars. Her invulnerability, unfortunately, did not extend to her insides and it seemed any attack beyond the strength of a normal demigod (strength Lady Lupa’s wolf pack possessed) could cause injury within.

Perseus cupped the water and drank deeply. The coolness as it slid down her throat eased her pain. And then she raised the water by her own power and doused herself, clothes and all. A layer of blood of wolves and animals, the gold dust of monsters, her own internal blood, it disappeared, and then she was dry.

Perseus stared at her reflection. Perseus stared back.

“Who are you?” she asked.

A leaf fell, breaking the reflection with ripples, and the answer she so wished to come to her did not arrive.

The hallucination of Percy saving him, of her appearing and kneeling, and begging him to live was a cruel joke his own mind made up for him to draw strength to stay alive. To continue.

And his mind knew that drawing up a hallucination of Percy was the only way to make him do so. Because Percy was the strongest person he knew. She lived and breathed and though her element was water, sometimes she burned even brighter than Leo.

So when he saw her fall, with arrows stuck in her back and her looking more like a hedgehog than a human, he saw red.

And this time his fire was blue. And it burned more intensely than ever.

It snaked towards the mortals and monsters.

Because how dare they–

He had lost

He could not

Percy was not dying

She

How dare they strike Percy! How dare–

Perhaps his anger was too much that it consumed his own mind and he could not form a thought lest he destroyed the entire place in his anger.

So Leo allowed the fine tendrils to strike those who offended him, but he allowed his control to remain firm. A thought would break his control. And he risked killing allies instead of enemies.

And then Percy was alive and perhaps would live. But he guided the others out while Percy’s precarious state remained below unless more movement aggravated her too much.

Nico’s power was being blocked. That shadow-user was still at work. The shadows still kneeled to him, but they did not allow him to travel within them. And that meant Percy was stuck down there until Miranda, Paolo, and Nico figured something out.

Or, he had hoped they were all fine, until the explosion shook the foundations of the ground they stood upon.

And Leo was running back towards the entrance. Because Sherman was gone with Amy, back to camp by Pegasus, while Pegasi could not go beneath ground, not this way.

So Percy, Nico, Miranda, and Paolo were stuck beneath the ground and an explosion just shook underground.

But something was holding Leo back from returning to the sewers. Or, more accurately, someone. Actually, make that some people.

Nightwing, Tigress, and Superboy were holding him back.

“Release me, they’re down–”

“Pyro, we’re worried too, but you could get stuck under rubble or something. The underground is unstable. We need an actual team experienced in underground–”

And then they yelped and released him because his skin was burning and he was on fire and everything was ablaze.

“Call whoever you know, but that was Greek fire,” Leo replied, for he had finally placed that burning he sensed. He’d sensed fire used, but he had not placed it until he’d calmed his mind, done in mere moments.

“Greek fire?”

“Fire beyond yours. It is fiery and monstrous and ruins all. No one could survive an explosion of that caliber unless…” Leo so dearly wished for Hazel or someone who had knowledge of death.

“Unless…?” prompted Red Hood.

“There is no unless. They were likely in the area that was rigged, meaning survivors are–” He stopped himself. “I’m going to call some people. Think you can reach others too?”

“We can try,” Nightwing replied.

Leo noticed the way his voice was tense, his jaw set, everything taught. He was worried, very worried. In fact, Leo noticed how all four Batkids were more tense, though Orphan seemed the most at ease (except Leo couldn’t read her since her entire face was covered and she made no move to change her semi-relaxed stance). Red Hood was clearly tense, arms crossed. Robin seemed to have the most volatile reaction, but that was expected considering how Percy had taken the hit for him. He was most likely feeling guilty.

Leo shook his head and focused.

“NOVA?” he asked, ignoring the looks shot his way.

“Pyro?”

“Call for Onyx, Warrior, Sophos, and Rage, immediately,” he ordered, the fear leaking into his voice. Control it, dammit! He didn’t have the emotional control Percy or Nico or the others would have in this situation. “And alert them of the severity of the situation.”

That was all he could say.

“Understood,” NOVA whispered into his ear. In front of his eyes, NOVA started calling all of them at the same time, the neural AI implant working impeccably when called upon.

And so, Leo had to wait impatiently for them to arrive.

“What’s up, Danger?”

“Is Danger some new nickname for me?”

“Yep,” he replied, popping the “p”. Danger was the perfect nickname for Astron, along with Star and Green.

“Why?”

“You’re dangerous, aren’t you? And, well, it sounds badass,” he replied easily, still smirking down at her. Sure, she was only an inch shorter, but Dick liked the small height difference.

He could practically see the eyeroll. “Whatever.”

“Ya know, we should dance again–”

“Yeah, no, gonna stop you there,” Star interrupted. “Dancing is only for the rain.” And then she turned with a flick of her hair and Dick’s heart raced. She never said she wasn’t going to, just the weather had to match. And Dick wished every god out there that controlled storm would send rain.

Why was it raining at the most inconvenient time?

Dick was not having a good time.

In and out. A quick recon turned into a kidnapping turned into a rescue turned into a race against time to try and salvage remains or find survivors. And the fear that gripped Dick’s entire self at the thought of Star Green Astron dead. And he never truly got to thank her for saving him. Never got to–

The rain stung his face as it splattered down.

He’d barely stopped Pyro and held himself back from running back down too. And now all they could do was wait until–

Fierce gusts of wind and rhythmic beating echoed around Crime Alley.

Dick looked up to see three pegasi descending. None were the sleek black Star always had. But he recognised one of the pegasi as “Guido”, Star had called him in for her and Mage once. Naturally, he figured that Blackjack was Star’s personal pegasus and the rest were rotated around the other Heroes. He wondered why it was like that, but it wasn’t a pressing matter, so he didn’t really care.

He moved forward nimbly as Onyx and Warrior dropped down, the final person remained mounted, but Dick recognised King immediately.

“Where are they?” Onyx hissed, her golden eyes blazing.

Pyro stepped into her field of view. “Are they dead?” he asked.

Onyx blinked and shook her head. “No death, I can’t sense any.”

Dick allowed himself a breath of relief, a moment to calm himself. She wasn’t dead. She wasn’t dead. He repeated it over and over as a mantra. Let the dam break and the words flood him as relief poured in like a waterfall. She wasn’t dead.

“I cannot reach them. Something is interfering with my shadow travel,” Onyx murmured.

“Yeah, we know Gold,” Pyro replied. Was “Gold’ a nickname for Onyx? Why– Well, she did have golden eyes, but why call ehr “Onyx” if she had a nickname like “Gold”? Dick once again shook the thought from his head.

“Can you get them out?” he asked.

“Yes. Me and Warrior are going down. King, stay up here to coordinate with us down there. Pyro, get to the infirmary, heal, and rest,” Onyx ordered, taking charge immediately.

“What?! No–”

“Pyro, listen to her,” said Warrior, placing a hand upon the short boy’s shoulder. “We are here, they’re going to be fine.”

“What about Fury and Rage? They’re safe, right?” Pyro asked.

“Fury is going to be fine and Rage is getting medical treatment too,” Onyx answered, making Pyro face her. “Now, Pyro, please go and rest. Do you think she would wish to see you so haggard and blaming yourself?”

Pyro’s shoulders drooped, the fight washed out of him. “No,” he responded in a small voice.

“Exactly. Now go.”

Pyro took Guido as Onyx and Warrior stared at the manhole cover and the open manhole.

“Astron guided you through the tunnels,” Warrior stated. Though it wasn’t phrased like a question, Dick still nodded. Warrior hummed thoughtfully. “So, four of them are trapped down there? And Astron was the one with arrows stuck in her back? Man, she’s really playing her part as a princess, the damsel in distress.”

Onyx whacked Warrior’s arm. “Don’t say that, you know how much Sea Queen hated that nickname.”

“And she’s fine with “Sea Queen”?”

“No, But I’ve got cousin privileges. Now, let’s go.”

And they dropped into the tunnel, leaving Dick baffled by the conversation. Princess, Sea Queen? What the hell?

He shook his head and looked around again. Everyone looked wary and–

“Crap, we all still have her weapons,” he said and suddenly, everyone was keenly aware of weapons remaining in their hands that did not belong to them. “Okay, Kid Flash, Tigress, Superboy, you guys get a headstart on the report and go, leave the weapons. Robin–”

“Tt, I’m not leaving,” Damian said stubbornly and very unhelpfully, might Dick add.

“Stay,” Orphan agreed, pointing at herself.

Dick turned to Jason, pleading. Jason shook his head. “I’m staying too.”

Oh, this was ridiculous! He looked back at Connor, Artemis, and Bart. “You three?”

“We’ll go. Your four know Gotham best and you guys are the most skilled of us, so perhaps it is wise to stay,” Connor replied. “We’ll write out reports.”

“Great. Leave the weapons, I’ll make sure–”

The weapons in question shimmered out of existence. There was a stunned silence and five million thoughts running through Dick’s head before he recalled Star’s words from months earlier.

My weapons always come back to me.

“Oh, right, her weapons are enchanted. They magically return to her, no matter what,” Dick muttered in awe. It was one thing to hear and an entirely different thing to see.

Once again, he shook himself out of his thoughts. “Alright, you three go. Me, Robin, Hood, and Orphan shall remain.” He looked back at the uncovered manhole. Please, please be safe, Green.

“Hey Danger,” Ninja’s greeting came and Percy couldn’t help the small smile as she turned around. Danger, his newest nickname for her, and she actually quite liked it.

Star, Green, Danger… What was next?

“Hey Blue,” she replied. She only had two nicknames for him: Blue and Ninja. Neither compared to the nickname “Danger”. Her thoughts of nicknames were cut off when she noticed the bouquet of flowers. “Those wouldn’t happen to be for a certain ravenette, would they?”

“Your inference skills astound me everyday, my Lady,” Ninja replied, bowing and holding out the bouquet of lilies.

Percy bit her lip to stop the smile from growing. “And for that comment, I shan’t accept,” she said as she took the bouquet.

Ninja’s smile turned into that goofy grin. “Really? But I find no bouquet in my hands, my Lady.”

Percy rolled her eyes. “How unfortunate.” She closed her eyes and focused on the flowers, using her powers to preserve the flowers for a few hours without being placed into a vase. And then she made the flowers disappear in a poof of mist.

“Woah, if I’d known you hated them that much, I would-”

“No, Ninja, I’ve just teleported them to my apartment. I would not wish to ruin them during patrol.”

“Man, that’s such a cool power,” Ninja replied and Percy smiled.

Then she stepped forward, patted Ninja’s shoulder, and turned to fall off the high roof. “Thanks for the flowers, Blue. Next time, I’ll get you some.” And she fell backwards, the ground rushing to greet her, until she disappeared and was upon the next roof over, saluting to Ninja, who shook his head most fondly.

Percy drew herself from the memory as everything shook around her. The memory cracked and Percy’s eyes snapped open.

She remembered the fear of Damian Kitty Robin being hit and she had to do something. But she would never get there in time to deflect them all, so she used her body as a shield. It was not really crazy to her how easily she had thought to sacrifice her own body for a child she barely knew, but Robin would’ve died had she not and Percy was certain of her strength. A few arrows couldn’t kill her, she’d need at least like forty dozen.

But she focused upon the shaking. And the cracks in the chamber sealing. And the three around her were all clinging to something. The shaking was getting really annoying, but Percy’s strength was depleted.

She knew the signs of slow healing. And it was clear her energy was sapped from trying to heal herself without proper resources. And of course, the painfully obvious elephant—or should Percy saw hedgehog—in the room was the stabbing pain in her back, even after the arrows had been removed. The worst pain was the phantom pain from when one of the arrows struck her former achilles heel, gods that hurt.

She shifted slightly and it hurt. Oh gods, that hurt.

Geez, Thanatos, when will you visit me next? she asked, unaware of the presence of the god that hid behind his wings. Percy reached for her dagger to see it had returned to her. She relaxed subconsciously at the familiar weight of a weapon in her calloused hand.

And then she looked around. Paolo was holding onto Nico while Miranda was using vines to stabilise herself. And Percy remained unaffected from the shaking because being the daughter of the Earthshaker had its perks. Except, Percy’s movements were very, very sluggish, and she knew for certain that the explosives used weren’t normal.

Her senses rang true when the shaking ended and the explosions started, bright flames.

And Percy remained in her spot, transfixed. Because the scene was so familiar and yet so different. Nearly nine years apart and she still found herself unable to look at Greek fire the same. Still found herself unable to look into Greek fire and see Greek fire, not the Princess Andromeda, not Beckendorf.

She froze, fear burning her, sticking her to the spot. And Percy could hardly imagine what it must’ve looked like as she stared transfixed at what must have been her demise because how else would she go out.

As everyone said: a star burned brightest in its last moments.

Except, the fire never reached her because something had dragged her out the way and green was covering her and Paolo and Nico. Vines were caging them in so tightly, light was nowhere near.

And her mesmerised state dropped as Percy realised what happened.

Because one person wasn’t in the gilded cage of vines. Because she hadn’t been close enough to enclose them all while keeping the vines thick enough to withstand Greek fire.

And even as the pain (gods, why did getting hit by arrows hurt so much?) that still racked her body, seeming to be begging for her to stop pushing herself, Percy leapt up, gaining yells of worry from Paolo and hand grasping at her from Nico, but Percy shoved it off as she pulled at the vines.

“Miranda! Miranda!”

Nothing. Just explosions stifled by the stupid vines protecting them.

Percy cursed her strength that was sapped. Cursed herself and her idiocy at losing her head. Cursed herself for being so stupid to get lost in thought.

“MIRANDA!” she screamed. Something crashed, a scream not her own, and Percy tried again, but she was spent. She had no power with such poisonous water. She held no strength below the concrete ground, not while vile water ran through the sewers, not while she remained sapped of strength, and certainly not while the sensation of being shot and the flash of Beckendorf had made her freeze.

She grasped at her nectar shots, but found nothing. Water shots were gone too, meaning they’d tried using them to heal her already, and yet it hadn’t worked. Why hadn’t it worked–

“MIRANDA! MIRANDA!”

The world shook and Percy slumped against the vines as Nico pulled her back.

And then it stopped and the vines dropped. That was the first sign. The second was Nico’s desolate head shake and Paolo's broken look. The third sign was the mess of golden-brown hair, matted in blood and stuck beneath a rock.

“Get her out,” Percy ordered softly, because Miranda was dead and there was no use in screaming her name. Paolo followed immediately as Percy leaned on Nico.

This was her fault. Miranda died because Percy was so fucking stupid. Because she froze. This was her fault. It was her–

“Guys!”

Percy’s head snapped up to look at Hazel and Clarisse, and normally she would’ve smiled, but she could not.

Percy looked back at Miranda’s body and she could’ve sworn she saw a flash of wings before it disappeared. But she knew for certain Thanatos had been there, taking Miranda’s soul. Her fate sealed and Percy–

Percy stumbled and Nico quickly tightened his hold on her, keeping her steady.

“I’m fine,” she murmured. No one believed her.

It was obvious she wasn’t fine. Her cousin was dead. Her cousin, her sweet, beautiful cousin who had so much to live for was dead, and Percy–

It’s your fault, a voice whispered.

No, no, no! Percy shoved herself off Nico, grasped her head.

Your fault, monster, it taunted.

She heard concerned shouts but all she could hear was “monster”, chanted over and over again.

Monster, monster, monster. You shouldn’t be alive. You just kill and kill. No one survives–

STOP!

The voice paused and Percy dropped her hands, leaned against the wall.

And then it came back. Monster, it jeered. Murderer, killer, monster! You relish people’s pain.

No– STOP! Percy grasped her head again, a headache pounding. She was bleeding, no wait, gold dust was falling from her wounds. Gold dust fell from her cuts.

See how Miranda is? Lifeless. Broken. Dead. Empty. It’s your fault.

STOP! STOP! Stop, please, she begged. Someone was shouting her name, but everything was shaking, her head was aching. Her vision was turning black.

And all she could see was Miranda’s beautiful floral green eyes empty. The usual shine gone. All she could see was Miranda covered in vines, serene, at peace, but the hard set of her mouth as she gazed endlessly at Percy told her that Miranda blamed Percy too.

The chanting reached an all time high. Broken, broken, broken. Monster, monster, monster. Accept it, Perseus Jackson, accept the truth!

More shouting. Someone telling her to calm down. She couldn’t. Because when she released her head to gaze at her scarred, calloused hands, they were covered in blood.

And Beckendorf was back, the explosion shining behind her closed eyes as she shut herself off. The blood on her hands wasn’t real. None of this was real.

But it felt real. Every single word felt like a stab at her already broken soul, every little thing felt like a prick against her fragile heart–

What heart? You’re a monster.

Shut up. She lacked ehr anger when she told it to shut up. The voice did not listen to her defeated reply.

A monster, just like your kin. A monster, a monster, a monster! You take and take, Perseus, accept the truth. The voice was sinister and it held familiarity, yet Percy could not place who it belonged to.

She did not wish to find out who it belonged to. She only wished it to be banished from ehr mind. To have Miranda’s lifeless body erased. For the all too familiar brand of monster to stop being etched into her bones and soul. Go away.

She’s dead and you’re at fault. You killed someone. That makes you a monster. Just like how you killed Gabe. Like how Beckendorf died for you. They all died for you. And you relished in their pain–

I DID NOT!

Yes you did, you always have. You love seeing how much misery people could endure, didn’t you, the voice was coated in malice as it whispered. Misery still screams for vengeance. Misery felt misery, felt your misery, and she does not wish to feel it again. But how could a mere demigod make Misery feel misery. Only a monster could–

I said to GET OUT OF MY HEAD!

The voice dimmed, but the chant remained the same, a mantra, a title she held forever. She knew where the title was truly gained, truly cemented, when she truly was branded with the title “Monster” and yet she could not acknowledge it. I am no monster, but she sounded defeated to herself.

Yes you are, Perseus Jackson. And we await to welcome you home eagerly.

I am never returning there.

That’s where killers go.

Miranda returned to her mind. The vine dragging her into its cover, the shaking ending, the explosions finishing and leading to a stifling silence, and Miranda’s lifeless eyes. The blood was back, coating her hand, slathered across her face like war paint. It dripped from the pool in her hands.

Percy shook her head. She stumbled back. She backed into a pillar, or a wall. She couldn’t hear her friends or anything, she could only see the blood on her hands, like her eternal damnation.

And she was surrounded by bodies. And she saw herself stepping through the haze of people endlessly, listless, almost resigned to everyone gone. The Percy she saw was coated in blood like it was armour. It glistened menacingly as it ran down her face.

It should’ve been you.

Chapter Text

Katie hit the ground hard, knees slamming into the pavement as she landed. Her heart was hammering against her ribs, each beat erratic and too fast. Gotham was only an hour away by pegasus—less with Blackjack—but the journey had still felt endless. The moment Percy had called for extra help, Katie had known something had gone wrong. Very wrong. And now, standing here at the edge of the open manhole, she could feel it in her bones.

The others were already gathered—Leo, the mortal heroes, all tense and quiet. Amy and Sherman had gone back to Camp Half-Blood, Amy in desperate need of healing. That left Clarisse, Hazel, Miranda, Paolo, Nico, and Percy down below.

As the manhole cover scraped open, Katie barely registered the gasps and shouts around her as she shoved forward, eyes locking onto the figure climbing out. Percy.

Katie barely recognized her. Percy’s mask covered her face, only the white lenses visible, but Katie didn’t need to see her cousin’s eyes to know something was wrong. Her movements were stiff, controlled. Too controlled. Her mouth was set in a thin, grim line, and her entire body radiated tension, like she was holding something fragile together by sheer force of will.

Katie knew Percy like a sister knew a sister, they were cousins but closer. Knew that when she wore that mask of indifference, when her body was locked down so tightly it seemed like even breathing was a struggle, it meant something had shattered beneath the surface.

Percy held out a hand in silent request, and Katie took it without a word, gripping tightly as she helped her out of the hole. She sucked in a sharp breath when she caught a glimpse of Percy’s back. Her suit was torn, the material unable to repair itself over open wounds, and there were several arrow wounds still sluggishly bleeding. The fact that they hadn’t fully closed yet meant one thing—the water of the sewers had tried healing, but the water was too poisonous to help Percy enough.

Yet she stood like a statue, refusing to let anyone near her, refusing to let them see just how much pain she was in.

Katie’s chest tightened. She knew Percy was being forcefully collected. But this…this was different. Percy wasn’t just being calm and collected, especially not with those injuries. This was Percy forcing herself to stand tall, to push it all down, to keep moving forward despite whatever horror had just happened beneath their feet.

Dread curled in Katie’s stomach. She didn’t want to see what came next.

One by one, the others emerged. Paolo climbed out, his face carved with grief, his eyes dark and hollow. He met Katie’s gaze briefly, and in that single glance, she saw everything she needed to know.

Hazel came next, helping Nico, who looked…shaken. Like he had just clawed his way out of something suffocating.

And then Clarisse climbed out, hauling something with her.

No.

Katie’s breath hitched, the world tilting as her knees gave out. Everything inside her crumpled, collapsing under the weight of realization.

A body was placed in front of her.

And her world collapsed.

Warm arms wrapped around her—Clarisse, solid and strong, trying to anchor her—but it wasn’t enough. Nothing could be enough.

Katie’s vision blurred. Her entire being shrank into a single, unbearable point of pain. Her hands trembled as she reached out, but she stopped short, unable to touch, unable to confirm what she already knew.

Miranda’s beautiful floral green eyes, so clearly reflective of Katie’s own eyes. Except they won’t. These eyes were cold. Empty. Lifeless. Broken.

A choked, keening sound clawed its way out of Katie’s throat. It didn’t sound human. It sounded raw, guttural, an animal’s cry of agony.

No. No. No.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. Miranda was supposed to be safe. She was supposed to come back.

Anger roared to life inside her, scorching away the grief for just a moment, replacing it with something wild and blinding. She surged to her feet, shoving Clarisse away with a force she barely registered. Her gaze locked onto Percy, her hands curling into fists.

“You said she’d be safe!” Katie’s voice cracked, her vision tunneling. She strode forward, shoving Percy hard. “You said you’d protect her! Tell me, Hero , does she look safe!?”

She grabbed Percy’s suit, the stretchy material giving beneath her grip as she hauled her cousin closer. She wanted to see her eyes, wanted to see the pain that had to be there, because Katie needed to know she wasn’t alone in this. That Percy was breaking too.

Percy didn’t resist. She just stood there, letting Katie shake her, her body loose, exhausted. But then, so gently, Percy clasped Katie’s wrists and guided her hands upward. Katie struggled, but Percy was steady, firm, until finally, Katie’s fingers were pressed against the bare skin of Percy’s throat.

A pulse. Steady. Calm. Solid.

Katie sucked in a shaky breath. Then another. The slow rhythm beneath her fingertips was the only thing anchoring her, the only proof that something in this world was still real. Still here.

Miranda was gone. But Percy was alive. The others were alive.

Katie felt herself sag, all the fight draining out of her. Percy pulled her in then, wrapping her arms around her in an embrace that was at once warm and unbreakable. Percy’s hugs were different. They weren’t just comfort—they were safety, a shield against the world. A trait she had inherited from her mother.

Katie clung to her cousin, fists twisting into the fabric of Percy’s torn suit, and let herself grieve.

The hole in her chest ached, raw and gaping. But Percy held her steady.

And for now, that was enough.

Sherman stood alone as the last embers of Miranda’s shroud flickered into the night sky. The fire had burned bright, fierce, as if reflecting the spirit it had been meant to honor. But now, all that was left was ash, smoke curling in the wind, taking the last piece of her with it. The scent of burnt wood and cloth lingered, mingling with the metallic tang of blood that still stained his hands. He should have washed them. He should have done something—anything—but he couldn’t.

He couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak. The weight of it all pressed down on him, crushing, suffocating. He had left her. He had left them. If he had been stronger, if he had stayed, if he had fought harder, maybe—

No. There was no maybe. Miranda was gone, and it was his fault.

The night stretched on, cold and empty, but Sherman barely felt it. His breath came in ragged bursts, his chest tight with grief and rage. He had never known what true helplessness felt like until now. He had seen death before, had fought in battles where friends had fallen, but nothing had ever ripped through him like this. This wasn’t just another casualty. This wasn’t just another name to be carved into a stone. This was Miranda.

She had been the heart of their camp, a steady presence, a quiet strength. She had been their friend. His friend. And he had failed her.

The others had tried to talk to him—Clarisse, Paolo, even Katie, who had already lost so much. They had whispered words of comfort, murmured about how she wouldn’t have wanted him to blame himself. But what did they know? What did any of them know about the way it felt to stand there, away from the chaos, only to hear about it all? To see her fighting, desperate and defiant, only to watch her fall? To know—deep in his bones—that he should could have done more?

He shoved them all away. He didn’t want their pity. He didn’t want their understanding. He wanted the world to stop spinning, to acknowledge what had been taken from them. He wanted time to reverse, to give him another chance to make things right.

But time was merciless. It didn’t care. It never had.

Silent sobs wracked his body as he sank to the ground, fists clenched in the dirt. His shoulders shook, but no sound escaped him. He didn’t deserve to cry. He didn’t deserve comfort. He deserved the same fate she had suffered. If the gods had any sense of justice, they would have taken him instead.

Miranda had deserved better.

And he would never forgive himself.

A cold, seething fury settled in his chest, curling around his ribs like a living thing. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. She had been kind, brilliant, and brave. And now she was gone, reduced to embers and memory, while the monsters who had killed her still walked the earth. He would not stand for it. He would not let them take anything else from him.

Sherman wiped the back of his hand across his face, smearing ash and tears into his skin. His fingers curled, nails digging into his palms until they drew blood. His grief was a storm, raging inside him, but beneath it was something sharper, something more dangerous.

Revenge.

He swore it then, beneath the cold gaze of the stars. He would find the monsters who had done this. He would make them suffer. He would hunt them down, one by one, and erase them from existence. He didn’t care if it took weeks, months, years. He didn’t care what it cost him. He would not let her death be just another tragedy.

The fire had burned out, but its fury still smoldered inside him.

And Sherman would make sure it never went out.

Sally opened the apartment door to four demigods and one mortal turned Oracle.

She said nothing as she widened the door for her kids.

(They were hers and she'd never let them not be, not until the world finally gave them everything in return for how much they sacrificed, and even then, she'd still call them her kids. They lost and lost and they needed someone, Sally would step up. They were hers in every way that mattered. She'd seen them break apart, hurt themselves, pull themselves together. They were hers. And the world could pry them from her callused and worn hands.)

They moved inside like ghosts, shoulders heavy with something unsaid, something unbearable. Their eyes, dull and rimmed with exhaustion, flicked toward her only briefly before they gravitated toward the kitchen table as if drawn by an unspoken command. They sat in silence—an aching, suffocating quiet that made Sally’s chest tighten.

It was a silence that screamed of loss.

She knew it well by now, had learned to recognize its weight in the slumped shoulders, in the hands that clenched too tightly or lay motionless on the table. She had seen it in Percy more times than she could count, and now she saw it in all of them—Leo, Nico, Drew, and Rachel. Five children, five battle-worn souls, and none of them should have had to carry this. None of them should have had to learn the language of grief so young.

She didn’t ask who they lost. She didn’t need to.

Instead, she moved to the kitchen, hands working on instinct as she reached for the hot chocolate mix, for the milk, for the small comforts she could still give them. She could do this much, at least. She could still be a mother. She warmed the milk carefully, watching as it steamed, her mind drifting.

Percy had lost so many. She had watched the weight of the world settle onto his shoulders year after year, and every time, she told herself it wasn’t fair. That her daughter shouldn’t have to keep breaking herself to protect a world that never gave him a moment to breathe. That none of them should. And yet, here they were again, in her kitchen, drowning in another loss they weren’t ready for, another name added to the list of the fallen.

She wanted to tell them it would be okay, but that would be a lie, wouldn’t it? Maybe it wouldn’t be okay. Maybe it never would. Maybe the only thing she could do was let them sit here in their silence and give them warmth where she could.

She stirred the hot chocolate with slow, careful movements, watching the blue swirl into the milk. It was something small, something Percy had loved since childhood. Blue meant defiance, it meant family, it meant love. Maybe it could mean comfort, too. She poured the drinks into mugs, adding a handful of mini marshmallows before reaching for the nectar. A careful splash in four of them—just enough, just safe. The little things. The things she could control.

She carried the mugs back, setting them in front of each of her kids—because they were all her kids now, weren’t they? She had watched them all grow, had heard their names from Percy, had welcomed them into her home like lost pieces of her own heart. And now they were breaking in front of her, silent and still, five broken soldiers at her table, five children who shouldn’t be soldiers at all.

Estelle is out at school, Paul is teaching, and she has five broken soldiers at her table, kids who shouldn't be soldiers. Children who never got lives of their own.

She sat down with them, wrapping her own hands around a mug, feeling the warmth seep into her fingers. She wished it could seep into her bones, into her heart, into them. She watched as they picked up their mugs, slow and mechanical, sipping without thought. The warmth didn't chase away the grief in their eyes, but for a moment, it softened the edges.

And so she sat with them, in the quiet that hurt, in the silence that held a thousand unspoken words. Because sometimes, there was nothing left to say. Sometimes, all you could do was sit with the broken pieces and hope that, someday, they wouldn’t have to keep breaking.

An hour later, they were all asleep. Sally had pulled out a mattress too for Leo and Nico. Rachel and Percy were sharing a couch, one each end. Drew took one to herself. And the living room was filled with silent pain that echoed in their soft breaths.

Sally left to pick up Estelle, who noted her mother’s subdued figure and didn’t shout with joy. She smiled kindly, hugged her mother, and got in the car.

“Stella,” her daughter turned to her and Sally saw Percy for a moment, “your sister and her friends are asleep in the living room. They’ve lost someone, please don’t be too loud.”

Sally trusted both her kids. Estelle was very mature, she learnt from a young age that Percy led a different life to her and she understood, so all she ever did was try to help her sister place the pieces back together. Estelle wanted to be the gold glue they used in that Japanese art—Kintsugi—the one that put the ceramic back together, made it look more beautiful. Sally knew she wanted to be there for Percy as much as Sally wanted to be. But Percy’s pieces weren’t just cracked, some had been lost.

“I understand,” Estelle said.

And Sally’s heart broke at how soft her youngest daughter’s voice was. Her heart broke at how easily she grasped the situation. It killed her that her daughters understood, perhaps not to the same degree, but they understood and Sally wished they didn’t need to.

When they arrived at the apartment, Percy was awake and baking. The fresh smell of cookies filled the kitchen. Nico was beside her, neither spoke. They’d always been the quieter ones, the more silent ones. Sally watched as the siblings—for what else could they be but brother and sister?—took comfort in each other’s presence.

Estelle joined them in her solemn silence too. She hugged Percy around waist, hardly above the height of Percy’s waist. Estelle got Sally’s short genes. Percy moved slightly to pat Estelle’s head. Then Estelle went to Nico and hugged him, this time she got around him easier since he was shorter.

Sally watched it all, a soft smile covering her face ever so slightly. Percy looked a tad better than before.

For now, that was all that mattered.

Astron didn’t come for two weeks after the entire mission in Gotham. Instead, Mage, Mischief, and Mayhem were back. All three were much less playful than before. Dick had understood why.

His siblings were over for a few days though, so Dick pushed it to the back of his mind. He focused on watching Titus and Damian playing, Tim walking out of that Special Blends coffee shop, Jason reading under a tree, Cass sitting and watching silently as Steph draped herself over Cass and the bench.

Dick stood under a tree and watched, but all of them were silent. Steph and Tim hadn't been there, but everyone knew of the problem in Gotham. How Astron took the hit for Damian, how Hugo Strange was after the Heroes, the explosion, and the death of Moss. Moss must’ve been extremely special to all of them for such an emotional response. But Dick knew they were a close knit group.

Suddenly, Damian shouted, “Titus!”

Dick turned to see Titus running off.

He sighed, a smile playing on his lips as his youngest brother chased after the dog.

Dick did too.

Titus disappeared in the park. He and Damian roped the others into finding the dog, searching for him endlessly.

Until Dick heard someone laughing. It had a sort of echo, the laugh, a soft echo. It sounded unearthly, the sound of the laughter, and he rounded the corner to see Titus on top of a.

Dick whistled, glad that the dog did listen to him sometimes, and the dog moved off the woman, sitting beside Dick.

The woman laughed again as she sat up on her elbows.

Dick’s eyes widened at the same time as the woman’s.

That endless ocean that threatened to drown Dick. That jet black hair. The sharp jawline and the scar along her left eye.

“Percy…I didn’t realise you’d be here.”

Percy stood up, brushing herself off. “Nor I you, Dick .” Her eyes sparkled ever so slightly at the nickname. And Dick recalled with growing embarrassment the memory of what she said.

Dick looked her up and down as she did him. She was wearing black jean shorts that seemed to hang onto her hips. Her shirt was a cloudy blue colour that fell off her right shoulder, showing a sports bra strap. Her left hand was wrapped in bandages, and as she stretched, Dick saw some bandages beneath her shirt. Then they were gone.

He was taller than her by an inch, now that he finally saw her properly. But even an inch of extra height didn’t seem to negate the weight of her presence. Tim had said it before, but attention seemed to be drawn to Percy like a moth to a flame. She filled the space with nothing but that powerful and confident demeanour. Being in it, like truly in it, Dick understood why Tim liked Percy. She was intimidating, sure, but she was also warm. You could tell just by the kindness in her eyes and the way she seemed to be friendly to those she knew. Maybe to some people, she was a troublemaker, but Dick knew a trouble magnet when he saw one. She didn’t make trouble, it just followed her wherever she went (similar to Dick, but that’s not important).

She stepped over, smirking, and then kneeling to pet Titus. “Who’s this good boy? Yes, you,” she added to the dog.

“His name is Titus. He’s Damian’s.”

“Oh, the angry kitten? Damian always looked like he was judging me when I came and cooked for your brothers’ friends.” She hadn’t looked up and Dick wished she would. Those green eyes were endlessly stunning that Dick could literally lose himself in them. Not to mention her food was heavenly.

Then her words registered and he couldn’t help the snort.

“What?”

“Nothing, I just know someone else who called Damian a “kitten”,” Dick replied with a wave. The thought of Astron made him feel a little worse, but he pushed it aside. Astron needed the break.

Percy’s eyes sparkled again. Come on, laugh, Dick urged. “Really?” she asked instead, finally looking up.

“Yeah. She calls him “Kitty”,” Dick replied.

“Huh,” Percy murmured with a grin, something like mischief glinting in her eyes. It was almost as if she knew more than she was letting on.

She changed the subject after Titus licked her hand. “Please tell me Damian didn’t name this guy after Titus Adronicus from Shakespeare.”

Dick could only rub the back of his neck and let out an awkward laugh.

Percy sighed but stayed stroking Titus, murmuring something under her breath in another language.

Dick watched as he too knelt. It was a comfortable silence, but something felt odd about it too.

Dick eyed Percy as the glint of amusement diminished in her eyes slowly. Almost as if it hurt to even be happy. Something must’ve happened to her recently. A spark ignited in his chest as worry overtook him. What happened? Was she alright? Did something hurt her?

He hardly knew Percy, but he’d seen the way she cared about Tim and the others when she came over to make them something healthy and good. He was glad she’d been there because Alfred hadn’t and, well, no one else knew how to cook. So, yeah, he was worried.

“Titus!”

He snapped out of it as Damian’s shout. Both Percy and him turned to see Damian running towards them, eyes dead set on his dog and nothing else.

Titus did not run towards his owner, he stayed firmly at Percy’s side, still begging for pets as Damian finally arrived. Titus looked up at him and then turned back to Percy and started sniffing around the pockets of her shorts.

Percy tilted her head as she considered it. Then she smiled softly, almost sadly, and pulled out a treat. Why she even had dog treats in her pocket was an entirely different question as she straightened again and got Titus to follow her movements. She then handed the treat to Damian, grinning, “He’ll like this. Play with him.”

Damian took it with narrowed eyes, and Dick noticed the way Damian’s hands brushed Percy's, almost like he was feeling for something.

Naturally, he was. He was probably trying to gauge her experience with a sword by her calluses. And then the treat was in his hand and Titus was following Damian again.

“I have a dog too, but she’s with my cousin right now. Mrs. O’Leary, she’s quite a sweet girl, but she’s massive too,” Percy explained by way of answering her need for dog treats.

Dick nodded. “What breed? Titus is a–”

“Great Dane, yeah. Mrs. O’Leary is black German Shepherd.” Percy had a weird little smile on her face as she said it, a secret unknown to Dick passing through her mind. “I’m collecting her tomorrow, so if Damian is still here, he can see her.”

“Little D would love that,” Dick replied. He would, Damian was a lover of all animals. Alfred the Cat, Titus, and he was currently in the process of convincing Bruce to get him a mountain lion (he was failing, but he was trying).

“My cousin also has a wolf as a friend. Not a pet, the wolf comes and goes as she pleases, but yeah,” Percy added as an afterthought.

Dick opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. And then shook his head. “A wolf?!”

Percy smiled. “Yeah. Her name is Lumiere. My other friend has two hounds called Aurum and Argentum. Then my other cousin had a horse named Arion, yes after the mythical horse, as her pet. He comes and goes as he pleases. I have a horse as well, actually I have several horses, but that’s beside the point. We’re big on animals in my family.”

Damian would love Percy, was all Dick could think as Jason and Tim rounded the corner.

Tim perked up as he noticed Percy. “Percy!”

“Hey Coffee Dealer! How’s the Special Blends coffee treating you? I’m pretty sure you’re one of Sarah’s favourite customers now,” Percy said, grinning. It was a stark contrast to the somber mood that had settled over Percy a few minutes ago.

“Sarah says any friend of Percy’s is a fiend of hers. How do you know Sarah anyway?” Tim added as Percy gave him a small side hug and kept her arm over his shoulder (she towered over him, like holy shit, she was tall for a woman).

Percy’s grin grew. “Sarah and I went to the same uni. She and I bonded over our shared love for caffeine and coffee. And I was her taste tester for some of the flavours she’d tested.” And then Percy perked up more, waving at Jason as she looked past both of them to Cass. Cass ran over and gave her a hug as Percy removed her arm from Tim and hugged Cass. “Hey Chaos,” she greeted.

“How many nicknames do you have for people?” Jason questioned, finally drawing himself into the conversation as he too grinned at Percy.

It was only Steph who didn’t know Percy well enough to speak up to her.

“Well, you see, nicknames are the way to show love. Like Toph from Avatar the Last Airbender,” Percy answered. Avatar (not the blue one) was a childhood show for many and it was, indeed, a great one. “Katara and Iroh are my favourite characters, Zuko and Toph and Suki are like second and third for me. But Momo and Appa get honorary mentions.”

“Fair.” Dick nodded sagely. “My favourite is Sokka, then Momo.”

“Nu-uh! Suki and Toph are superior!”

“How about the actual Avatar?!” Steph added. “He’s such a funny bald kid.”

“I don’t know. I never liked how he didn’t accept Katara saying no, and I’m still sour over Katara and Zuko,” Percy added, actually pouting that two fictional characters didn’t get together. “Like, yeah, he’s a funny 12-year-old, but even kids at that age know what “no” means. Not to mention a 14-year-old and 12-year-old are even a good match for a relationship. Actually, no one should have had a relationship until adulthood.”

“Completely agreed. Zuko and Katara, the greatest enemies to lovers and the ones we had to lose. Not to mention, the only thing that made Kataang work was the kiss at the end, same for Maiko. Also, they’re teens at war, why the romance?” Jason added, Percy and him high-fiving while one of Percy’s arms stayed around Cass.

Cass really seemed to like Percy. She rarely showed affection to strangers, especially at this level, but somehow her and Percy had hit it off and were extremely close.

Steph laughed. “Okay, yeah, I can admit that Aang isn’t the top of mine, but Korra. Man, her muscles.”

“Korra, the woman she is. She doesn’t deserve the hate,” agreed Percy. “But, holy shit, I love Lin more. Like no offence to anyone else, but Lin was just that woman. Bolin was pretty cute too.”

“Ugh, full agreement with Lin! But, come on, Old Toph?!” Jason had to add. He looked happy, happier than he did at the Manor. Jason and Bruce still needed to fix that shit up, they were failing at speaking, miserably.

“Also, is it true you dated Zatanna Zatara?” Tim changed the topic easily.

“Oh, fuck yeah. That girl rocked and she’s so damn pretty. Kisses are great too.” Then Percy smirked at Dick. “Bet you would know.”

“How the hell do you even know that?!” Dick asked, affronted.

“Starlight and I talked quite a bit during our fling.” Starlight? She still has nicknames like that with her?

“Fling?” Jason’s raised eyebrow at the odd wording was perfect in getting Dick out of the awkwardness of talking about his and Zee’s semi-complicated relationship that fully ended about four years ago.

“Yeah. It sounds cooler that way.” Percy looked up for a moment as a cloud passed over the sun. “I need my daily dose of coffee. How about we go and get some from Special Blends?”

“Wait, we need the Demon Brat!” Tim inputted.

“You mean the angry kitten? Damian’s just over there.” She pointed past them to Damian tossing a stick for Titus to chase. Dick hadn’t even noticed. “Hey, Damian, Titus, we’re going for coffee! Wanna come?”

Titus barked happily and jogged over. Damian followed, more subdued as he once again gave Percy a suspicion once over.

“While we’re going, you can tell me all about how you learnt to wield a katana,” Percy directed at Damian.

“What of you?” he shot back defensively. “How did you learn to wield dual blades?”

Percy shrugged. “My family is big and we have a lot of enemies who attack us. Mom sent me to a special summer camp to train. We did all sorts of stuff there like rock climbing, horse riding (that’s where I keep my horses), kayaking, swordsmanship, archery—I was shit at that, knife throwing, daggermanship—fourth favourite activity I guess, capture the flag over a creek and through a woods, and even beach volleyball—I loved playing, like honestly, so much fun. I also taught some classes after I turned 17 and became a full on senior camper.

“Yeah, that sounds like there were a lot of recreational activities, but you can’t expect us to train on survival 24/7. I mean, there was our sister camp that trained the other side of the family, but those guys had some recreational activities which involved mock war games of storming a castle and such.” Dick was staring in jaw dropped awe as he realised why Percy was way more muscular than a normal person and definitely stronger. Not to mention her instincts, she’d clearly honed them. “We enjoyed doing it, I guess. Depends on who you asked. For me, it was fun for a time, but then survival came above everything and the little things lost their spark.”

Dick exchanged a glance with his siblings. Even Cass looked a little shocked at what she’d been told.

“Why did the enemies come for you guys?”

“Because our parents ,” the word was stressed and laced with venom, something bitter crawling into her voice, “are untouchable up where they live. So the enemies turn to their children, deciding we’re an easier target. We have to survive. Usually, no one makes it past the age of 16, but after the last…big attack, the attacks decreased and the survival rates went up. Until recently.”

She said nothing else as a shadow hung over them. Parents so strong that their enemies go for their kids? And why was she so bitter about it? What happened to make her detest her family that much?

“Sounds like you have parental issues,” Jason spoke up. “I know a bit about that.”

“Jay, you have no idea. I don’t have parental issues, my mom is awesome. Nah, I have daddy issues.”

“Oh, mood.”

Percy chuckled. “Yeah, well, I dealt with those issues when I was 12.”

“How?” piped up Steph curiously.

“I just traumatised my dad back.”

All eyes swivelled to Jason, who sighed. “What, B deserved it!”

Percy looked at Dick’s younger brother and laughed, the entire mood changing with the warmth of the laugh. “Really? You went and traumatised Bruce Wayne?! Fuck yeah, Jay, you’re an icon!” And they high-fived like traumatising parents back was a good thing.

“Hang on, can we not celebrate that?” Dick requested as he pushed open the door to Special Blends. He held it for them as a round of “no” came from everyone.

Percy entered last with a grin and a wink. “Thanks, Pretty Boy.”

“Anytime, Darling.”

Percy’s eyes widened, almost shocked that Dick would even dare to reply to her own flirtations without his own. But it soon melted to another easy-going grin.

The good mood stayed until a waiter came over.

“Sarah!” Percy greeted, standing to hug her.

The booth they were in was in the corner of the shop. A perfect view of everything and also quite warm, contrasting the coldness that was settling over Bludhaven as winter reared its cold head.

“Hey Aqualady, how’s life treating you?” Then she looked over at everyone and sighed. “More strays?”

“Hang on, they found me! And besides, I don’t have strays.”

“Nico, Arthur, Drew, Rachel–”

“Rachel isn’t a stray!”

“Really? She isn’t? I wouldn’t have guessed.” The drawl was so sarcastic that Dick was certain that the god of sarcasm (if there even was one) themself would kneel to Sarah. “Anyway, Leo, Ella–”

Percy’s face was red as she slapped a hand over Sarah’s mouth. “Shut up. I never did that. They’re friends.”

“That you emotionally adopted,” replied Sarah as she pulled Percy’s hand from her mouth. Sarah grinned at them. “Don’t trust this one. All she ever does is adopt random peopl–”

“For fucks sake. I demand Hayden to serve me. Hayden, get over here, your sister’s being an ass.”

“My sister is always an ass, Water Girl,” Hayden said as he came over. Hayden was a well-built man with blond hair dyed red at the roots. His eyes seemed to be shifting colours ever so slightly from green to blue to violet and around the rest of the colour wheel. He grinned as he shoved Sarah away, who (in a rare show of maturity that was usually found in a 23-year-old woman) stuck her tongue out and turned to serve the next customer in a huff. “Sorry about her. She likes to annoy Percy. What would you guys like?”

“She doesn’t just like to annoy me, she takes pleasure in bullying me,” Percy murmured darkly as she slid back into the booth beside Cass. Cass patted Percy kindly, to which Percy gave her a soft and grateful smile.

“My usual,” Tim immediately said.

“Ah, Timothy Drake, Sarah says you’re a great kid. She’s glad Percy adop–” He cut himself off at the sharp glare of Percy. “Met you,” he corrected with a quick grin at Percy.

“Great. Now they think I’m Bruce Wayne 2.0. Thanks a lot, Hay.”

Steph laughed. “Bruce is way worse. Anyway, I’ll have a…” She glanced at the menu again. “Milkyway Mix.”

Jason glanced over the menu again. “What tea do you have?”

“Oooh, I know a great one.” Percy pulled the menu towards her and flipped to page 3. She looked across the list and then settled on one and pointed it to Jason. “Smoky Ember which uses Lapsang Souchong as a base with some charred oak extract and a small dash of blackberry reduction. One of my favourites.”

Jason nodded, looking over the list again. “I’ll go with Smoky Embers, sounds awesome,” Jason decided.

“Great choice!” Hayden looked over at Cass, his grin shrinking to a softer smile. “And you, oh Quiet One.”

Cass’ lips quirked upwards slightly before she took the menu and looked over it consideringly. Then she placed the menu down and pointed at the drink she wanted. Percy glanced at it and nodded.

“The Assassin’s Brew,” Percy said for Cass. There was a knowing glint in Cass’ eye as Steph actually started laughing, Jason snorted, Tim sighed (the smile giving him away), Dick bit his lip to stop from laughing, and Damian rolled his eyes haughtily.

Percy looked over them for a moment, along with Hayden, and then shrugged.

“What’s in the Assassin's Brew?” Dick asked instead.

“Seventy-five percent dark chocolate, a dash of cinnamon, some orange zest, honey for natural sweetness, and smoky sea salt,” Hayden answered immediately. “It’s a fan favourite. Percy here helped with the flavours.”

“I bake often enough to know what goes well and what doesn’t, besides we all know who my mom is. Anyway, Dick, what would you like? And you Damian?”

“Dragon's Serenity,” Damian decided.

Percy nodded in agreement. “A great choice, bring it with a side of brown sugar, would you, and a silver teaspoon.” She had a knowing glint in her eyes as she asked for the extra bits, causing Steph to guffaw even louder. Everyone knew that story and someone (Dick suspected Tim) had told Percy. Damian, naturally, glared at her disdainfully, but said nothing at the jibe.

Hayden nodded, looking at them unsurely (probably wondering what exactly was the joke), then grinned at Dick. “And you?”

Dick once again looked over the menu. Everything sounded delicious, especially the different types of hot chocolate (like, wow, they had a large quantity of flavours). He’d heard of Special Blends when it opened months ago and rose to be a favourite place in the City, but really being in the comfy place and actually having some of its drinks, it felt different.

“What’s in Cloud Nine?” Dick asked.

Hayden looked over at the menu and then nodded. “Cloud Nine is a milk chocolate blend with whipped cream on top, a dash of nutmeg, white sugar (but you can request brown), and an optional blueberry syrup or blue sprinkles.”

“Cloud Nine with blueberry syrup.”

“Cool. Percy, your usual or do you want to try something new?”

Percy pulled out her phone with a quick “one moment”. She seemed to be checking something, but no one caught what it was when she placed her phone down. “I’ll have Hearthfire, the new trial one, right? Based on Aunty H?”

“Your Aunty H, no one else has the guts to call her that. But, yeah.” They were sharing an interesting secret as Percy laughed easily, Hayden laughing too. They sobered pretty quickly. “Let me repeat the order.” Hayden glanced at his notepad. “One Blitz Brew, a Milkyway Mix, a Smoky Embers, an Assassin’s Brew, a Serenity Dragon, a Cloud Nine, and one Hearthfire for our dearest warm patron.” He winked at Percy as he left.

Percy groaned. “I hate him. It’s either he’s helping me against his sister or he’s being an asshole to me.”

“Sister?”

“They’re distantly related, but they’ve known each other for years and think of each other as siblings,” she clarified. “Anyway, Damian, my cousin is bringing my dog over tomorrow. Do you want to meet her? She’s a black German Shepherd named Mrs. O’Leary. She likes people.”

Damian immediately nodded to the idea of seeing another dog. “Why is she called Mrs. O’Leary?”

“I was given her by…a friend. He’d passed away, so Mrs. O’Leary came to be in my care. My cousin and I are co-owners because he kind of emotionally adopted her too and decided that we had to share. She loves me more, of course.”

“What about your horses?”

“They live at Camp so the other campers can use them. I can't use horses here, so they might as well be around someplace they are going to get exercise at. Blaze is a sweet one though, and I see her often enough.” Percy looked at Damian again. “You can meet Blaze too, she is probably the…” Percy paused, as if searching for a good word. “Calmest of the lot,” she finished. “Jack was my first though, so I’m pretty sure only I’m allowed to ride him unless I give explicit permission to someone else.”

“I would…enjoy being acquainted with your horses.”

“And I with your cat, Alfred, I believe?” She looked at Cass, who nodded. Titus had remained silently next to Damian during the entire time of ordering, but at the mention of Alfred (the cat), he looked up. Percy smiled and tossed him another treat (how many did she have?) before facepalming. “Fuck, we should’ve ordered some sweets. They taste amazing here. I’ll quickly go and order some, trust my judgement.”

She was off, reaching the counter quickly with long strides.

Dick watched her go, but was drawn away by a rather violent clearing of a throat. Steph grinned at him. “So, Dick, we never got the story of where you found Percy.”

“She was with Titus, who had jumped on her,” he answered shortly.

Steph sighed. “How’s Astron? We haven’t seen her in a while.”

There it was. The question that lingered in the air like a heavy fog. Astron. The one who had lost someone and gained heavy injuries, then somehow walked out of the manhole with nothing but poise and grace. Dick paused before replying.

“She hasn’t been on missions. Moss was close to her, cousins I believe,” Dick answered honestly. “Not to mention her”—he glanced at Damian carefully—“injuries.”

Damian’s eyes flickered to the table. His knuckles were white, his fingers digging into his palm painfully, like the tension in his body could snap any moment. He wasn't looking at anyone now. He was lost in his own turmoil.

“I’m sure she doesn’t blame you,” Dick quickly said. “Astron isn’t that kind of person, she wouldn’t–”

“Tt, silence, Grayson. I should have been stronger.”

The words cut through the air with the familiar bitterness Damian always carried when he believed he had failed someone. Dick knew that tone all too well. He opened his mouth, ready to offer another bit of reassurance, when a tray being placed on the table entered his vision.

Dick’s eyes shot to Percy, who he hadn’t even heard coming over, as she set two trays down with their treats and drinks, her balance impeccable despite the hot drinks that covered one entire tray. Nothing spilled as it was placed on the table neatly beside the treats.

She looked over the table, noting the somber mood, and sighed.

“Well, I don’t know the context of the conversation, but, to be stronger,” her green eyes looked over at Damian’s clenched fist and softened, “you first have to release whatever is holding you back. I mean, strength isn’t about holding it all together. Sometimes, it’s about knowing when to let go of the guilt that’s holding you back.” She looked directly at Damian, her gaze steady, unwavering. “I don’t know who or what you failed to achieve, but I bet beating yourself up over it isn’t helping.

“The best way to be stronger is to step back, think over it, and then work through it with a clear mind. Often enough, it is the anger and guilt that does not allow for the strength to come forward. After all, a clear mind allows for wise decisions and the lesson to be learnt, thus becoming a strength rather than a hindrance.” She slid into the booth again. “I’ve always found that a hot drink and a nice dessert does the trick to clear my head. So,” she set down Damian’s tea in front of him, grinning, “let’s move forward with a little more clarity and a lot more sweetness!”

She handed everyone their drinks and then placed the tray of sweets in the middle. There were macaroons, pieces of cake, biscuits, cookies, and more.

“Are you treating us poor folk?” queried Steph as she munched on a…blue cookie? Dick looked at the cookies in his hand and realised they were blue too. Why were they blue?

“Yeah, I invited you guys out!”

“Why are the cookies blue?” Jason asked, before moaning after taking a bite of his cookie. Dick bit his too, wondering what was so go–

Fuck, that was delicious. They were perfect and gooey on the inside with crisp edges, and lots of chocolate. Shit, what was the recipe for these? Dick needed it.

Percy chuckled. “My special request. My mom and I, now extending to my sister and step-dad, have a tradition of blue food. The specifics aren’t necessary, but Sarah being an old friend said she’d add some blue food colouring to make sure it felt home-y. She’s sweet that way.” Percy bit into her cookie too, smiling as she finished her cookie quickly. “My mom’s are better, though, Tim can attest to that.”

Tim nodded, biting into a blue macaroon (there were more colours, the pink one looking particularly good). “Mrs. Jackson’s cookies are legendary.”

“Didn’t your mother remarry? Why’s her name still Jackson?” Steph inquired between a mouthful.

Percy handed her a napkin and she picked up a yellow macaroon—lemon flavoured, probably—as she answered, “Yeah, but Sally Jackson sounds cooler than Sally Blowfis, no offence to Paul. Besides, Mom told me she still wanted the same name as me. So I’m Percy Jackson, my mom is Sally Jackson, Paul Blofis, and my little sister, Estelle Jackson-Blowfis. She’s the only one with a hyphenated last name.”

Dick nodded thoughtfully. “Fair, the last name Jackson sounds good, especially with your full name–”

“How do you know my full name?” Percy was staring at him calculatingly, and the full weight of her gaze really did something to Dick as he coughed.

“You’re on Buzzfeed Unsolved,” he managed.

Percy blinked a few times at the answer, shock colouring her features. “Really? Gods, that sounds fucking awesome! What do they say about me?”

“Only that you’re the Eighth Wonder of the World,” Jason returned with a mouthful, so it came out a little muffled.

Percy laughed. “Damn, and I hate being famous! Welp, when life gives you lemons, cause some chaos.”

“That’s not the saying.”

“Cass understands,” Percy shot back, placing an arm over the shorter ravenette with a grin. Cass nodded, leaning in.

Dick smiled. This was fun.

Jason decided that whether or not Percy was Astron (she was, her death haze said as such), she was awesome. Like, both in and out the mask.

Especially when she appeared, scaring the living daylights out of Dick and somehow got the Demon Brat to listen to her. I-fucking-conic.

“Hey!” he greeted, waving. He wondered if she knew he knew her identity.

She showed no sign of knowing. But she nodded in answer, a smile playing on her lips too, though she probably didn’t know Jason was smiling beneath his helmet.

“You’ve got company, I see,” Percy—Astron? Should he call her Astron in the mask?—stepped over to Dick, patting him on the shoulder. “Guess I can steal one for my own patrol. Red Robin, you’re with me, bet you still got some annoyance at your inability to attack the monsters.” She pulled out her dual daggers, flipped them, and handed them handle-first to Tim. “What do you say, caffeinated child?”

“You’re much taller than I remember.”

“You were in a daze when we first met, boy.”

“My name is Red Robin.”

“I suppose so, Gremlin.” Percy grinned. “I’m taking this one. Have fun Ninja, Kitty, Red Hood, Spoiler, and Chaos-bringer.” She winked at Cass, then dropped off the roof. Tim sighed and followed, the daggers in his hand tucked into his belt.

Dick watched them leave with a comically annoyed expression. “She never invites me to fight with her,” he muttered angrily. “And after two weeks of no contact, her first choice is Tim ?” Dick sounded jealous.

“Bold move to have a crush on two badass women,” Steph said with a mischievous grin, Dick groaned and turned away. “I mean, you’ve always had a taste for…strong women”—and a brilliant nod from Stephanie to Dick’s past girlfriends (Barbara and Zatanna, who was shockingly enough, one of Percy’s exes; what a small world)—“but Astron takes the cake. And did she call you “Ninja”? Is that her nickname for you? Is it true that you call her “Star”? What about the nickname “Blue”, does she call you that?”

Dick groaned again, louder, and turned away. “Nope, shut up. Goodbye.” He left.

Steph sighed, “He’s so weak. I bet they have loads of nicknames for each other.” She looked back at the place where Percy and Tim had disappeared. “It’s good to see that she’s feeling better, but it’s probably a front to hide her pain.”

Jason nodded. “Probably, but we don’t know her well enough to try and comfort her. Dick’s probably the best and she clearly chose to have Replacement with her today, so guess we’re patrolling elsewhere. Let’s move, pairs. Cass, Demon Brat, you're together. Steph, you’re with me.” He was only using names because Percy wasn’t there and couldn’t possibly hear from wherever she was. And they were also on a deserted roof with no one around to hear.

Patrol was entirely empty, maybe a few stops to imbeciles, but nothing big to even bother being interested in.

When they all met back up on the BPD, Percy was covered in gold dust and speaking in rapid fire whatever language it was to someone else.

She was twirling a dagger in her hand, an expert twirl, just like how she twirled her pen. Jason watched the movement, the dagger’s shimmery metal reminding him of…something. Jason remembered the “catalyst” thing from weeks ago, and he watched it ever so carefully as Percy did indeed have a pale blue glow, hardly visible, but there. The “power enhancer” seemed to work without being called upon, and Percy’s was clearly this crazy weird metal.

Her rapid-fire ended with a quick muttered “love you” in English and then the call ended and she sighed. “When’s the next meeting?” she directed at Dick.

“A week from now,” Dick answered.

“Great, we’ve got lots to report about monster activity. Apologies, I’ve got to cut this short, see you tomorrow, Ninja. And if your siblings are still here, see you guys too.”

She ruffled Damian’s hair from beside her and was gone, dissipating into a surge of glimmering sea-green mist, the air still humming with the power used, as if reality itself had exhaled. The scent of salt and storm lingered like the echo of forgotten tides, sharp and fleeting, like salt spray after a crashing wave.

Jason watched as the green and blue faded, once again in awe.

He knew many people with power (Wonder Woman, Superman, Aquaman, and more), but the powers the Heroes often displayed were beyond what he believed. Shadows that bent and kneeled to them, vines that wound around monsters like snakes, fire that danced in whips of power, and then Percy’s own hydrokinesis, though Jason wondered the extent of that power. She rarely showed it, even Dick knew nothing of the magnitude of her power.

“Well, she’s definitely got style,” he muttered.

Dick rolled his eyes (look, Jason didn’t need to see, but he knew because that was his idiot brother rolling his eyes). “She does that every time.” He turned slightly and Jason noticed the flower tucked behind his ear, a blue one.

“Dickie-bird, what’s that?”

Dick narrowed his eyes and then felt for where Jason pointed, the flower being drawn carefully from behind his right ear. He stared at it before a dumb smile crossed his face. He said nothing and Jason felt sick as he watched his brother look at a flower like it was the stars in the sky.

This was ridiculous. And why was he smiling at whatever the fuck that flower was? It looked weird, like no flower Jason had ever seen. The blue-silver petals were shimmery and glowing; beneath the moonlight, it almost looked otherworldly.

“What kind of flower is that?”

Dick glanced at them, still cradling the flower. “Star called it moonlace, a special flower grown in only one place. She didn’t say where.”

“She gives you flowers?!”

Dick did not reply, he turned and tucked the moonlace into his belt, deciding to return to his apartment. Jason sighed, naturally his romance-loving brother would not deign to answer perfectly fair questions.

“They’re targeting you!” Drew shouted right at Percy, who was leaning back in her chair, disinterested.

Reyna felt Percy’s eye roll in her bones despite the taller woman facing a different direction. “Yes, and so what?”

“The stupid monsters and mortal fools they work with are interested in you ! So, gods help me, Astron, I’m literally going to lock you up!”

“Now, both of you, back down!” Malcolm exclaimed, stepping between them. “We don’t have the time to have you two–”

“She had a dozen arrows stuck in her back two weeks ago and she immediately got back into working an hour after her injuries healed. Don’t think for a damn second I’m happy with this dumbass”—an offended noise escaped Percy—“being a self-sacrificing buffoon. Do you know how hard it is to get her to even acknowledge she’s injured?! And now she wont bother acknowledging that the mortal criminals know her name! It’s only a matter of time before they realise she’s who they are asking after! This is fucking stupid!

“And you!” She rounded on Leo again, poking a finger into his chest. “You stupid prick, what do you think you’re doing running straight back into work after being tortured?! They used ichor on you! We don’t even know what pure ichor does on a demigod apart from the small, very brief logs we managed to recover from the almost completely erased files! They used ichor on open wounds! Why are these idiots allowed in the field?!” Drew was breathing heavily at the end of her tirade as the two people in question glanced at each other uneasily and stepped back in sync.

“Kallos, Darlin–”

“Don’t “Darling” me, Perseus Jackson!”

Percy nodded and stepped back again, holding up her hands in surrender. “I understand that you’re worried, but–”

“But what?! Sure, you weren’t in direct conflict after your injuries, but you were still hiding out and attacking from the shadows. We brought you back because of the increase in monsters, not so you could die! I don’t want you to—to…”

No one wanted anyone to die.

(Reyna had not known Miranda Gardiner personally, and to be fair, she was a raised Roman, who gave the dead a burial and moved forward. Greeks had always been more emotional about these deaths, with shrouds embroidered with their feats and burials worthy of their glory. In fact, Percy had even gotten an entire part of Camp Half-Blood sectioned off for the heroes, named: Garden of Valour. Percy seemed to have a flare for naming things.)

But back to the point, dying was not wanted among them. They dwindled in numbers and lost others they loved. Reyna hated this, watching her friends lose more and more of the people they grew up with.

And naturally, amongst this madness, Percy had come into contact with more trouble. She wanted to be shocked, but truly, Percy was always being chased by trouble. It was not a question of how but who was after or when it was happening.

“Okay, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have jumped straight back in a week ago, but I’m fully healed now and Bludhaven needs me.”

“Lou stays then.”

“This feels like you’re sicking a babysitter on me.”

“I mean, Perce, no offense, but we literally do babysit–”

“You’re younger than me, Lou, sit the fuck down. The adults are talking.”

“Sorry, Mom, ” Lou—Mage, daughter of Hecate—grumbled.

“Woah, hold back there, Perce, half of us here are older than you.”

“Nico, physically and mentally, because being frozen in time at a casino does tend to freeze mental age, makes you younger than me, regardless of your birth date. Same for you Hazel, you died, you have no say. Thalia, you're stuck at 15, one day before turning 16, forever, so no, you don’t get a say. All three of you, back down, the adultier-adults are talking.”

There was a low hiss of “ouch” from someone in the room and a round of smattering giggles as all the rest of the Children of the Big Three sat down, Nico physically pouting, Hazel sighing, and Thalia glaring at Percy with the power of a thousand lightning bolts that could (unfortunately) not be unleashed in the Big House War Room.

Percy turned away from her cousins and faced Malcolm. “I accept the condition of Lou staying. Now, onto more pressing matters, we’ve got a meeting with the Justice League in an hour and while I believe they’re respecting our privacy, I’m pretty certain one of them must’ve heard Hugo Strange and the monsters whispering “demigods”.” Sometimes, Percy was a trickster and hectic person, other times her title as Princess truly shone through; this was one of those times as she took command easily, her voice no longer soothing but sharp.

Reyna’s back straightened subconsciously as Percy continued, “So, I propose we tell them. I mean, the world knows we have powers, but trusting our allies with this information.”

“They’ll know who you are,” Reyna pointed out. “If anyone caught your name in crossing between battles, they could easily surmise that Astron is Percy.”

“True, but do I look like I care about my identity? Mortals usually stay away from monster fights, so anytime the name is heard, it’s most likely by the mortal heroes, meaning either way, they’ll figure out what’s happening. Batman and his Batlings are smart, I bet a few of them already know my identity,” Percy countered.

Reyna conceded. As per usual, Percy was as sharp as her blade and tongue. It was no wonder she was the negotiator between the gods and demigods (though that was in part with her ability to piss them off and get off scot-free).

Malcolm nodded and picked up his tablet. “Other than that, what else will most likely be discussed at the meeting?”

“What happened to the mortal heroes will be discussed. The mortal heroes were subjected to torture by ichor. Not to mention we don't know the origins of the ichor. That will be discussed,” stated Annabeth. Once, Reyna respected and trusted her. Now, the respect between them waynbed, however Annabeth was still as smart and logical as ever. “Whether or not they heard about us being demigods, they will ask about the golden liquid. It would be wise to inform them where it originates from.” It wasn’t often Annabeth gave her input these days, but when she did, she was as civil as the negotiations from nearly 8 years ago in Rome, apart from when she judo flipped a praetor of her allies-to-be, not a very wise decision on her part (Reyna was still slightly annoyed about that).

She pushed it aside in agreeing with the daughter of Wisdom. “She is correct. Either way, we should reveal to them our own nature. It is only right considering that our allies are among them already: Princess Diana of Themyscira, Zatanna Zatara, Aquaman 1, 2, and 3, and Doctor Fate. We have their backing.”

“So, demigod reveal, information about ichor and what it does—from what we know, and…what else?” Clarisse surmised. Reyna esteemed Clarisse immensely; she was an incredible warrior and clearly a good-planner during times of battle, despite the belief of her father being of the “think first, act later” type. Furthermore, spars against Clarisse often left Reyna in defeat, and a fighter like that was hard to come by these days.

“I suppose, the integrated training we do, should we address a way to change it? I mean, sparring against them and then sometimes doing partner work with them in a simulation? It’s not really training, more like gauging skills and hardly improving,” Hazel added. “We should ask about a way to better these training methods. Maybe introduce them to our War Games? If we’re revealing the demigod world, we might as well start showing them some of our more…dangerous training methods, shoudln't we?”

“If we introduce them to War Games, that would mean showing them the camps,” Dakota remarked severely. “We can expose the demigod community, but to lay bare our sanctuaries… I’m not sure I like the sound of that.”

“Gem, it’s a great idea, but we’ve only just decided to reveal it all, showing them everything…” Percy shook her head. “I like the idea, but let’s put a pin in it until we’re already to trust them with our homes.”

Hazel nodded calmly. “I understand. Slow and steady.” She took a breath, taking a sip of her own glass of… Actually, Reyna wasn’t quite sure what Hazel was drinking, but her former co-Praetor clearly enjoyed it. “Other than training integration, I believe that is all.”

“Okay, quick review: reveal we are demigods, explain ichor and our limited information on its effects, explain where it comes from—meaning the god or goddess we have yet to have any information on, and try to figure out about more training integration or building trust to allow them this opportunity,” Malcolm went over.

A round of nods was his response. He held up a hand. “Ezra, Emily, how’s it going on the list of gods?”

“Nothing,” Emily was a quiet presence and perhaps the only known child of Themis in Camp half-Blood. “Since the Gotham Problem, we’ve surmised that it is a god with some control over shadows that surpasses Nico’s, but there are still many deities out there with umbrakinesis. Not to mention, there could be multiple gods either helping them or kidnapped by them. Ezra and I have kept the list open, but we’ve managed to narrow it down to a couple of dozen gods, including gods that are associated with shadows and gods that haven’t been seen in the past five years.”

Ezra, her companion, seemed to be conversing with NOVA. A second later, Malcolm’s tablet beeped softly. He opened the notification to look at the list and his eyes widened. “Well, thank you, you two. Good work, we’re not bringing this list up with the Justice League.”

Percy looked over his shoulder, her eyes tracking the words, before she shuddered upon reaching one of the names. “Ugh, hope it’s not her. Thals, Neeks, remember Melinoe?”

Her cousins shivered too, neither looking too pleased at the idea of Melinoe being on the list. Reyna briefly wondered about the story, but it was clear that the three found it too unpleasant to speak of.

“Well then, this is the end of this meeting. We leave for the Watchtower in fifteen minutes, be prepared,” Reyna finished.

Those who were not coming filed out, those who were coming remained in the room, and those who needed to grab some things before leaving left too.

Chapter Text

Drew was with the Greek demigods that were going to the meeting. There were four Romans, Hazel and Dakota included. Thalia came with Reyna and that very old hunter who had been serving Artemis for millennia. Then there was Clarisse, Leo, Malcolm, and Drew. They were waiting for Lou and Percy.

The Justice League had their usual: Diana, Superman, Superboy, Martian Manhunter, Batman, Nightwing, Robin, Red Robin, Orphan, Spoiler, Captain Marvel, the three Aquamen, Green Arrow, two Green Lanterns, Zatanna, Tigress, Kid Flash, Flash, and Cyborg.

Being prepared seemed to include Percy going to Bludhaven and buying herself a coffee. Lou had gone with her and they were, about, five minutes late when the Zeta-Tube announced them.

Drew looked over, eyes narrowed, at the glowing Zeta-Tube.

“Recognised: Astron, Hellenics Division. Mage, Hellenics Division.”

The two entered and were…arguing in Ancient Greek.

“You could’ve at least left me some monsters, but nooooo, I’m going to fight them all while Mage picks up her and my coffee,” Lou was saying, her voice lacking the bite but full of annoyance.

Percy was looking down at the younger girl, a small smile on her face. “Well, where would the fun in that be? I mean, come on, Mage, self care is literally wanting to kill yourself and jumping into a monster den with nothing but your wits and a sword.”

“That is the exact opposite of self care, Princess.”

Percy ignored her in favour of looking at the Justice League members, all of whom were watching her and Lou with varying degrees of curiosity.

Her smile was gone as she nodded her head calmly. Then she spoke, the sudden change from Ancient Greek to English was a little jarring. “Sorry for being late, ran into a couple of monsters terrorising some poor group of mor— civilians.”

She stepped over to Drew, who took the coffee from her hand and took a sip, then handed it back. It was that new drink at Special Blends, Hearthfire. It was a drink inspired by Lady Hestia, somehow capturing the kind goddess so perfectly with the taste. Drew liked it a lot, she decided.

“No, but Astron has a point,” Nico added, the cousins exchanging matching looks (and Drew knew despite Nico having on a face mask and Percy having on a domino mask).

Drew sighed. She could tell that the rest of her colleagues were sighing too because, well, whenever Nico and Percy teamed up in a meeting it was hell. They did it every time, either teaming up or dissing whatever the other said to annoy everyone. Thalia joined in sometimes, but otherwise, she just watched in mild amusement.

“You two, no,” Malcolm stopped it immediately with a sharp glance. The cousins nodded and straightened, sobering almost instantly after Malcolm had given his order.

Malcolm stepped forward with his tablet now held in his arms like it was a clipboard and he was that overworked and tired secretary in all those billionaire movies. The comparison was amusing considering Malcolm didn’t even work in the mortal world, preferring the demigod side more.

“We’ll begin with the gold liquid that was used upon two of you,” Malcolm started, all business. He nodded at Tigress and Nightwing, who snapped to attention. Drew was glad for her mask as a small smile appeared on her face; Nightwing had been watching Astron since she entered, eyes following her the entire time. It was adorable, truly. “Thanks to your recount of the effects, which I am sorry you had to suffer, we do know what the substance was.

“Ichor, the liquid that Hugo Strange and the monsters placed on your open wounds was ichor.” At Malcolm’s statement, all three Aquamen gasped, Diana’s eyes widened to the point that Drew thought they would pop out, and Zatanna actually stood up, her chair shoved back as she leaned forward on the table. 

“How?! Where did monsters acquire—”

“Ichor was used on mortal wounds?! Are you certain!?” That was Diana.

Percy stepped forward, and despite not being the tallest, everyone’s eyes snapped to her. “Yes, ichor.”

“What is…ichor?” Tigress asked cautiously.

Percy looked at the shorter woman dressed in orange and black, the white lenses of her domino mask shrinking so it looked like she was narrowing her eyes. “Ichor is, essentially, the blood of the gods. While technically gods do not have blood as they do not have DNA, ichor is what flows through their body, an ultimate show of their divinity, but many just call it the blood of gods.”

“Gods?” echoed Red Robin slowly.

“Yes, gods, Red Robin. Gods meaning those massive beings from the myths. Gods meaning people of immense power, immortal, everlasting, all-powerful. Gods like Poseidon, Hestia, Hades, Artemis. Gods, Red Robin, as in the Greek and Roman myths that many of you dismissed as fake.” She paused, taking a sip of her coffee as the news settled. And then she continued. “Is it so hard to believe? With Greek monsters running around, why does the idea of the actual Greek gods amaze you?”

“No, no, that’s not what shocks me,” Red Robin answered. “It’s that my theory of you guys being Meta-humans is wrong.”

“Oh? And what have you realised now, child?”

Red Robin stared Percy dead in her white lenses. “Demigods, half-god, half-human. You guys are like Hercules and Theseu—”

“Do not compare us to those so-called Heroes,” Percy interrupted. The room’s temperature dropped with her snapped out sentence.

Drew placed a hand on her shoulder, pulling her back. “What Astron means to say is we hold hardly any respect for those former demigods, you would be wise to not state their name in our presence.” She didn’t need charmspeak for this. It was easy to tell them no.

“No, no, no. We’re not glossing over the fact that you guys are demigods. Children of gods, that’s just— It’s just insane!” Captain Marvel exclaimed.

Thalia regarded him carefully. “Is it? I mean, you hold the power of the gods too, Captain Marvel. Is it not my father’s lightning you wield so often? Or the strength of Heracles ,” Thalia said the name in such a venomous tone, half the room flinched, “you delight in using? Why is it so odd that there are others who wield this strength?

“Diana, the Princess of Themyscira and Daughter of Zeus, stands among you and yet you deny our existence.” In true Thalia fashion, she too commanded the room like a leader. She too stood forward with the grace of a leader and looked down despite not being tall enough to look down half the people in the room. “We are demigods, children of the gods, and what we fight are monsters who endlessly hunt us, who attack us and kill our kin, who have done so for millennia and millennia to come.”

“Not all of us are demigods, Aegis,” Percy said. “Some of us are legacies, still somewhat divine, but not fully a demigod. They have it easier.” She looked back at an Invictus Division demigod with an apologetic smile. “No offence.”

“No offence taken, you’re right,” the Hero replied with an easy smile.

Drew didn’t know his name exactly, but she remembered him and Percy met in New Rome University and were good friends, after a mishap of him asking her out or something. Or was it him crashing into her while she was trying to get to class? That could be the other one. Drew shook her head to stop her musings.

“So, you’ve now decided to tell us you’re demigods.”

“We’re trusting you with this information,” Dakota—son of Bachus and co-Praetor of the Twelfth Legion; his alias was Merlot, a type of wine, Drew believed—stated seriously. “We may have worked together for years, but this is sensitive information because of, well, now you know. We feared that mortal scientists and madmen would try to target demigods, use us. And we have just seen that they will. So, we’re not asking for forgiveness for not telling you, we just decided that maybe it was time you knew due to the unfortunate circumstances.”

“The ichor…what does it do to…normal humans?” Batman asked slowly.

A legacy of Apollo, Roman, stepped forward. “No one has ever tried to use ichor on open wounds. From Nightwing’s and Tigress’ recounts, we can surmise that it is extremely painful for ichor to be placed on an open wound and some divine energy remains for a short period afterwards, little enough energy to attract a monster and not enough be mistaken for a god. We further understand that the pain on a mortal is less than that compared to a demigod.

“I want you to understand that raw ichor has never truly been understood and we have yet to know where the monsters are acquiring the ichor from.” The Roman legacy paused, looking at Hazel for confirmation, who nodded back kindly. “We think it best to avoid highly active monster spots in case someone gets kidnapped again.”

“And how do you propose to deal with this situation?” inquired Superman, his brother-clone-guy Superboy right beside him.

Once again, the legacy looked back, her eyes on Hazel, who nodded. She stepped back and Hazel took her place. “We propose looking for mortals—”

“Hang on, we can’t just skim over this! And I don’t like how you refer to us as mortals—”

“I see, let us correct that. How would you prefer to be addressed?” Percy asked in full ladylike glory. Drew smirked at Green Lantern (the white one, not the black one) seemed to choke on his next words and just stared at Percy incredulously.

Batman looked over and sighed. “We would prefer a more neutral term.”

There was a pause as Percy seemed to mull over it. “Homo sapiens? Does that work?” replied Percy, her answer completely deadpanned. Clarisse let out muffled snickers in the background, Drew was certain Thalia was barely holding herself back, and Leo had no such constraints as he full on guffawed.

“Or maybe ‘ordinary’ works, but that sounds more downgrading than ‘mortals’. Perhaps Earthborn? Ah no, that sounds like Gaea-born. Mundane? No, that’s the same as Ordinary. Full-blooded, wait, shit, that sounds like Draco Malfoy.” She was wondering aloud now as an indignant noise escaped the same Green Lantern at the same time Red Robin, Spoiler, Nightwing, and a few others started shaking with barely held back laughter. Percy made no sign of noticing, she just continued. “Let’s stick to homo sapiens. That one sounds the most neutral.” She looked at Hazel, who Drew was certain was smiling behind her mask. “Continue, Onyx.”

Hazel nodded. “We propose looking for mort— homo sapiens—” She cut herself off this time and started laughing. “I’m sorry, Astron…take over…for me.” It came out between breaths as she laughed.

Percy shook her head. “What Onyx is trying to say is that we should start looking for the patterns between homo sapiens being kidnapped and try to find a link to see where they take the homo sapiens—”

“Okay, we get it, mortals is the only way to address normal humans. Sorry!”

Percy shook her head. “No, I completely understand your dislike of the term. I disliked being called a half-blood, though that is a term for demigods. It’s alright. What are some of your suggestions?”

Green Lantern looked like he was caught in a headlight and really wanted to get out of the spotlight as the weight of Percy’s gaze focused solely on him, searing through her domino mask and into Green Lantern’s own domino mask.

“I— Uhm—”

“Let’s remain with homo sapien until you decide, Green Lantern.” She offered him a smile, it was genuine as fuck, which made Green Lantern to stare even more incredulously than before. “Now, as I was saying,” and somehow she managed to imply the missing “before I was rudely interrupted” with that perfectly calm face and regal tone, “we will begin tracking down homo sapiens—”

“Please return to the use of the word ‘mortal’,” Batman said.

Percy looked at Green Lantern. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” He sounded tired, almost exhausted, while three of his kids were still shaking with laughter. Actually, most of the room was. Drew held her own back.

“I see.” She smiled, this time much more warm than the one directed at Green Lantern. “Well, we will track down missing mortals in monster-prone areas and try to find out whether they have been taken for experimentation or by other mortals. For this, we will remain working with the League, if you are all right with still working with us. If the kidnapping is of the demigod variety, we will keep that within our own and deal with it on our own. Dual cases, we will confer with you guys again.

“The second thing we wished to address was that we would like to work on more joint training exercises.” She paused, scanning the room as everyone had finally sobered. “We understand that your trust with us has waned and I do not blame you, but we stand by our decision to not tell you until we were ready. So, while we would like to build up the trust enough to show you more of our more…specialised training, we will step back until you are comfortable.”

Drew grinned. Even with Miranda’s death still so utterly fresh on their minds, watching Percy’s effortless negotiations (or perhaps subtle insults) always brought a smile to her face. Clearly most people in the room thought so too considering how half of them were failing to cover up their amusement despite all of them having stopped laughing.

“Maybe you could tell us your…godly parentage?” Superboy offered. “I’m unsure if that is the correct term, but that could be the first step to understanding.”

Percy was the only one out of all of them to wear a domino mask, so she offered him a pleasant smile. “I agree, that would be a good step. Gem, you first.”

Hazel glanced at Percy, her gold eyes glowing ever so slightly, and then she sighed. “I am the daughter of Pluto, Roman.”

“I am the son of Bachus, Roman.”

“Wait, Roman? But I thought you said Greek…” Flash trailed off, he sounded more curious than scared.

“No, we are both Roman and Greek demigods, along with legacies and even some mortals turned half-immortal since joining the Hunter of Artemis, or as you know them: the Nightshade Division,” clarified Lou. “I’m a daughter of Hecate.”

“Son of Hephaestus, Greek” Leo said with his signature mischievous grin.

“Daughter of Aphrodite, Greek” Drew introduced.

“Legacy of Apollo, Greek” the one who reported about ichor murmured loud enough to be heard.

“Son of Athena, Greek.” Malcolm, naturally.

“Daughter of Ares, Greek.” Clarisse, ever the one for a gruff voice.

“Vice-lieutenant of the Hunters of Artemis, daughter of Bellona,” Reyna stated in her naturally powerful voice. She too held power in just her voice. No wonder her and Percy had been fast friends.

The next to speak was Militia (it meant Warfare), a legacy of Mars, if Drew remembered correctly. “Legacy of Mars, Roman.” She did remember correctly, it seemed.

“No godly lineage, I have been in the Hunters of Artemis since the fall of the Ancient Greek Empire,” came from Thalia’s third companion, a tall girl named Elena. She had no need for a Hero name, so she remained with her name Elena.

At her statement, there were several shocked gasps, whispers, and someone even screamed “What?!” at her statement.

“Hunters of Artemis gain partial immortality, meaning they can only die in battle,” Thalia explained evenly. She did not expand further.

Everyone else had introduced themselves, except three people. After the shock of Elena’s words wore off, everyone was looking at the Small Three.

“Lieutenant of the Hunters of Artemis, daughter of Zeus.” Thalia disliked her association with Zeus a little more than most, so whenever she introduced herself, she always said her status as lieutenant before her godly parent.

Nico spoke next, “Son of Hades.”

Percy tilted her head, an almost smile on her face. “Daughter of Poseidon.”

There was a silence as the final names settled. The silence was broken by the blonde in purple, Spoiler.

“I could’ve sworn you three were siblings.”

Percy chuckled softly. “Stygian here is emotionally my younger brother, but he’s my scraggly cousin that I pulled out a dumpster when I was fourteen and he was ten. Aegis is also my cousin, and so is Onyx. Stygian and Onyx are genuinely related, though the form of their father was different. So are Warrior and Militia, distant relatives as Militia is a legacy of Mars, meaning his parents were either a child of Mars or grandchildren of Mars. Warrior is a daughter of Ares, the Greek form of Mars.”

“First, you did not pull me out of any dumpster. Stop lying.”

“Awww, you do listen to me.”

“Die.”

“Hey, that would mean all your sisters died. Do you really want that?”

Drew paused, thinking over it, before she let out a muffle snort. Percy used humour and Nico had moved forward, so he did crack some minor jokes. Bianca and Hazel had both died, and if Percy—his pseudo-sister—died, that would mean all his sisters died.

“Woah, Astron, don’t go there.”

“I thought you just said Onyx and Stygian are siblings. How would all his sisters have died if you died and Onyx was still alive? You two aren’t even siblings,” Cyborg pointed out.

“Sister in all but blood,” Percy rectified. “We’ve known each other long enough. And it’s an inside joke, kind of.”

“Okay, ignoring all that, let’s go back to your godly parentage. What does having a god in your…heritage mean?” Superman asked.

Malcolm was the one who answered, “It involves constantly being chased by monsters. The more powerful the god and the stronger you are, the more likely you are to be hunted by monsters. No offense to Romans,” he nodded to Hazel, Dakota, and the two legacies, who all nodded back, “Greek demigods are more connected to the gods and are at a higher risk.”

“So, as a child of Zeus, Hades, or Poseidon, you three are like, what, the strongest?” Tigress asked, her head tilted as she regarded the cousins.

All three looked straight back at her. Thalia was smirking (though the Justice League probably couldn’t see considering the enchantment upon her silver tiara), Nico was watching her emotionlessly with black eyes, and Percy was, well, Drew couldn’t get a read on any emotions, so perhaps as emotionlessly as Nico regarded Tigress, Percy did the same.

“Technically, yes,” Thalia answered for all three of them.

“So, my question is, between the Greeks, Hunters of Artemis, and the Romans, who are the strongest?” Spoiler asked, eyes narrowed at the group of Heroes.

“It depends,” Lou answered. “Do we Greeks have—”

Percy slapped a hand over Lou’s mouth and shot her a glare, somehow saying words through her mask. She sighed and faced the Justice League. “Ignore her. Could I have some water?” Her coffee was long since finished, it seemed.

Nightwing grabbed a spare bottle from the U-shaped table and threw it to Percy. It paused right before her face, hovering there.

The blatant use of her powers seemed to be a shock for, well, everyone.

“So how does your hydrokinesis work?” Nightwing asked, perhaps the only of the League unphased as he scanned Percy and her hovering bottle. “It’s not like the Atlanteans, who have water bearers and tattoos.”

“Oh, Atlantean magic… I can use some of their more simple spells, but I haven’t been trained in Atlantean magic. Though, to be fair, Atlantean magic does come to me more naturally than most. Anyway, for me, my hydrokinesis is engraved inside me, it isn’t something that can be taught as I was born with these powers.” She took her bottle out of the air and opened it. “While Orin, Kaldur, and La’gaan have all been taught magic, my powers are more…ancient you could say.”

She tipped her head back as she drank. And then she immediately spat the water out, freezing it in the air halfway, and her mouth shifted into a snarl of disgust. “Gods, what water are you guys drinking? This tastes terrible. It’s so…dirty.” The water in the air evaporated as soon as her spiel ended, a little nod of her head the only indication she did something to the frozen water.

“Dirty? What does that even mean?” Superman asked, staring at the formerly frozen water, but the space was empty.

“Uh…” Percy paused, as if trying to find the words. “Ya know how the sewer water was, like, poisonous to…use on my injuries, but still acceptable enough to, like, work on them?” Nightwing, Superboy, and Tigress nodded, no one else did, except the Atlanteans, they clearly understood. One of them, Orin, was already checking his own bottle of water. “It’s like…the water, it kind of, like, is bad for… Dam, how the hell do I explain it? The water isn’t technically dirty in vision, but in, like, essence…” Percy snapped her fingers, a triumphant grin on her face. “That’s right! The essence of the water is dirty, kind of like how Red Hood’s presence is tainted by the residue effects of the Lazarus Pit he was raised from, the water is tainted by something. Maybe an angry sea deity cursing people for using water from their water body, or something.”

“That was the shittiest explanation I have ever heard,” Clarisse murmured.

Drew noticed how pretty much everyone on the League’s side looked amazed at Percy’s blunt way of saying ‘Lazarus Pit’ despite none of them being told. Well, even without the League informing them, anyone who had hung around Nico and Hazel long enough could tell the stench of the dead.

“Oh, you try explaining, Wart! It’s hard to explain how clear water can be dirty. Like what did you want me to tell them? Oh yeah, someone—most likely an angry sea deity—cursed the water and basically you could get sick from consumption over a prolonged period of time… Wait, that sounds simpler.” Percy facepalmed as Drew stopped herself from holding it back and laughed. Leo joined her while Malcolm sighed tiredly like a tired dad.

“What do you mean sea deity?” Green Arrow asked, looking at his bottle cautiously.

“Sea deities refer to immortal beings who govern different bodies of water, like that one guy who tried to drown me.”

“Astron, that was like, forty different guys.”

“Was it? I mean, there was Nereus, Elisson, Triton tried once, Kym did too, the East River Spirit, the Hudson River Spirit, Sirens, Brykhon tried once, Keto definitely tried, so did Phorcys, and I’m pretty sure half the Atlantean Court tried to drown me, but who's counting, honestly? I can’t exactly drown anyway,” and she shrugged it all away. Drew wished Percy showed a little more regard for her life. She detested the ease at which she ignored the threats against her life. It…hurt.

“Anyway, that’s beside the point, your water can’t be from the River Elisson. Maybe Achelous, he seems like the type to do it. I’ll talk to him if you want.”

“You’d talk to a god…for water?” Cyborg sounded slightly terrified.

Percy chuckled. “Boy, I have spoken to gods for less. I once spoke to my dad about a seashell. You’d be surprised by the amount of things I say to gods, like—” She abruptly stopped, facepalming again. “Guys, we forgot to ask the gods if we could reveal their existence. The Olympian Council is going to be furious.”

“How the hell do you just forget that?!” Kid Flash exclaimed. “And can we go back to you talking to the gods for…less? What did you do? March up to, uh, Mount Olympus and just, like, demand something?”

Percy looked away guiltily, deciding to not deign Kid Flash with an answer as she controlled the remaining water in her bottle. She was most likely cleansing it, but Drew could never know. Percy sometimes just played with water for the random fun of it.

“Please don’t tell us you went to the gods of Olympus and demanded them to do something,” said—begged—Flash. “What did you even ask of them? To pay attention to their children?”

Percy, having cleansed her water and started drinking it, spat out her water again.

Leo was collapsing, using Clarisse as his support as he turned red in the face. Thalia was using Reyna as her support. The Legacies were somehow remaining straight-faced, but Dakota was hiding laughter by turning away (even though he had on a face mask) and Hazel was biting her lip (hard enough that it was visible through her mask). Malcolm sighed and just looked down at his tablet, exhaustion covering him like a cloak. Nico had also turned to the side. Lou had already started using Percy as some sort of pillar of support. And Drew herself was hardly holding herself together.

“You mean,” Nightwing’s voice sounded several octaves higher, “you went to the gods of Olympus and just demanded they, what, pay child support?!”

Drew broke down laughing and she leaned on Percy, who had regained her composure and was remaining as straight-faced as she could.

“In my defense, the entire reason the war happened in the first place was because the gods ignored their children, so I was well within my right—”

“WAR?!” screeched Red Robin.

“Yeah, the first war.”

“First?”

“Well, there were two wars within months of each other, and many of us here fought in both. I don’t know why you guys are so shocked. I mean, we’ve literally said our lives are to kill or to be killed. Of course there were wars,” Percy remarked. “What’s so shocking that we’ve had our own unfair share of wars? Some of us here went through both.

“Anyway, let’s return to the topic of the dirty water. I will ask around and find out who cursed the water source, fix it, and there, fresh water. While I do that, I recommend changing the type of bottled water you use. Orin, Kaldur, La’gaan, I’m amazed none of you three noticed, you three are very adept at Atlantean magic.” She paused. “I’m pretty sure it is Achelous, he’s probably still harbouring a grudge about that time… Whatever, I’ll check it out.

“Next on the agenda. Since we have fragile trust between us, we shall stick to our usual joint training plans until we are certain of our trust in each other.” Percy paused and looked around, shoving Drew and Lou off her in the process. “I suppose we do need a new training idea, perhaps to shake it up. What do you think of an exchange of proteges, as you call them. One of you mentors one of ours and vice versa. It lasts a week, every night of patrol? Batman?”

Batman was still watching them with some sort of wariness in his frame. Drew narrowed her eyes as he observed Percy a moment longer than the rest. “The idea is interesting and it would be a good idea to learn of your…demigod skills in real time, to allow for better teamwork.” His voice was its usual gruff, deep growl.

“Perfect, let’s work out the final details now, and then we can try this new training plan in a few weeks,” Malcolm decided, stepping forward again to stand beside Percy, and shaking away his cloak of enervation.

And all jokes were cut short as Malcolm, Batman, and Percy discussed the finer point of the new training plan. Diana joined in often, Superman too, as did Hazel and Dakota. Thalia said her hunters would not partake. That made sense.

The meeting concluded as soon as they had set up a schedule of sorts that would be implemented soon.

“Well, I’ve gotta leave and book an audience with the bitc— gods. Also, I need to figure out which sea deity cursed the water. Maybe I should ask for some water from the River Elisson, might be able to cleanse the water easier.” She waved. “Bye!”

Drew laughed as she disappeared, Percy barely managed to say “gods’ instead of “bitches”. Her impertinence was still going strong, it seemed.

“Recognised: Astron, Hellenics Division.”

“We shall get going too, thank you for believing us.” Malcolm left next, followed by Clarisse, and Leo, then Drew herself.

The day was over and Drew really, really wanted to get some beauty sleep.

“So, now that they’re gone, was anyone going to tell us that the Greek and Roman gods still had kids and that these superpowered humans walked among us?” Hal, ever the guy to bring up the elephant in the room.

Stephanie sighed. “Yeah, and we’ve established that their strongest is Aegis, Stygian, and Astron.”

“Can someone explain how powerful a demigod really is? I mean, we’ve got you,” Oliver nodded at Diana, “but they said you weren’t truly a demigod. So, like what is the average power level of a demigod?”

“No, I am not. A demigod is someone of divine blood. Lord Zeus blew breath into clay my mother formed, so in some sense, I am his daughter, but I am truly Amazonian. That is my heritage. Cassie is a true demigod,” explained Diana.

New information that Steph catalogued away as she thought it over. “But, Cassie is a daughter of Zeus, does that make her stronger than Astron? Like Aegis level power?”

Steph was subjected to stares from Diana, Orin, Kaldur, La’gaan, Zatanna, and even Bruce. “What did I say wrong?”

“Cassie is nowhere near the power level of Aegis. While they are both daughters of Zeus, Aegis wields the stronger sides of Zeus, his lightning. Cassie merely inherited his immense strength and some minor control over wind,” Diana said calmly. “I do not mean to dismiss Cassie, but she is, perhaps, a child to Aegis’ powers and abilities.”

“And Aegis is not the strongest of Aegis, Stygian, or Astron,” Kaldur added.

Stephanie looked around. “How come? Zeus is the King of the gods, the greatest of them, isn’t he?”

“Yes, he is their king,” conceded Diana, then she continued, “but that does not make his children the immediate strongest.” She turned to Oliver. “For power levels of a demigod, it varies depending on godly parentage, whether they have a Catalyst, and such. The Twelve Olympian gods and Lord Hades bring forth the strongest children, but children of Lord Ares are physically stronger than children of Lord Dionysus. However, children of Lord Ares are less powerful than children of Lady Demeter, whose children are able to control vines and other plantlife.

“A Catalyst—or power enhancer—is something connected to the demigod’s parent and it allows for a demigod to broaden their power. If a child of Lord Hades has stygian iron with them, they are more likely to be stronger than without stygian iron. Similarly, children of Lady Aphrodite are more enhanced if they hold dove feathers; the more feathers they have, the stronger they are. There are many different power enhancers depending on parents and I do not know all of them as I have not memorised them.

“Finally, power is also based upon your own feats as a demigod.” She looked at Steph again, who tilted her head to the side. “So to answer your question, Stephanie, now Aegis is not the strongest because while she is the daughter of the King of the gods, she does not wield a Catalyst nor does she have as many feats as some other demigods of this generation.” Diana paused. “The strongest demigod of this generation, in fact, you could say she is the strongest demigod of all time…”

Stephanie somehow, in her very bones, knew who it was before Diana said her name because, well, there was only one other demigod who was female and could possibly be the strongest.

The separate divisions had their leaders and then they had some sort of main leader who could command them all with one look or one order. They respected her, but were easy-going enough to have jokes too. Not to mention, she had a great sense of humour.

(Steph would never think of the words “homo sapiens” the same.)

“Astron, the sole demigod daughter of Poseidon. She has more feats beneath her belt than that of Heracles, her strength as a leader far surpasses the original Perseus, her bravery is more than that of Theseus.” Diana paused, as if deliberating if she should say the next part, before she shrugged. “It would come out anyway, but Astron is perhaps the only demigod to ever be able to look the gods in the eyes and turn down immortality.”

Steph’s brain stuttered to a halt. “Pardon, repeat that last part.”

“Astron was offered a gift from the gods in return for her efforts in saving Olympus during the first war. She refused the gift of immortality.”

“ShE wHaT?!”

The clerky at the front desk of the Empire State Building had a strict procedure. The only person who broke the procedure was Perseus Jackson.

Percy entered the building with a tired sigh and marched to the front desk. The man was reading as he usually did, a book from, if Percy was correct, the Lord of the Rings series. She respected his choice considering her own love of said books.

Percy shoved the thought aside as she placed her bandaged hand on the front desk (her knuckles weren’t still bruised, but Lou said she should keep them bandaged to not let her mortal supervisor suspect a thing about super fast healing). “The sixth hundred floor please, Jefferson.”

Technically his name wasn’t Jefferson, but who cared, Percy didn’t give a flying fuck what his name was considering the amount of shit he gave her over her years of trying to get in. Like that time she brought in forty demigods and he remained steadfast in his denial of the 600th Floor until Percy slammed her hands on his desk and got him to stare her in her eyes. Or the time she threatened to pull out Zeus’ Masterbolt in the lobby.

Jefferson looked up, noted who he she was, and quickly handed her the key. He did not give her the usual instructions of where to go. She didn’t need it. He did send her one last fearful glance that seared into her back.

Percy was thankful for the weekend. After the audience, she would have to finish her report and get Lou, Travis, and Connor to watch Bludhaven since she was going on a two-week long field trip for work with Sheila Montenegro (her lovely boss), Elara and Xander (the two Atlantean delegates that Aquatic Research and wayne Enterprise had been working with for a while), and Tim.

The bad elevator music played as the elevator ascended to Olympus.

(In the Olympian Throne Room, Zeus was staring angrily at the shut doors as everyone got ready for a very interesting audience.)

The doors opened with a ding and Percy plastered on a kind smile as nature spirits and minor gods all turned to greet her.

“Lady Percy!”

“My Lady!”

“Could I have your autograph?” That question was asked for a lot.

Percy maneuvered the crowds, greeting familiar gods with a smile, and flawlessly stepping away from everyone as easily as if it were breathing.

She did walk a little slower than she usually would, admiring the work of Annabeth. Olympus was glorious, truly. The last time she had been there, though, had been to return Ganymede’s Chalice.

(Long story, but what happened was that during senior year, Ganymede had come to her requesting aid for taking back the stolen Chalice of the Gods and Percy had only accepted because, well, immortality in the wrong hands… She, Annabeth, and Grover had worked together to take back the Chalice. That was also when she started actually analysing hers and Annabeth’s relationship considering Annabeth had shoved her off a cliff with no hesitation and expected her to survive. Sure, it had been into a river, but still. She didn’t do anything else for anyone else during senior year, despite Zeus’ wish to make her do quests so she could go to school—funny story, she nearly broke Zeus’ throne a second time because of that.)

Olympus was truly finished. During the quest for the Chalice, it hadn’t been fully finished as the Giant War had gotten into the way and such.

The temples for all the gods, minor and major, glittered. Perhaps some temples were slightly larger, but they still honoured every god. And some more were still being built.

Swooping arches, golden pavements, gardens of gods, and statues of them too. She passed four statues of Apollo and rolled her eyes at every one of them.

She did pause in her walk when Nike approached. Did smile more kindly at the minor goddess. Did stop to speak with her.

“Lady Nike, your children bring you much victory,” Percy greeted. Like Nike’s daughters, Laurel and Holly Victor, twin daughters of Nike. They named themselves as such in the League of Heroes: Triumph and Champion. Nike had only about a handful of great kids at camp, but Percy found them fun all the same—competitive, yes, but fun too.

Nike smiled too. “Thank you, Perseus. I see you are still as victorious as before.”

“All thanks to you, Lady Nike.” She was one of the few Percy would be bothered to stop for. Nike cared for her children, truly cared, and she had been one of Percy’s strongest supporters after the second Titan War, voicing how delighted she was for a cabin for her children.

Percy may not kneel to her, but she would stop and speak to the goddess of Victory because the blessing of victory is something difficult to procure and even more difficult to protect.

“You praise me too much, Perseus, though I am pleased to note that my children are amassing feats as well. Tell me of their latest, I could not visit for some time,” Nike replied.

Percy bowed her head. “As you say, the children of Nike have fought many enemies during this past year. Just last week, Niklas Andersson fought fifteen monsters and won. I believe Laurel and Holly have also won a recent battle two days ago against a group of twenty-five monsters.”

Nike laughed. “Indeed. I believe you have an audience to get to, do not allow me to keep you waiting, Perseus.”

“It is my pleasure to speak to you, Lady Nike.” Percy motioned for her to join Percy as she walked, Nike fell into step beside the child of the sea.

“You respect me more than you respect Lord Zeus,” noted Nike absentmindedly as they walked to the Throne Room together. It was a subconscious decision for both of them, probably, to walk together.

Percy nodded. “It is thanks to you that we are still able to triumph against the mass of monsters that increase each day. Besides, Lady Nike, you truly care for your children.” Percy’s eyes twinkled. “I respect that far more than a self-given title.” Without actually naming Zeus, she didn’t draw his full attention upon her, and thus he would not truly know who she was speaking of, though he could easily guess it.

Nike and her paused before the entrance. “You…are an interesting godling, Perseus. I see why Lord Poseidon favours you. Do not die, I enjoy watching your conquests. They bring me much amusement.” And Nike was gone.

Percy took a moment to steady herself with a breath.

Nike was…different. Not only did she visit Camp Half-Blood often, she delighted in small conversations over others victories, often pleased with their success, as long as they attributed some of it to her, for granting them victory. But, on many occasions, she just enjoyed hearing of her children, and Percy could respect that.

(Victoria rarely appeared as Victoria did not have many legacies, in fact, Percy was certain Victoria didn’t have any children to begin with after the Romans did not worship her as much as others; they took her form, changed her name, but while Jupiter gained his own persona, Victoria was nothing more than Nike’s shadow, captured for Rome, but not truly nurtured to aid Rome.)

She pushed open the Throne Room doors.

The Olympian Council was as before, the Throne Room the same but different.

Twelve chairs in the shape of Ω, all around the hearth that Hestia tended to. The Last Olympian, Percy nodded her head to Hestia, who smiled kindly back.

The gods were there too, even Dionysus. Percy didn’t greet any except a nod to her dad, who smiled at her as well. 

Percy didn’t bother kneeling, she just stepped into the room further. “We told the mortal heroes of your existence.”

Hell broke loose. Percy pulled out the popcorn she made to enjoy the debate that would probably take around an hour. She joined Hestia halfway through. And she only got her chance to explain two hours and seventeen minutes into the argument.

Percy really hated her dad’s side of the family, except Hestia and Hades. Hades was funny as fuck after you got over his bad attitude, he was a pretty good father too.

“Hey Danger.” The nickname was clearly more truthful than previously, but Dick still liked it, so he kept it.

The dangerous woman in question turned around from her perch on the roof and she smiled. “Hey Firefly.”

Dick landed beside her and held out his hand. She took it almost naturally, and rose smoothly. The information from the meeting a day ago was, well, terrifying. A woman that turned down immortality stood before him. A woman who could've been a god stood before him. Dick wondered why she said no. Diana was pretty tight-lipped about her reasons.

But then again, Star had also told the gods to pay their child support and somehow lived, so perhaps her turning down immortality wasn’t a surprise.

“Your siblings aren’t here? That’s unfortunate. Was kind of hoping to see the angry kitten before my two-week long break,” Star murmured, still staring over the horizon.

“Another break?”

“Work project, can’t stay.” Star paused before she smiled mischievously. “You’ve got no questions?”

“I’ve got many. One of them includes: did you really turn down immortality?”

“Who the fuck told you that?!” She was standing now, her lenses widened to mimic her wide eyes behind them.

Dick laughed. “Wonder Woman, or Diana as you know her, I suppose.”

“She had no right!”

“She was telling us either to instill fear or assure us that we should be glad to have you on our side.”

After the reveal and everything, Dick had spent much time debating over it all, wondering how he should feel. On one hand, yeah, he understood. The secret kept their family safe, he’d do the same. On the other hand, he wasn’t sure if he feared the Heroes or was in awe of them. Star mostly, but whatever.

Ultimately, he decided that he would probably never fear Star. Sure, she was terrifyingly powerful, possibly the only demigod to ever speak to a god like they were less than her and live, the strongest person he knew (yeah, Bruce, she was), and definitely a warrior trained to kill. But Star was kind too. She was soft, she wasn’t all hard edges. She was genuine and kind and great with kids. Star was…so utterly easy to trust, she drew people in like waves (pun intended) pulling things beneath their might.

Star nodded. “Maybe, but she still had no right. That was…ugh! I hate that story.”

“You got more?”

“You have time to listen?”

For you? Anytime. “Yeah, loads,” Dick shrugged.

Star laughed. “When I was twelve, I once sent the head of Medusa to the Olympian Council.”

Her words registered and two things were made clear. One, she was twelve and slayed Medusa. Two, she sent the head of a gorgon to the gods of Olympus.

“You wHaT?!”

Tim wouldn't lie, he was distracted the entire time he got ready for the Poseidonis Meeting. Because when some mythological race suddenly comes and says “Oh yeah, we’re alive, your bottled water tastes like shit, and you guys are untrustworthy, but we are too” you tend to have more on your mind than endangered species and restoration of near-extinct plant lives beneath the ocean.

The good news was that Percy was going to be there, so two weeks in the ocean or sometimes above the ocean and on a boat, it would be fine with Percy there.

Percy who suddenly appeared in front of him with a coffee. She smiled as he most certainly did not let out a yelp of fear. Besides, if he did, which he didn’t, no one had the right to say he couldn’t considering how quickly she had appeared and how silently too.

“Blitz Brew, your favourite,” she said as she placed the coffee in his hand. Tim stared and then looked around to see that Sheila, head of Aquatic Research, also had a coffee, Percy was drinking hers quickly.

Percy was in sports clothes, comfortable and breathable. On her shoulder, she held a duffle bag, dark blue in colour, probably with a change of clothes.

Tim had chosen similar clothes, as had Sheila.

The Atlanteans were in usual Atlantean garb.

Once again, Tim’s thoughts went to Astron and her semi-Atlantean heritage. He would’ve never guessed. Naturally, thought of that turned to the moment she somehow humiliated Hal Jordan with sweet words and her own understanding. The memory of that would never let Tim think of “homo sapiens” the same.

They were using one of Bruce’s many yachts. Tim was pretty sure Bruce was just happy it was being used considering how none of them usually went onto the sea. Tim got seasick easily, Dick usually stayed on land, Jason hardly came home to actually speak to Bruce about using a yacht, Damian didn’t care, Cass and Steph usually used the private jet, and yeah.

Tim looked over at Percy again. He noticed it then, how much more she seemed to…well, for a lack of better words, draw attention.

Something was affecting her natural presence. Maybe it was being enhanced with how many more eyes were being drawn to her. Noticing his watching, she smiled at him.

“How are your siblings?” she asked, throwing her coffee cup away.

Tim took a sip of his as he thought of an answer. “Jason misses your cooking. Cass misses you in general, I think. Steph really wants to know about another prank you pulled, she’s certain that learning from you will aid her in the next prank she may pull at a gala. Damian is…well himself. And Dick…don’t you guys talk sometimes in Bludhaven?”

“I mean, yeah, we do. Your brother is such a rom-com guy, it’s endearing. I watched one and it was adorable!” She paused, Tim noticed the faint pink on her cheeks. “It was sweet, really. Especially when he told me how much he enjoyed the series I recommended. Have you ever watched BBC Merlin? And yes, I know it is a British Tv show, but trust me, it’s a great one.”

“I will try it. How are your horses?”

“They’re well, though Jack’s a little put out that he won’t be seeing him for two weeks. He thinks I’m abandoning him for the sea.” She smiled to herself, like something more amusing was at play. “Everyone in my family has either ridden a horse or owned one. My cousin, Hazel, is a big horse girl. She rides a very fast horse named…Arion, yes after the Greek myths. Funny story, that horse tried to eat gold and very nearly succeeded.”

“Is he hers?”

“He only lets her ride him, but he does tolerate me sometimes. Anyone else and they are going to be bucked off.” She sighed. “He’s a funny one, I’ll tell you.”

He sounded funny. Who named a horse after the Greek myths? And why on earth did the horse sound crazier than Damian? How does a horse even manage that?

Tim took another sip of his coffee. He paused, wondering how it was still at the perfect temperature, before shrugging. Maybe less time had passed than he realised.

(He was wrong, but how could he possibly know Percy was keeping the drinks hot?)

They boarded the yacht.

First, they’d go to the provided coordinates from the Atlanteans and then the Atlanteans would provide them with air bubbles made of Atlantean magic to allow them to breathe beneath the water. Naturally, that meant they had swimming clothes.

It was interesting, truly, how the Atlanteans were very willing to work with Wayne Enterprise and the Aquatic Research Centre (which was technically a branch of WE, but who cares) for the ocean. The negotiations had taken a while and who was coming had been agreed upon a month in advance.

Since it was a private yacht and Nruce’s, everyone got their own room. Tim’s room was opposite Percy’s whose was beside Sheila’s. The two Atlanteans were a little further down the corridor.

Tim stayed in his room for most of the time on the boat. He was prone to seasickness, so he rarely stayed on deck for boat trips.

Sheila remained in her room too, only leaving for the shared kitchen to make herself a cup of coffee or such. As far as Tim knew, Percy and the Atlanteans were on the deck, speaking. Or they would be had there not been a massive impact against the side of the boat.

There was a lot of shouting and cursing. The yacht rocked again. Tim hit his head against something in the room.

Everything turned black.

Everything kind of hurt.

Jason was pretty sure he’d broken something from that horrific fall.

He groaned, blinking blearily as his eyes adjusted to the darkness around him.

Where was he?

He patted his body to find himself shirtless, bandaged, and none of his weapons in sight, nor his helmet.

Shit, shit, shit.

He remembered chasing some petty criminal in Crime Alley. A rooftop, something hard hitting him, falling...and then nothing. It was just black.

Jason palmed his forehead, his head aching.

Where the fuck was he?

His pulse spiked as he forced himself upright, a fresh wave of pain rolling through his ribs and up his spine. He grit his teeth. He wasn’t restrained, at least. That was something. But the fact that he wasn’t in a safehouse, wasn’t in an alley, wasn’t where he should have been—it was setting off every alarm in his head.

His sluggish mind caught up to him as he looked around. The faint moonlight streaming through the curtains gave him a clear enough view of the room.

A spare bedroom.

The kind of pristine, unused place meant for guests who never arrived. A thick duvet, heavy mahogany furniture, a chair in the corner.

Wayne Manor.

A surge of disgust curled in his stomach, bile rising in his throat as he shoved himself off the bed. His legs wobbled, but he forced them to hold. He needed to get out. Now.

Moving on instinct, he stumbled into the hallway, bracing himself against the cool, familiar walls. The mansion smelled the same—polished wood, old books, the faintest lingering scent of Alfred’s tea. It sent a shiver down his spine.

His feet carried him forward before his brain could stop him. The halls were quiet, the kind of heavy silence that settled deep in his chest. He knew this path. Knew it too well.

And then he stopped.

A door stood in front of him, a name etched into a silver plaque.

His breath hitched. His fingers twitched.

Against his own will, his hand rose. It traced the perfectly cursive name, five letters, so beautifully etched into the silver. Each letter held the time he taught Jason how to do it. Their plaques personalised for themselves. And Jason's was in a pretty cursive he'd learnt from Bruce.

Jason. His plaque was still there.

Anytime Jason came to the Manor, he's get food, go to the Cave, and do nothing else. He never went up, never bothered with more. It held too many memories, and yet...

He shouldn’t. He shouldn’t care. He shouldn’t even hesitate.

And yet—

The doorknob was cold against his palm as he turned it.

The room was untouched.

Jason stared, a strange, bitter taste filling his mouth. Everything was the same.

The bed he’d slept in. Its dark green duvet with floral leaves printed over it in varying lighter shades of green. The fluffy white pillows with pale green cushions in front. Even that single pillow with a book opened and magic erupting from it nestled in the centre of the pillow arrangement.

The old, battered bookshelf filled with dog-eared novels. "Emma" remained the prized novel in the front, other Jane Austen novel surrounding it. His Pride and Prejudice copy was in his safehouse. He'd gotten it from Alfred and had not entered this room. He was glad he hadn't.

On the windowsill, there lay trinkets. There were more over the cabinets and such. Stupid little trinkets he used to collect on missions. A seashell from a beach in Brazil, Flamenco, if Jason remembered correctly. An arrow head from Oliver's arrow, this one he'd stolen straight from under Oliver's nose. There was a small keychain with a quote from Fyodor Dostovesky written on it: "The mystery of human existence lies not in just staying alive, but in finding something to live for." They'd been in Russia and Jason just had to get it.

His walls were covered in crayon drawings he’d made. Pinned up there, some slightly faded with time but otherwise unmoved. The one least faded, still bright in colour, was the on he'd drawn of him, Bruce, and Dick.

Everything was as it had been before he died.

Frozen in time.

His hands curled into fists.

He had been replaced.

Bruce had moved on, taken in another kid, trained him, given him the mantle Jason was meant to have. And yet here—here was this room. A shrine to someone who no longer existed. A memorial to the second Robin. Not Jason Todd. Not who he was now. Just a ghost of a boy who had died.

He wanted to break something.

His fingers hovered over the bookshelf, brushing against the worn spine of "Sense and Sensibility" by Jane Austen. He hadn’t touched it in years, but he remembered every word. He could still hear Alfred’s voice, patient and steady, reading it aloud when Jason had been too tired to do it himself.

A sharp pain lanced through his chest, a different kind of ache than the one from his injuries. He swallowed it down and stepped back.

Why had he pushed and pushed them away when he'd always had a place?

Jason shoved the thought aside. He didn't have a place. He was replaced. He and Bruce were always at odds, Bruce didn't want him here. This was all so stupid.

(He ignored the stinging in his eyes, the slightly blurred vision. He was being foolish.)

Silently, he left the room.

He forced himself down the hallway, down the stairs, into the dimly lit kitchen. He just needed a moment to breathe, to think, to get his head on straight.

And then he froze.

Bruce was there.

He sighed. He couldn’t do this, not now, and he didn't even have a shirt on.

"Jaylad, please stay." Jason paused. Bruce sounded, for a lack of better words, dead. He sounded so utterly destroyed, Jason turned around.

Bruce was sitting at the table, back to him, hunched over. Why? Why did he sound so tired?

"How long have I been out?" Jason's voice sounded hoarse from its lack of use. It sounded scratchy.

Bruce sighed. "Three days. You must be hungry, eat."

Jason noticed the plate of food then, opposite Bruce. His stomach growled and Jason swallowed his pride. He would not starve merely to show Bruce he didn't need help. Besides, this was Alfred's cooking.

He chanced a glance at Bruce, who remained stoic, having straightened himself and continued drinking his coffee. But Jason had seen his slumped shoulder, the haggardness in his form. What ailed the mighty Bruce Wayne?

The only sounds were the scraping of Jason's fork against his plate. But he did keep glancing at Bruce. Bruce, who looked like he wanted to say something, met his questioning gaze sparingly.

"Say it," Jason demanded half-way through his meal.

Bruce said nothing, but his stern look was everything.

Jason rolled his eyes. “Oh, here we go.”

“I’m serious, Jason.”

“And I don’t care.” He leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms over his bare chest, hissing slightly at the movement. His ribs were definitely bruised. “I do what I want, old man. You don’t get a say in it.”

“I don’t want you to die.”

Jason froze.

Bruce still didn’t look at him, his gaze locked somewhere beyond the kitchen, beyond this moment. His voice was even, controlled, but there was something beneath it. Something raw.

Jason forced out a laugh, but it sounded hollow. “Bit late for that, don’t you think?”

Bruce finally met his eyes, and Jason wished he hadn’t. There was no anger there, no frustration, just a deep, unwavering exhaustion.

“No. It’s not.” Bruce’s fingers curled around his coffee cup, white-knuckled. “I lost you once, Jason. I won’t lose you again.”

Jason’s chest tightened, a slow, creeping pressure that made it hard to breathe. His first instinct was to lash out, to shove that sentiment back down Bruce’s throat, to snarl that he had already been lost, that Bruce had let him go. But something about the way Bruce was holding himself back, the tension coiled in his frame, made him hesitate.

“…You don’t say things like that,” Jason muttered, voice quieter than he intended. “You never say things like that.”

Bruce exhaled heavily, his gaze shifting to the table. “I know.”

Jason stared at him, unsure of what to do with the vulnerability being laid before him. It felt wrong, like something fragile that might break if he moved too suddenly.

Bruce’s hands clenched. “I should have—” He stopped himself, shook his head. “I thought if I could just… keep moving forward, if I kept the mission going, it would be enough.” His jaw tightened, and for a moment, Jason thought he wouldn’t continue.

Then Bruce looked at him, and Jason felt like he’d been nailed to his seat.

“It wasn’t.”

Silence stretched between them.

Jason’s throat felt tight, his food forgotten. He wasn’t sure how to respond, wasn’t sure if he even could. What was Bruce saying? Why was he talking now? Jason had been back for a year, two years, and now!? No of all times, except…

Jason hadn’t been on the brink of death for a while. Not until now.

He waited. “What wasn’t…enough?”

Bruce sighed, running a hand down his face. He seemed to be looking for words that wouldn’t come. “I couldn’t kill Joker because…”

Jason hated this. He hated that he wanted to stay and hear and know because Bruce was talking and telling him. All Jason wanted to hear was why? Not Bruce’s bullshit reason of his rules. That was stupid, but now he was hearing it… It felt wrong; there was a knot in Jason’s throat. Something stopped him from speaking, from moving.

“You were everything, Jaylad.” That stinging sensation was back. Jason hated it. It was back and he hated that he was feeling it in front of Bruce. This was stupid. “I—”

They were Red Hood and Batman. Separate. And yet Jason wanted something to exit that stupid mouth of Bruce’s. Wanted something more than just his name and reprimanding and disappointment.

“Why didn’t you get revenge? Why was the Joker allowed to live while me—your fucking son, Bruce—was stuck in a grave?!” The knot was gone. Jason was standing, hands slammed on the table. “WHY?!” he roared.

“Because I love you!”

And something in Jason stops. His breath, his heart, everything. It all pauses as the words he’d wanted to hear forever escaped the mouth he’d so desperately wanted to hear it from.

“I loved you so much, Jaylad, that I couldn't bear to stain your name with vengeance. I loved you, and will always, because you, you were everything I’d ever needed. If I had destroyed your name, painted it red in vengeance, would that not have ruined the reason you lived?”

Jason wasn’t crying. He wasn’t fucking crying. He would not fucking cry in front of Bruce.

Oh, but he was, because how tragic, how utterly tragic that he’d blamed Bruce endlessly. Hated and destested the man, who had only ever done it out of love. And god, he’d been so blind, loathing someone who hadn’t dared to sully Jason’s name. Jason had sullied his own name beyond recognition, dyed it in red and mounted the crimson name on a rotten wall. Bruce had kept it pristine, clean, so utterly pure—

Everything hurt. But maybe, just maybe, this time it was good.

Damian was out of the house again, with Dick in Bludhaven. Tim was on the business trip, he’d left earlier that morning, maybe an hour and a half ago, maybe more. Stephanie and Cassandra were off-world. This left Bruce in his house with an injured Jason upstairs in a spare room.

When Barbara had informed him of Jason’s fall three days ago, Bruce had immediately gone to get him.

Three days of pacing, stepping into the room Jason rested, and going about his routine. It had been utterly horrifying. He couldn’t—would never live with himself—of he lost Jason.

Jason, his second Robin.

Dick had been Bruce’s strength from the start. The foundation, the pillars that held him up. He was Bruce’s proof that the mission didn’t have to consume someone entirely. Bruce trusted him implicitly, and when everything else fell apart, Dick was the one who held them all together. Dick would always be the strength, the pillars, the support Bruce needed. He was perhaps the strongest of them, the one that Joker never broke.

Tim was the mind, the strategist, the genius child who had chosen this life not out of vengeance, but out of sheer understanding. He saw the patterns no one else did, connected the dots before anyone even realized there were dots to connect. Unlike the rest of them, Tim hadn’t been shaped by tragedy—he had walked into the darkness with open eyes, not because he had to, but because he needed to. Because someone had to. He was methodical, logical, always thinking five steps ahead, and yet, beneath all of that, he carried a quiet, aching need to belong. He had proven himself over and over, not with raw talent or blood ties, but with his mind. And in doing so, he had carved out a place for himself in a family that had never been built to welcome outsiders.

Cass was the soul, silent yet resounding. She understood people in ways none of them ever could—beyond words, beyond logic, beyond masks. Where Bruce analyzed, Cass simply knew. She moved with an awareness that made her feel untouchable, yet she carried herself with a quiet kindness, as if she knew exactly what it was to be broken and had chosen, instead, to heal. She was his most honest reflection, the living embodiment of what it truly meant to save people. Bruce had trained her, but in the end, it was Cass who had taught him —that saving a life meant more than just preventing death. It meant letting them live.

Damian was the will, the unyielding force, the stubbornness that refused to bend. He was Bruce’s legacy in every way, the son who had been raised in darkness yet still reached for something more. He fought to prove himself, to be worthy, but what he didn’t see—what Bruce saw—was that he already was. Damian carried the weight of expectations, both his own and those placed upon him, and yet, beneath his sharp edges and arrogance, Bruce saw a boy who wanted. To be good. To be better. To be loved. And for all his defiance, for all his rebellion, Damian had never once run from his family. He had chosen them. And that was the strongest thing of all.

Steph was the light, the spark that refused to go out no matter how many times the world tried to snuff it. She was messy, imperfect, unrelenting—a force of nature that never let failure define her. Where Bruce brooded, she laughed. Where others calculated, she jumped. She was reckless and stubborn and impossibly hopeful, and that was precisely what made her extraordinary. She didn’t have the training, the resources, or the legacy, but she had heart. And in a family of shadows, Stephanie was the one who always found a way to shine.

But while they’d helped Bruce stand, it was Jason, always had been Jason, who had been the heart. Because Bruce remembered his easy laughter, his delight at being with Bruce. His enjoyment of working with Bruce, or being there and just protecting others the way he had never been. How he felt so utterly and wholly.

He was raw and unfiltered. He felt everything too much—anger, love, grief, betrayal—emotions so intense they burned through him. Where Bruce had learned to suppress, Jason never could. His fury was honest, his pain was loud, and his love, when given, was all-consuming. Even in death, his absence had left the deepest wound, an ache Bruce could never quite ignore.

Because you do because you didn’t allow his memory and he himself to become a reason for revenge. He was loved enough to not become a reason for murder. Astron had said that to him around a month ago and Bruce, he feared he never would fully get to express his love. Three nights ago, he feared he’d lose his chance.

Red Hood is trying to heal. And perhaps, the only way to do that is for both of you to recognise that and talk about it. To heal, acknowledgement and talking were the first steps.

So when Jason sat to eat, Bruce knew he would have to speak. He would not lose this chance.

But Bruce was bad with words. And there was a fissure between them. Something so large and empty, a chasm of their own making, it was unimaginable how desolate the space was. It hurt, physically destroyed Bruce, the silence would be their undoing.

“WHY?!” Despite the fury in the shout, Jason’s voice broke. Bruce’s heart broke with it.

The dam was gone. It all came rushing out like a tidal wave, a force of power. “Because I love you!” And it was out there. This vulnerability—this rawness—Bruce hated the unknown. It was so unguarded, his confession, so visceral. Bruce watched Jason’s anger ebb away to shock and something else, something more.

“I loved you so much, Jaylad, that I couldn't bear to stain your name with vengeance.” Bruce’s own voice cracked. Where was his finely controlled emotions, the leash he never let go of? “I loved you, and will always, because you, you were everything I’d ever needed. If I had destroyed your name, painted it red in vengeance, would that not have ruined the reason you lived?”

Jason was the heart. Had always been, would always be the heart. Jason was the one who forced Bruce to face the things he tried to bury—the failures, the regrets, the humanity beneath the cowl. Because even after everything, Jason still loved him, still wanted to be loved in return.

And maybe both the dams broke because Jason was crying. Opposite him, he was crying.

Bruce rounded the table and pulled him close.

His son—his son—was hurting because of Bruce. He’d let him hurt.

So Bruce held his small Robin. Afterall, a Robin may not always need Batman, but Batman would always need his Robin.

Chapter Text

Elara grasped the railings of the boat tightly.

She felt something grab her from behind, familiar arms—Xander—pulling her back. It had been clear, the skies had truly been clear, and then a sudden storm. Was this Lord Poseidon’s doing? Or perhaps Lady Kymopoleia using her strength of violent seas?

Her thoughts ran wild and Xander pulled her below deck. Until Elara remembered the odd girl with them.

Percy Jackson, they called her, reminiscent of her Ladyship but lacking the aura of power and the silver streak that grew longer with each passing day. However, there was something off with her, her unnatural eyes, her scars (though not as many as a demigod, still many for a normal human), and the way she seemed more…lively when near the ocean.

But, that was not why Elara thought of the woman. She thought of Percy because the woman was upon the deck when the madness hit and she was still upon the deck.

“Xander, the woman! We are more likely to survive a storm such as this!”

“I could not see her when I got to you!” Xander shouted back. “I believe she fell to the waves.” Xander offered Elara a sympathetic look, but they both knew what that would mean.

Taken by the ocean. The ocean was unrestrained, merciless. It took and took when it was angry. This was no different, clearly, and Percy had not been spared.

Elara hung her head, a prayer on her tongue when power thrummed around her. There was a chant of it, an ancient strength. She’d sensed this once before, felt this energy only once before, when she met Lady Perseus.

Elara gasped at the same time as Xander as the entire ocean hummed so deeply, as if welcoming something, and then more power flooded Elara’s senses.

Atlanteans were, while subjects of Lord Poseidon, a mutation of humans. They adapted to living beneath the ocean, their strength enhanced along with them. But demigods…

Demigods were of an entirely different species. Sometimes, some could hardly be classified as humans because of just how much power they commanded. This seemed to be the case here, where the strength of something so utterly inhumane overwhelmed Elara’s senses, she could hardly stop her knees from buckling, her strength from waning, and her will to stand diminishing. She wanted to kneel to the intensity of this force if only to protect herself.

She felt Xander collapse beside her and then she collapsed too, her last thought of if there was a god upon the deck of the yacht. And the last she saw was a dark, tall, blurry figure, a bronze blade flashing against the storm.

Darkness creeped into her vision.

Everything hurt.

Blackness grew.

The shadows did not listen. She could not hear, feel—

Nothing. There was nothing.

Her senses were gone. Broken. Lost.

It roared inside her.

Amy shot up. Every night since the Gotham fiasco, she’d awoken with a sheen of sweat, heavy breaths, and that same darkness replaying. For a brief moment, just before she’d fallen, her powers cut off. Her senses stopped working. It all just…ended.

And she thought she was dead. She thought she’d lost the life she’d built. Because Amy loves life. She loves the feel of life, the happiness and joy it brings. Sure, she was a daughter of Nemesis, but she was also her father’s daughter, and her father tended to a garden full of plants and such.

(Funny story: her dad attracted Nemesis because he started a garden out of pure spite against his parents and when he succeeded in the business really well, selling incredible plants, they’d admitted he was right. So, yeah, his success was revenge and Nemesis liked that.)

Amy sighed and stumbled out of bed, her walk to the bathroom a little off. Everything seemed off these days.

She sighed as the blinding white light turned on, her vision momentarily blacking. She kept her eyes shut, relying on the familiarity of the room to guide her.

When she finally opened her eyes and looked at herself in the mirror of her bathroom, she looked haggard. She hadn’t been eating well, and despite being a demigod with ethereal looks, they were still affected by lack of nutrients and small ailments.

Her head hurt. Badly.

Amy washed her face again.

Once again, she stared at her reflection. The hollow cheeks, dark eye bags, messy hair. She felt weak. So very weak. She hated feeling weak.

Amy closed her eyes.

Images flashed within her mind. Death. A battleground. Monsters.

She gasped. Closing her eyes…she saw images every time she shut her eyes. The only way to even try sleeping peacefully was to have a very strong pill that someone from the Apollo Cabin prescribed.

Sighing, Amy dragged herself out of her bathroom.

The world spun. She staggered, placing a hand against the wall to steady herself. It felt like the floor she stood upon was tilting.

Phantom pain from her healed injury spiked and she gasped again, her breaths shortening.

Amy hated this.

She pushed herself off the wall, forcing herself to remain steady.

She’d felt so useless during the Gotham fiasco. Her minor powers of shadows had been so utterly gone, she couldn’t do anything. She’d beaten herself up over it afterwards. Percy had been injured badly. Leo too. And Miranda…Miranda had died.

Blood spilled across the floor. It was staining everything.

To Amy’s right, someone laughed. She knew that voice. She turned.

And there, set in her wall, was golden eyes with a scar running from the bottom of his right eye to his chin. She punched the wall, heard the cracking stone, the gold eyes lingered. They disappeared.

And the world tilted again.

“Ames, this is a chance for our mother! We could finally be acknowledged! Known!”

Amy stood across from her half-brother, Ethan. Ethan was bitter, furious. He’d lost his eye after a deal with their mother and gods, Amy wanted revenge too. She was consumed by the injustice of what happened to them. She hated it.

So she followed. She agreed. And the Second Titan War came to be.

During the battle, she heard whispers about it. The sole daughter of Poseidon, her godly strength.

And doubt settled in.

She followed them to Olympus and watched with growing fear as Ethan engaged in battle. She was backup, hidden in the shadows, she would only go when Ethan fell.

Except, when Ethan fell, it was of his own volition. And when Percy stood to greet the gods after the entire battle, she made direct eye contact with Amy.

“I’m sorry,” she mouthed. And somehow Amy could hardly hold it, the ache in her chest burning.

Amy disappeared.

Amy awoke on the floor of her apartment. She definitely hit her head when she fell down. And gods, it hurt! Why the hell did she remember that? And that tiny detail about Percy? Completely, utterly forgotten. Until now that is.

Amy called in. She couldn’t do anything that day. Malcolm agreed and sent for a replacement to take her place in Gotham.

And Amy crashed back into bed.

Eat you dumb fuck, you literally haven’t eaten in three days. And spite isn’t a fucking meal. The voice that whispered it in her head as she drifted to sleep sounded suspiciously like her dead brother’s, but Ethan never actually swore at anyone, especially not her. So she ignored it.

(Horrible decision, really.)

Arthur threw another knife.

The knives he was using were his favourite set.

The set consists of twelve finely crafted throwing knives, each with a sleek, deadly design. The blades are forged from celestial bronze, gleaming with an otherworldly golden hue that catches the light with a faint, mystical shimmer. The edges are razor-sharp, honed to perfection for precise, effortless throws.

The handles are wrapped in aged brown leather, worn down from years of use, molded to the shape of his grip. The leather is slightly frayed at the edges, bearing the marks of countless battles and practice sessions. At the end of each handle, a circular ring provides balance and versatility, allowing for quick retrieval, spinning tricks, or attachment to a belt or strap.

And etched into the blade, every single blade, there was a small book.

Arthur flung another knife, the sunlight catching it. The knife buried itself into the target deeply.

The knife set had been a gift from Percy, his sixteenth birthday gift. Today, he was supposed to be sharpening the blades, but he’d been distracted by things and just decided to throw them at targets.

The mission he’d been on two days ago had been playing on his mind for a while.

Arthur had gone with Malcolm to deal with a minor group of monsters, maybe six or seven, but the entire group had been composed of hellhounds.

He hated hellhounds. And despite years having passed, he could never quite get over the madness of what had happened.

The next knife struck home.

Recently, everyone had been on edge. The reveal wasn’t much, but it meant that they were going to ultimately trust those guys. But the worst part was monsters were targeting Percy and well, that meant that mortal criminals were too. So Percy’s identity was exposed, probably, and well, Percy didn’t give a fuck. As per usual.

The next knife was too blunt to work against the target.

And that was his last throwing knife from the set of twelve.

He retrieved them and finally set about sharpening his throwing knives.

Anonymous
#onlyinGotham does one see Tim Drake dead on his feet with someone who looks suspiciously like a new Wayne kid giving him a coffee cup from some coffee place in Bludhaven. Like she has black hair and green eyes, also a scar across her face. And she looks hella strong. Did Brucie get another one?
#anotherone? #issheaWayne #whyBruciewhy #alsosomeonemakeTimDrakefuckingsleep #doesheknowwhatabedis???

NightwingsButt
That’s nothing! A new Wayne kid is announced like every other week. You wanna know what isn’t? BlueStar! #onlyinBludhaven does one see Nightwing and Astron (BlueStar) talking about slaying Medusa while Astron gives Nightwing another flower. Yeah bitches, I’ve got pictures too!

JasonToddisn’tDead
Hang on, another one?! What does she look like, the Wayne girl? 

Coffee_please
She’s pretty tall, maybe over 6ft. Also, I’m pretty sure her hair is so black it looks blue, but her eyes are the coolest thing. They look sea green, but like the actual ocean is captured inside her eyes. I saw her at WE a few months back and everyone was internally groaning at the new kid, but she definitely turns heads
#probablyanotherWaynekid #alsopleasegetTimDrakesomesleep #ilovecoffee #butnotthatmuch

Percy decided sea monsters were the fucking worst.

Which was why being attacked in the middle of her business trip was a horrible experience that she was going to end the monster entirely. Not to mention the storm, which is fair because it was a natural part of nature since it was around January, but that did not negate the fact that she was annoyed as hell.

So, she wanted to deal with it quickly before any more damage was done to the yacht.

She pulled out Riptide, knowing that 1: the cameras on the yacht would not be able to catch her, 2: the people that came with her upon the yacht were all below deck, 3: the staff were most likely hiding below deck, and 4: Percy has dealt with enough sea monsters that she knew their weak points.

The problem wasn’t that the sea monster existed (see, that had been easy to deal with, Percy had already finished off the nuisance of a beast), the problem was that the yacht was damaged and the storm was not subsiding any time soon.

Well, the latter of the two was easy to deal with, except for the fact that she would probably need to use some Atlantean steel as a catalyst. It wasn’t that she couldn’t end the storm upon her own power, catalysts just made it easier to channel power without possibly hurting mortals.

(Throwback to that time Thalia and Percy had the craziest throwdown while Nico videoed and a mortal passed by. Now, they were using their powers without holding back at all, so this mortal's mind was ever so slightly obliterated. Percy’s pretty sure they’re still in a mental hospital, Thalia decided she should start holding back (but she didn’t invest in a catalyst), Nico laughed his ass off. Percy also started using a lot of Atlantean steel, more than Celestial Bronze.)

A catalyst wasn’t technically what she explained to the heroes a bit back. It didn’t enhance power, it allowed for powers to be channelled more carefully. Everyone in the demigod side knew the explanation to give to allies that joined them because, well, the fact that people needed a catalyst to channel immense power was a terrifying thought.

Percy pulled out a dagger stuffed in her boot and unsheathed it.

The size of the catalyst allowed for more precise channelling of power. And since this was a storm, too precise channelling would subdue the storm in one place, but no way to channel her power would lead to the unleashed power of a daughter of one of the oldest gods, who once destroyed a glacier with her bare hands. Yeah, that was a bad idea.

She gripped the blade of the dagger, holding it tightly as she closed her eyes.

Channelling power was not easy. The stronger the demigod, the harder it was. Like putting a thread through a needle.

Percy often imagined a straw that she had to finely pour her strength into to allow it to go out in the correct path. She focused on the straw and the bottle of water and tipped it into the straw.

Her dagger glowed as she opened her eyes, the sea green some sort of beacon in the dark storm.

She held out her right hand, her left keeping its tight grip on her dagger.

With her hand outstretched, her power unleashed through a fine, precise point, and her title as the daughter of the Stormbringer, Percy watched the storm and made it bow to her. The storm answered her call.

Enough.

It fought back.

Enough.

The winds slowed.

Percy didn’t need to raise her voice, didn’t need to glare. This was her turf, and it followed her rules.

The storm silenced itself.

And Percy turned around to see Tim Drake staring at her with his jaw on the ground and a bad bruise on his forehead.

Naturally, Percy sheathed her dagger, stuffed it back into her boot, and ran to Tim. “Gods, what happened to your head?!”

“My head?! Percy, you just— and then you— How? When? Wha—”

Percy ignored his senseless blabbering to draw water from the air. She placed it against Tim’s bruise as she tutted, “Where did you hit your head?”

“I blacked out during the storm tossing our boat around. Then I come out to find you subduing said storm.” He sounded less panicked and more confused. “Percy, how the fuck—”

“Tim, I think you know the answer.” She looked around, the water she’d used to heal Tim absorbed into him. “The yacht is destroyed.”

“It was a storm, how could it possibly—”

“Tim, a sea monster attacked. That’s what destroyed the yacht. Not the storm, the sea monster that I killed.” She looked him dead in his stormy blue eyes that seemed to be trying to make sense of everything. “I will explain, but we need to go back to shore. Now.”

He listened.

Tim’s head was a mess.

Percy had powers. And not just any, but actually incredible powers that seemed to literally thrum with a strength beyond what Tim thought possible.

Tim decided that 1: Percy was crazy, 2: Percy was definitely some sort of superhuman, 3: he needed twelve cups of coffee, and 4: life was a bitch.

Percy moved swiftly through the dimly lit corridor, her boots barely making a sound against the polished wooden floor. The storm and sea monster had done nothing to the interior, except for the fact that the yacht wasn’t moving and the power seemed to be out.

Tim followed, still reeling. Percy had just controlled a storm. Fought a sea monster. Commanded the elements like it was second nature. He’d always known there was more to her than she let on, but this? This was insane.

The control room wasn’t far. Percy pushed the door open and stepped inside, immediately heading for the ship’s communication systems. Tim took a deep breath, forcing his thoughts into order, but his mind kept circling back to what he had just seen. The way Percy had commanded the storm, the sheer presence she had exuded—not human. Definitely not a normal human.

Tim exhaled sharply and leaned against the console as Percy pulled up the system diagnostics.

“Damage report?” he asked, because grounding himself in logic was the only way to stop his brain from spiraling.

Percy clicked through the data. “Hull’s intact. Engine’s offline. Communication’s fried, so we’re not calling for help anytime soon.”

“Great. Just great.” Tim ran a hand through his hair. Fantastic. Trapped in the middle of the ocean with a superpowered demigod who just casually ended a storm. Not terrifying at all. And then he hissed because that stupid bruise on his head when he hit his head in his room hurt.

Percy was in front of him in seconds, her nimble fingers gently moving over the wound and her other hand holding Tim’s hands back. She looked worried, before Tim felt the soothing feeling of water…but it was different. The water was much softer and when it touched his wound, it tingled oddly. Then the pain disappeared and Percy stepped back, the water she had controlled disappearing.

Percy hummed. “Could be worse,” she said in response to his earlier comment after being satisfied by her healing work.

Tim shot her a look. “Could be worse? Percy, we just got attacked by a sea monster, and you”— he gestured vaguely—“just commanded a storm like you were telling a dog to sit.”

Percy turned away from the screen, crossing her arms. “And?”

“And?!” Tim threw his hands up. “Percy, you have powers.”

She tilted her head. “Yeah?”

His head still hurt, not from the wound, unfortunately. He wanted to pass it all off as some insane hallucination, wake up in his room on the yacht, and move forward. But no, he had felt real pain and this was real.

Everything seemed to be clicking. The powers, the dagger she hid in her boot, the way her eyes glowed unnaturally. Tim looked closer, mentally adding the scars he knew Astron had, the domino mask, the silver streak, the suit, swords. The build was the same, her height too. The way her wavy hair fell, if it was tied up with the knives stuck into it it would definitely be the same dark hair. The presence and power, tempered down, but Tim noticed it more now.

He inhaled sharply. “ Astron .”

Percy tilted her head, a sad smile covering her face. “Yes.”

Was Tim scared of her? Was this still the same Percy who helped him prank his brothers? The same Percy who drove like hell and cooked for him and his friends? The same Percy who grinned and snarked and joked?

Because Astron had always been hard edges. Sure, she’d shown him that monsters were not invincible, that there was a way to fight for himself. But she’d also been harsh, and frigid, and even Dick mentioned that she closed up quickly, hid herself.

They looked similar—the same—and yet they were different.

Percy and Tim seemed stuck in this suffocating silence, some sort of cloak masking everything. And Tim wanted to pull it off, find out everything. He had to know, needed an answer, but he was scared about what he would find out..

“If you’re Astron, you are the daughter of Poseidon.”

“I’m Sally Jackson’s daughter, first and foremost. Poseidon will always be my second thought, which he’s fine with,” she answered honestly.

“Do you have siblings?”

“Well, there’s Tyson, who's a cyclops.” What kind of siblings did she have? “Triton, Poseidon’s heir. Kymopoleia, Rhode, Benthesikyme. Other siblings do exist, but I’ve killed a lot of my siblings, so I can’t tell you much.”

“You’ve what?” he whispered.

“Killed. Look, they tried to kill me,” she explained and to be fair, Poseidon was known for his odd kids in mythology, so perhaps they were monsters. Percy wasn’t a monster, but her job was to kill them, so it made sense.

He paused. “Hang on, you… Do you know?”

“That you’re Red Robin? Yeah, knew for a while.” She had turned around by then, hand moving over the console, looking at everything. “I’m going to try to call someone from my phone, let’s hope it goes through.”

Tim said nothing, still reeling from the fact that Percy knew. How the ever-loving fuck did she know?!

Tim needed 24 coffees, not 12.

Magic Spotter @Amy432
Uhhhh??? Did anyone else see that freak storm off Gotham harbour that appeared and disappeared in seconds?! Like, what the fuck!!!

     The Red Hood @realRedHood
     Replying to @Amy432
     Was watching from the coast for the new Wayne girl mentioned on Tumblr and yeah, I did. Craziest shit I’ve ever seen

     Orphan is Real @OrphanShadow
     Replying to @Amy 432
     It was insane!! The news has been all over it! And I can’t be the only one wondering if Tim Drake and his companions are alright! Weren't they on a yacht leaving Gotham harbour a couple of hours ago?!
    #aretheyokay??? #wherearethey

Bludhaven's late afternoon sun filtered through the steel and glass of the city's skyline, casting golden light over the streets. It was a rare day off, and for once, Dick had managed to convince Damian to step away from training, patrols, and the ever-present need to prove himself. No missions, no sparring, no hidden agenda—just a day for the two of them.

"We could have stayed at your apartment," Damian muttered, arms crossed as he walked slightly ahead. "Why go out?"

Dick grinned, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets. "Because you need to expand your horizons, Little D. Fewer people know us here, so we can just relax outside instead of constantly being swarmed by paparazzi."

Damian scoffed but didn’t argue, which was already an improvement from when he first arrived in Gotham. Back then, he would have fought tooth and nail against anything remotely resembling downtime. Now, he still grumbled but let himself be led.

The first stop had been Dick's newest favourite cafe: Special Blends. The food and drinks were especially delicious. When they went this time, Damian eyed the menu before ordering Serenity Dragon and pistachio macaroons. Dick had ordered Cloud Nine again and a couple of triple chocolate cookies. There were no blue ones that day.

Now they strolled past the piers and the occasional street performer, weaving through the crowd of weekend shoppers and joggers. Damian’s shoulders weren’t as tense as they had been when they first arrived, and his usual scowl had faded into something more neutral. If Dick squinted, he might even call it relaxed.

"You know, when you first came to Gotham, you wouldn't have tolerated this kind of thing," Dick remarked casually, watching a flock of seagulls take off from the railing.

Damian glanced at him. "Tolerated what?"

"This. Just...being out, existing without a mission. Enjoying things for the sake of it."

Damian frowned, looking thoughtful. "I wasn’t raised for such things. My time was meant to be spent efficiently."

"And now?" Dick prompted.

Damian was quiet for a moment before replying, "You insisted I make time."

Dick chuckled. "I did, didn’t I?" He nudged Damian’s shoulder playfully. "See, I knew there was a softer side to you somewhere under all that grumbling."

Damian rolled his eyes, but there was no real heat behind it. "Tt. Don’t be ridiculous."

Dick just smiled, letting the silence settle between them. A year ago, Damian would have rejected any attempt at bonding outright. Now, he was here, willingly spending time together without a sword in his hand or a challenge on his lips.

They ended up at an arcade—a spontaneous decision on Dick’s part, but one he was sure Damian would secretly enjoy. Predictably, Damian scoffed at the idea at first but was immediately drawn to a game that required precision and quick reflexes. As expected, he dominated. When he beat the high score, he turned to Dick with a small, smug smirk.

"Beginner’s luck," Dick said, knowing full well it wasn’t.

"You are merely upset that I outperformed you."

Dick laughed. "Fine, fine, I concede. You’re the reigning champion of Bludhaven Arcade. But next time, I’m picking the game."

By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, they found themselves sitting on a rooftop, overlooking the city as neon signs flickered to life. It was quiet, save for the distant hum of traffic below.

"This wasn’t terrible," Damian admitted after a while.

Dick grinned. "I’ll take it."

Damian turned to him, expression unreadable. "You…tried. When I first came to Gotham. Even when I didn’t deserve it."

Dick blinked, caught off guard by the admission. He let the words settle before replying, "You always deserved it, Damian. You just needed someone to show you."

Damian looked away, but the corners of his mouth twitched slightly, betraying him.

Yeah, he’d come a long way.

Sheila’s eyes fluttered open, a dull headache making itself known as she took in the unfamiliar surroundings. The soft hum of the yacht’s engine vibrated beneath her, and she found herself sprawled across the couch in the lounge area. The plush cushions were more comfortable than she expected, though the situation was anything but restful.

The room was dim, but the faint glow of the interior lights gave her enough to see the others. Tim was slouched on a couch on the opposite side of the room, his limbs tangled in a mess of blankets, his breathing slow and steady. A few steps beyond him, Elara and Xander—two of the Atlanteans they'd been traveling with—were also unconscious, their forms still and relaxed. Their strange blue markings seemed to shimmer in the low light, adding a touch of eerie beauty to the scene.

Across the floor, several staff members were scattered on mats and blankets, clearly having made do with the space during the night. Sheila frowned as she observed them. They weren’t exactly the picture of professionalism, but after the chaos of the storm, she couldn’t blame them. They were lucky to be alive.

She closed her eyes briefly, replaying the events in her mind. The storm had been unlike anything she'd ever experienced—freakish, unnatural, the kind of violent force that left no room for preparation. The crashing sound she remembered from her room still echoed in her ears, and she winced at the thought of it. The yacht had hit something... but what? And how had they made it through the night?

Suddenly, the door to the lounge opened, and Percy stepped in, holding a tray in each hand, snacks on one and drinks on the other.

She easily manoeuvred through the sleeping bodies and smiled at Sheila, her kind, soft smile she usually wore. The trays were placed on the table in the centre neatly, and she knelt to pour a cup of tea for Sheila slowly.

“What happened?” Sheila’s voice was rough to her own ears and she graciously accepted the tea offered.

“Storm,” Percy answered. “The engine has been offline for a while and I’ve been calling for people, but no reception, so phone won’t work. Communications were fried too, so that wouldn’t have worked.”

Sheila nodded, abruptly stopping as a sharp pain hit her head. She must’ve hit herself hard if it still hurt. She noticed Percy holding a hand in front of her and a white tablet in her hand. “Painkiller,” Percy explained and Sheila took it too, drinking it with her tea.

The tea, as Percy usually did, was made impeccably. It was chamomile, Sheila recognised, the soothing flavour without much kick. Soft, comforting. Around Sheila, she noticed the people slowly stirring as well, and once again she marvelled at Percy’s weird perceptive ability. Sometimes, Sheila thought Percy was a meta-human—a weak one, but still a meta-human—with how she knew things ever so slightly before they happened, like foresight.

Sheila watched as Percy served everyone some tea, informing certain crew members of the state of the yacht.

It wasn’t badly damaged, nor too ruined to not be fixed, and apparently, there were no leaks, but the engine was offline and the communications were fried, so they were stuck for a bit.

Sheila was so tired by all this that after she was certain everyone around her was alright and she’d finished her tea, she retired to her room. Or she was going to, but Percy stopped her by the door.

“If you need anything, call me. I can bring you some food and tea, your headache seems a little painful,” Percy murmured.

Sheila nodded, thankful. Percy had always been a great employee, not just because of her skills, but because of her empathy. Her ability to read a room and understand things immediately. “I will.”

As she left, she heard Percy say, “If you need anything, ask me,” clearly addressing the crew.

Bruce Wayne was there with Jason when they arrived back at the dock the next day. He immediately was checking over Tim while medics on the scene were watching the others.

Percy herself had found herself stood beside Jason, a leather jacket pulled over her shoulders and shades perched over her eyes.

“By the way, Hood, I hope you don’t mind that you were second to figure it out and third to actually talk to me about it,” she said casually.

Jason screeched, earning several glances and a concerned look from both Bruce and Tim, who Jason waved at before rounding on Percy. “How the fuck do you—”

“Ah, hey, I’m Astron, but you know that already, Austen-fanboy. I hope you don’t mind me saying this but you look extremely dishevelled. Had a talk with your dad recently? Sorted out some problems?”

He looked even more worried. “Okay, what the fuck, Percy? Yes, I knew you were Astron, but how long have you—”

“Since the beginning. When I bumped into you in the street and then the next time when you appeared to help as Red Hood, I pieced it together,” she answered. “And the answer to your next question about how I knew you and Mr. Wayne talked… Well, there was a different air between you two then what I last remembered.”

And Jason had no idea what to say in reply to that, so he refrained from replying. It was still so fresh in his mind, breaking down in the kitchen, Bruce’s arms around him, and—

Bruce fucking Wayne loved him. Him, Jason Todd. And Bruce Wayne loved him. He knew it had to be true, but it still felt too otherworldly to even believe, too much to believe.

It felt weird.

“How long are you still in Gotham?” he asked, the subject changing easily.

“Not any longer. I missed the last Justice League-Hero meeting, Bludhaven needs a hero, and we’re going to have to reschedule this.” She motioned to the crew, the yacht, and the Atlanteans with a wave of her hand. Jason noticed the waves at the dock slamming down stronger than last. When Percy lowered her hand, the speed returned to normal.

He looked between the two, wondering if it was on purpose. It could have been, her status as the daughter of Poseidon clearly allowing her control of liquids, but this… Just a small wave of her hand and the sea was already moving to listen?

As if knowing his thoughts, Percy tilted her head as she too watched the waves recede more calmly than when they crashed against the docks. “Not on purpose,” she murmured.

“Then— How— Are you truly that…powerful?”

“It's more of a curse than a blessing, this strength.” She looked older as she spoke, unspeakable pain crossing her face before it too locked up, her emotions caged behind bars so strong, Jason doubted they would break unless someone used a key to open them. “My dad may be only called the god of the seas, but he holds the title of Stormbringer and Earthshaker. Earthquakes are my father’s domain, as are most storms, apart from lightning or thunder storms. I was lucky ,” the word was bitter in her mouth, venomously spat, “to have been given all his fields of power.”

Jason drew upon all his former knowledge of Greek mythology. Poseidon was the second youngest of Kronos’ children, God of the Sea, King of Oceans, Father of Horses. And now, he too was the Earthshaker, the Stormbringer. A person with that much power was…horrifying.

He watched Percy’s eyes, the dark, furious green storm within them burning as it watched the ocean, and something inside him told him he knew her pain.

Jason stared at her, something cold slithering down his spine like ice water. That look in her eyes—he had seen it before.

In the mirror.

He thought it was unique to him, that sharp, aching bitterness that clung to his bones like an infection. The weight of knowing what he was, of being something twisted and wrong, something that shouldn't be alive, shouldn't have crawled back out of the grave. He had never expected to see it in someone else. But it was there, etched into Percy’s face like an old scar, the kind that never truly healed, only faded enough for people to forget—until they saw it in the right light.

She wasn’t looking at him, wasn’t trying to let him in. She just existed like this, carrying the weight of something that had already crushed her a thousand times over. Jason knew what that felt like. He had drowned under it, suffocated in it, and still woke up every day dragging it behind him like a corpse chained to his ankle.

And Percy—Percy thought she was a monster.

His chest tightened, and he almost laughed at the absurdity of it. Not because it was funny, but because he had spent so long believing that about himself. That he was wrong, that he was unnatural, that the thing in his skin wasn’t human anymore. And now here was Percy Jackson, the Hero of Olympus, a legend in her own right, staring out at the water like it was a battlefield she had already lost.

Because she thought she was a monster too.

Jason’s fingers twitched. He wanted to say something, but there was nothing to say. He wouldn't want anyone to say anything if their positions were reversed. That was the thing about this kind of pain—it wasn’t something you dragged into the light. It festered in the dark, in silence, in the quiet moments between battles when there was nothing left to distract you from the weight of your own existence.

Percy would never tell him. Just like he never told anyone.

He turned his gaze back to the ocean, watching the waves settle, calmed by her presence whether she wanted them to or not. The world bent around her without permission, without control, just like it had bent around him when he crawled out of the pit Ra’s had thrown him into. He wondered if she ever felt it—if she ever resented the way the universe refused to let her go unnoticed.

Jason let out a slow breath.

It had taken him years to come to terms with what he was. Years to surface and acknowledging that his humanity had never left him.

Because that was what made monsters different from humans (or perhaps, in a sense, the monsters Jason had known). Monsters destroyed because they could, because they felt nothing. But humans—humans felt everything. They raged and ached and loved so deeply it hurt. And Jason? He knew he was human because he had never stopped feeling. He still cared, still reached out, still held onto the people he loved, even when the weight of his own pain told him to let go.

But Percy—Percy didn't seem to know. Didn't seem to understand that the depth of her suffering was proof of her humanity, not her monstrosity. That her pain, her guilt, the way she carried the weight of the sea and still chose to fight—that was what set her apart from the things that lurked in the dark.

She still looked like she was drowning.

Still looked like the power she held only showed her how much she lacked humanity, how much more she was in the face of mortality.

But then of course, was it so bad to be a monster? Jason wasn’t so sure.

Did he want to say she wasn’t a monster? Jason had always known he toed the line between monster and human. Always known that while he had humanity as his strength, he was too much to be fully human. And perhaps he was still human, but monsters were not the worst…

As Ocean Vuong once wrote in his book "On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous": “‘You’re not a monster,’ I said. But I lied. What I really wanted to say was that a monster is not such a terrible thing to be. From the Latin root monstrum, a divine messenger of catastrophe, then adapted by the Old French to mean an animal of myriad origins: centaur, griffin, satyr. To be a monster is to be a hybrid signal, a lighthouse: both shelter and warning at once.”

Except, considering Percy’s perspective, all she ever faced was monsters who sought to kill her kind and gods that looked at humanity as though they were entertainment. Her warped vision of monsters included power, strength, hatred, anger. It included hurting endlessly because they knew nothing else. So how was she to know that monsters were beautiful too.

“You survived wars endlessly and yet you returned to this job of stopping monsters?” He phrased it as a question, but sounded more like a statement.

Percy’s watchful gaze returned to him, and her mouth curved into something that could be considered a smile. But it was tinged in sadness and exhaustion. “Yeah, pitiful, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know. I mean, it’s kind of interesting, isn’t it? You wanted to stop and yet, in the end, you returned because it was…what?” He watched as she tilted her head, considering his question. “Because it was right.”

Was Jason Todd seriously challenging Percy Jackson’s view on herself? Yes, yes he was. Was he too young to do so? Uh, no, maybe not. He was twenty, give him a break.

“Are you implying that I am a righteous person, Jason?” Percy asked challengingly. He noticed it all, the fake smirk, the little glint, the hidden misery.

Jason smirked back. “I mean, it’s true, right? They call you a hero, someone good and powerful who protects. Heracles, Theseus, they weren’t heroes in the eyes of demigods, but you are. Are heroes not righteous?”

Percy faltered, an emotion Jason couldn’t place crossing her face. “You seem quite certain of my status as a…hero.”

“I’m repeating what I’ve heard,” Jason defended immediately.

Everything around them had melted away. Bruce was dealing with the Atlanteans and Tim, Tim looked fine, everything was fine so Jason could have the conversation. No one was focused on them.

“Indeed,” Percy murmured.

He watched as though he could hear the gears in her head turning. One more push. One more push.

“I’ve got a book you should read. It’s really good.”

At the mention of a new book, Percy perked up. “What’s it called?”

“‘On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous,’ by Ocean Vuong,” he answered. “It’s beautifully written, you’d enjoy it.”

“It sounds philosophical,” Percy said slowly. “Probably would take a while to get through the entire book. Do you have an Ancient Greek— Wrong question, I’ll just buy the book and see if Arthur can translate it. I’m terrible at translating English to Ancient Greek.”

“I can’t believe you speak fluent Ancient Greek.”

“I speak fluent Classical Latin from the late Roman Republic and early Empire periods, not this mangled version you people call Latin. Ecclesiastical Latin is quite different from Classical Latin, and don’t even get me started on Archaic Latin—it shifted too much over time. Though, to be fair, I also know Old Latin, which was used in the early Roman Republic. Gods, it is as complicated as Greek with all of those different forms.” She was ranting, but Jason found it good to see a smile on her face as she spoke about this. However, the idea of there being so many different forms of Latin was terrifying in itself because Jason only knew Church Latin, while Percy clearly understood the linguistic evolution from Archaic Latin to Vulgar Latin, and that in itself was scary.

(He had a feeling she also knew every form of Greek from Proto-Greek to Modern Greek. That sounded fucking terrifying and was not a topic he wanted to broach, thank you very much.)

She took a breath after a couple more minutes, her rant having skewered into what Jason assumed was Ancient Greek before finally ending.

“Well, I will endeavour to learn Classical Latin,” he said as though to appease her.

“The pronunciation is trickier than people think. The hard ‘c’ sound in Classical Latin was softened in later Latin, and the ‘v’ sound was pronounced more like ‘w’ originally. Grammar and phrasing is different too, but if you have Modern Latin down, it shouldn't be too hard to learn Classical Latin.

"Vulgar Latin is what eventually evolved into the Romance languages, but it was quite different from the standardized written Latin of the time. I only know Archaic Latin because Chiron"—and, hello, who the hell drops the name of a legendary centaur as if it was a normal name to just say—"taught me. Classical Latin is the most useful if you want to understand inscriptions from the Roman Empire.” Percy grinned at his shocked face. “Yeah, ADHD is weird. When I turned 19, I suddenly got really hyper-fixated on ancient languages and just learned a bunch. I can even write in hieroglyphs, though my Pharaoh-descent friends say no one uses them anymore, which is a pity because it’s really fun to draw the symbols.”

“Your what?” He was certain he misheard.

“In this current age, there are still people who are descended from the Ancient Egyptian Pharaohs. It’s really cool because they can summon the avatars of Ancient Egyptian gods, all of whom have kind of left Earth now, which is good, it was getting a little cramped with four different pantheons all occupying the same world. Actually, no, there’s more—”

“Stop, please stop.” He backtracked, trying to figure out where the conversation had changed to languages. “Weren’t we talking about a book before?”

“Were we?”

“Okay, yeah, moving on. Read the book, you’ll enjoy it.”

“How are you so sure?”

“It offers a new perspective on life,” he said slowly. “I mean, the way it answers questions people have about themselves is…helpful. I mean, Vuong doesn't give a definite definition for…certain things. Some things are too big to be contained in words. Too big to be chained to definitions. I think you know that better than anyone.” Was that enough pushing?

It seemed it was with the way Percy just nodded. “Sounds like my next read after the book I’m currently reading. I’ll order it now.”

Oh, thank whatever out there was helping Jason get Percy to read a book.

The book was not actually totally about challenging world views. It asks what it means to exist in a world that often sees you as an outsider—whether as an immigrant, a queer person, or a son of war. And it was beautifully written, following Little Dog’s story as a Vietnamese immigrant to America with his family.

In the end, Percy left with a wave to Jason, a hug to Tim, getting both of them to promise not to tell anyone of her status as Astron, and a quick wave to Bruce. Sheila, Percy’s boss, left a few minutes after her, saying she needed a couple of days off and Bruce granting her a week. Bruce also said Percy should be given the week off, which Sheila promised to give her the message.

Jason was still injured, so he was required to remain at the Manor under Alfred’s ever-watchful gaze.

(It got him thinking, what would happen if Alfred and Percy faced off. Percy seemed as crazily weird as Alfred, so would they bond or would they immediately start betting. The toss up of who would win was an interesting idea and Jason decided he needed to see it.)

The Batcomputer hummed softly in the silence of the cave, screens casting an eerie glow across the darkened space. Bruce sat motionless, eyes scanning the search results displayed before him. The name "Perseus" had been thrown around by Diana during their last conversation, but something about how she said it— the original Perseus —had stuck with him. He never ignored details, and this one was begging to be investigated.

Typing quickly, he pulled up the mythological records. Perseus, son of Zeus. Slayer of Medusa. King of Mycenae. A hero among heroes. But that wasn’t the part that unsettled him—it was the implications of the name. Why would Diana compare Astron to this particular figure? There were plenty of mythological heroes. Why him? And why phrase it as “the original Perseus”?

He leaned back, rubbing his chin as he sifted through ancient accounts. Perseus had been known for his cunningness as much as his strength, his ability to navigate battles not just with force, but with wit. He had wielded divine weapons, faced monstrous foes, and yet, in the end, he had simply been a man. A mortal hero who had died, though perhaps more peacefully than the other heroes from ancient times (times that seemed to be true now).

And yet, Astron surpassed this. She was offered a gift that Heracles had taken, and yet she turned it down as though it were nothing.

Bruce narrowed his eyes.

His fingers hovered over the keys before he continued typing. If Astron had rejected immortality, that meant she had been offered something that few, if any, mortals ever had. He didn't like the idea of someone that powerful roaming around unchecked. He could respect her and what she did, but he didn't have any information on her. He didn't have any contingencies if she turned rogue.

He pulled up the footage from the recent battle, watching frame by frame. Every movement Astron made was deliberate, efficient. It wasn’t just skill—it was instinct, honed from years of experience. She fought with the precision of a warrior who had trained in multiple disciplines, yet there was something older in her form. A fluidity that felt… timeless.

Bruce’s fingers tapped a rhythm against the desk as he considered. He cross-referenced her combat style with known martial arts, comparing stances, strikes, footwork. Greek Pankration, Roman gladiatorial techniques, even elements of modern Judo—there were similarities, but none of them were exact. It was as if she had learned only to twist the style into something…more.

His jaw tightened. He needed more data.

He switched tactics, pulling up records of known demigods, if the term even applied. He had only surface-level information; Diana had been tight-lipped about specifics. He had no doubt the gods of Olympus existed. He had seen proof with his own eyes. But if demigods were real, if they had walked among mortals for centuries, then how many had there been? How many had been erased from history?

And how many had been offered immortality? Or was Astron the only one in modern times to even have a chance at godhood?

If so, what did that make her?

The air was thick with the scent of sweat and padded mats as Percy adjusted her stance, muscles coiled like a spring, eyes locked onto Amelia. The older woman—shorter, more experienced—held a relaxed but ready posture, waiting for Percy to make her move.

“Remember,” Amelia said, voice steady, “timing is everything.”

Percy nodded, exhaling slowly. The two circled each other, bare feet whispering against the mat. Then, in a sudden burst, Percy lunged, aiming for a swift foot sweep. Amelia sidestepped with ease, her grip on Percy’s sleeve firm but not overpowering.

“Too eager,” Amelia chided lightly. “Try again.”

Percy adjusted her approach, stepping in and twisting her hips at the right moment. This time, she grabbed Amelia’s gi with a sharper grip, anchoring herself just as Amelia reached to counter. Percy shifted her weight, using Amelia’s own momentum against her. In a fluid motion, she executed the throw—her shoulder dropping as Amelia’s feet left the ground.

A breath later, Amelia was on her back, Percy's arm pressed lightly across her chest, pinning her.

There was a beat of silence, then a chuckle. “Not bad,” Amelia admitted, tapping out. “You’ve been practicing.”

Percy grinned, standing and offering Amelia a hand. “I had a good teacher.”

Amelia took the offered hand, pulling herself up with a smirk. “Flattery won’t get you out of conditioning drills.”

Percy groaned. “Worth a shot.”

“Again?” Amelia asked, rolling her shoulders.

Percy’s grin widened. “Definitely.”

Percy enjoyed this, her sparring sessions with Amelia. Judo was among one of her many extra activities and she enjoyed learning it.

Clemence had said she was perfectly adept at Tae Kwon Do, having achieved black belt a couple of months ago, but she still came to spar with him because he was fun and cool and she got bored without practising.

Judo, she was a little bit away from mastery, or Amelia said so. Amelia said she picked things up quickly, but Judo was more taxing on the body, so it was only natural she was taking longer to master it despite starting at the same time as Tae Kwon Do.

Either way, Percy enjoyed it. It was also a great distraction from her recent conversation with Jason.

Some things are too big to be contained in words. Too big to be chained to definitions. I think you know that better than anyone.

What the heck had he even meant by that?!

She dropped to the floor, her leg shooting out to sweep at Amelia’s ankles. She held back her strength, so Amelia easily got back up, a grin on her face as she too bounced on the balls of her feet, their spar restarting.

The book she’d ordered arrived yesterday, and she needed to finish her current book (Book 11 of Ranger's Apprentice: The Lost Stories). It was slow-going considering how sad she’d been after the Tug story and how long she’d avoided the book after that (a month and a half).

Other than that, Percy had a week off from work and was using it to her full advantage of doing her normal week of things. Sparring, training, Vapour travelling to the other side of the world for fun, visiting Atlantis, and patrolling with Dick.

Their entire patrolling job had turned into a competition when the number of monsters in Bludhaven decreased rapidly after the first few months of her being there. Now, when she went out, there was one monster camp, generally, and the rest of the evening was spent with her running around with Dick, fighting mortal criminals because she was bored.

He didn’t mind. Actually, Percy had a feeling he welcomed it.

Sparring finished and Percy left an hour later, the sun having already set.

She looked up, her eyes finding the stars. And Zoe’s constellation ran across the sky. She smiled softly, watching it glint, before she continued her walk back to her apartment building.

By the time she stepped into her apartment, she was rolling her shoulders, already feeling the ache settling in her muscles from the throws Amelia had forced her into countering. She kicked off her shoes, tossing her bag onto the couch before making her way to the kitchen.

First things first, she needed food. Something fast.

Actually, no, she needed a shower.

Dropping her duffle bag in the corner of her room and closing her curtains before stripping, she stepped into the shower with a relieved exhale, the hot water a pleasant change from sweat.

After her shower, she changed into shorts and a tank top. Her hair was pulled out of her face by a claw clip, already dry because Percy used her powers like any normal child of Poseidon would. Now, she needed food.

Leaving her room, Percy entered the kitchen to find Nico rummaging through her cupboards, Lou half inside her fridge, and Arthur sat at her table with her container of blue chocolate chip cookies emptier than she remembered.

Percy cleared her throat and all three jumped, turning to her with the guiltiest expressions. Except Nico, the little shit he was, just glancing back before turning to look in her cupboards again.

"And what, pray, are you doing here?"

"Food," Lou said.

"Cookies," Arthur added.

"Doritos," Nico finished.

Percy shook her head before grabbing both Lou and Nico by the back of their collars and dragging them back, placing them at the edge of the island. She took her container of blue cookies, closing it, and sending Arthur a scathing glance as she did so because how dare he! Those were the cookies her mother brought her two days ago!

Once she'd placed those away, she turned to her friends again. "Alright, what do you guys want?"

"Pasta," answered Lou quickly, grinning.

"Doritos," repeated Nico like a broken record.

"Pizza," Arthur said.

"Pasta works. Doritos are finished, Ghost-y. Something realistic, King, I can't cook a pizza right now."

"Order one," he drawled.

Percy threw a butter knife at him. He caught it with an affronted expression.

"Pasta it is," she said tiredly. She'd given up on telling her friends to stop breaking in. They didn't listen and, well, she just gave up. Maybe she should go on vacation with Drew next time to escape these hooligans, Drew said she’d take her to Japan with her to visit her dad. Japan had nice places and Drew Tanaka certainly knew her way around her home country.

Percy pulled out the penne pasta packet and dumped it all in the pot of boiling water, the pot that she hadn't bothered to actually use the kettle to boil the water for and just heated it up with her own powers.

She set about making cheese sauce while the pasta boiled. Her cheese sauce consisted of feeling instead of actual ratios. Lots of grated cheese, cooking cream, unknown amount of flour, and a bit of chilli powder for a kick. Percy liked spice, it tasted good. Nico didn't mind spice, Arthur was a plain old white boy (affectionate), and Lou was, well, weird. They'd survive with a bit of spice.

"Heard your business trip flopped," Lou broke the silence.

"Yeah, sea monster and storm. Oh, that reminds me, make sure to remind me to visit Achelous and figure out who cursed the water source for Spring Water. And also make sure to remind me to visit Elisson before visiting Achelous, I need to get some of Elisson's water to clean the water," Percy said quickly. She heard Lou muttering it to herself.

Five minutes later, four bowls were set out with even portions of pasta in each (lies, Percy got the most, but who cares).

"Thanks for the food, Perce," Arthur added gratefully.

"Thanks, Princess."

"Thank you," Nico muttered quietly.

"You're welcome, idiots." Her tone was affectionate despite the rude nickname.

Just as she was finishing her bowl, listening to Lou and Arthur's commentary on the recent decrease in monster activity, her watch beeped.

She looked at it, the red beeping signifying monster activity. Percy sighed. "Make yourself at home, stay the night, I'll deal with patrol tonight. Goodnight."

"Bye, Perce. Kill some monsters for us!" Arthur exclaimed as Percy disappeared from the room, her suit materialising around her.

She was gone in a puff of green, once again on the roof of the BPD.

The monsters were about five blocks eastward, which was ridiculous. As she got closer, Percy heard something else, other than just monsters. She heard mortals.

Shit, are mortals teaming up with monsters again?! Really, why couldn't myths and mortals separate for once in their stupid lives?!

When she arrived, the scene that greeted her was completely different to what she expected.

Yes, there were monsters. Yes, there were mortals. The thing that was odd was Richard “Dick” Grayson (obviously in his Nightwing gear, like, what did you think he would be in?) in the middle, bruised and a little bloodied, but still—

Oh, wait, scratch that. A mortal behind him was approaching quickly, their knife going straight for the small of Dick’s back.

Percy pulled out her own throwing knife, throwing it at the man’s hand. He shrieked, dropping his knife as Percy’s knife buried into his hand. She may have thrown with a little too much strength.

Everyone looked up and Percy noticed the exact moment Dick grinned.

She sighed, dropping down, her swords out and slashing down three monsters in one sweep.

She rounded on Dick, spinning her sword and stabbing behind her without even needing to look.

“You imbecile,” she hissed right as he ducked under her arm, pulling out a dagger from her hip to stab the other monster behind her, Percy’s own strike going for the mortal behind Dick, the butt of her sword smashing against his head. The mortal fell to the ground, unconscious.

Dick’s grin widened as he looked at her, her dagger in his hand flying at a monster over her shoulder as she kicked a monster beside her with her Atlantean-steel studded boots.

And because his beautiful stupid infuriated her, she glared harder despite knowing he couldn’t see through her mask.

It was easy to defeat the monsters and mortals after that, their fighting styles not allowing them to clash once despite them being so different. They moved around each other seamlessly.

(It was weird how easily they worked together despite Dick not knowing her secret identity. Dick did not know she was Astron, but Dick chatted to Percy through text with her often. She liked talking to Dick. He was fun and new and interesting. She didn't mind talking to him as Astron or Percy, and he was pretty cool. They often met up for coffee too, during her breaks or Dick's breaks. He was a refreshing guy, all sunshine in spite of Bludhaven's less than bright appearance.)

Dick dropped to the floor, pulling a throwing knife from her set around her thigh and stabbing a monster in the chest. Percy delivered the final blow, her sword stabbing straight through the cyclops’ single eye.

Another instance of this odd chemistry was when Dick didn’t need to say anything and Percy easily knew to toss him her sword, her dagger flying past her shoulder and pinning a mortal to the alley wall.

When they were finished, mortals tied up and monsters reduced to piles of gold dust, Percy rounded on Dick.

“You nearly died!” she exclaimed.

“Were you worried about me, Danger?”

“Shut up.”

His grin widened. “So you were worried.”

She rolled her eyes, “Go away.”

Dick’s senselessly pretty annoying grin shrunk a little. Percy felt bad, noticing the sadness in his frame.

She sighed, her gaze softening and her hard set mouth moving into a small frown, sheathing her swords and the dagger Dick handed back, the soft hiss as the steel returned to its sheath. "You could've called."

She should’ve seen it coming right before she said it. She’d walked right into it, admitting she was worried. Because, naturally, she’d been baited.

"I knew you'd come." And then the asshole had the gall to smirk at her.

Chapter Text

League of Bad Decisions

Lit-lover
bad news

Caffeinated Gremlin
what have you done now

Chaos-bringer
?

Wildcard
Austen boy, what the everloving fuck have you done?

Lit-lover
okay, firstly this wasn’t my fucking fault
secondly i tried to fix it
thirdly, if B asks, no i did not blow up a safehouse
that was already broken by the rogues a week ago

Caffeinated Gremlin
he has barely just gotten you to stay at home
god you fool
he is going to start dragging you and chaining you into a room with no escape

Chaos-bringer
✅😌✌️
📚👍🌟💯
➡️🙋‍♀️
👊🧑‍💼🔥💥😈?

Lit-lover
a valid contribution from my darling sister!
yes, Cass, it will be fine, i’ll just avoid the manor for a bit
and of course you can come next time, i’d love to blow up lex’s office

Caffeinated Gremlin
i’ll join
luthor has been getting on my nerves recently
last week he came to WE in those disgusting blue prada sweats

Wildcard
this chat was a mistake

Lit-lover
welcome, young demigod, to the League of Bad Decisions!!

Wildcard
older than you bitch
whos lex luthor
he sounds shitty

Lit-lover
you know what
we should just take you to Metropolis so fuck with dear lexie
how the fuck do you not know him

Wildcard
i don’t have time for uneducated white boys

Caffeinated Gremlin
he is a billionaire

Wildcard
richer than your dad????

Chaos-bringer
❌

Wildcard
well there’s your reason
he aint fucking important to me
i've got no time for bald white boys (i think he is bald, he sounds bald)

Lit-lover
he is bald
btw you're coming with us
there’s no backing out now
Get some time off work, it’s time to blow up luthor’s place

Wildcard
that is vandalism
Or destruction of private property
isn’t ur brother a cop?

Chaos-bringer
✅
🤷‍♀️😏💅

Caffeinated Gremlin
what Cass said
No one listens to Dick even if he is a law enforcer

Wildcard renamed the chat to “Certified Problem Children (+Percy)”

Lit-lover
you fought the god of war when you were a 12 year old with spite and a week of training
You have no right to criticise us
or call us problem children and not include yourself

Lit-lover renamed the chat to “Secret Society of Trash Gremlins”

Chaos-bringer
👌

Caffeinated Gremlin
i’m fine with this

Wildcard
Look, Ares was being a bitch and deserved it
name one other time I was a trash gremlin

Lit-lover
Sent the head of fucking Medusa to the gods
demanded the gods pay child support
uh, that time you literally threatened to kill Zeus and no one batted an eye
the time you called the gods bitches?!!?!?!?!?
a couple of weeks ago you leapt out of a trash can like some unholy goddess of revenge to kill a child rapist (and fucking did, getting away with the murder in the process)
there are so many examples
what the fuck do you mean you aren’t a trash gremlin?????????????

Wildcard
i am a victim!!!
you are victimising me!
How dare you
and that rapist bitch deserved it

Chaos-bringer
🎉🙌🗑️👾
💙🤗

Wildcard
I do not feel welcomed to the Trash Gremlin Society, but thank you Cass
I love you too

Lit-lover
not me?!?!?!
The betrayal, the horror, the nightmares!!!!!!!!!!

Caffeinated Gremlin
Perce, we’re the original duo
We met first
Wtf

Wildcard
you assholes bullied me
Cass is a darling
But sure, I mildly tolerate you

Caffeinated Gremlin
Asshat

Wildcard
how eloquent of you, Mr Drake
your words have not failed you like they did on the yacht

Lit-lover
ooooooohhhhhhh
throwing shade like it's confetti
But also? Mildly tolerate????????? Percy, what am I? A roach?!!?!?

Wildcard
no no no
Jay you are a parasite
A loveable one but still a parasite

Caffeinated Gremlin
…what day is it

Wildcard
have you gotten any sleep at all???

Caffeinated Gremlin
sleep is for the weak
i don’t need sleep i need answers

Wildcard
Jay, we can organise the blow-up a building thing later
someone tranquilise Tim

Caffeinated Gremlin
you won’t find me

Chaos-bringer
🔍👀💤😴
🛏️👋
🌙😴💙🌊

Wildcard
Thank you, Cass
Both you and Jay go to bed as well
Get some good sleep
Good night

Lit-lover
night Perce
don’t tell B where I am Cass
he can’t know about the safehouse

Chaos-bringer
🤐
😴🌃

The class was loud and uncivilised. It was madness for one single teacher to even try to control these imbeciles, especially considering their own homeroom teacher was late.

The class was too loud. It annoyed him and since he could not pull out a kunai during school, as his father and tolerated companions said, he would have to do something more…human about the situation.

Damian stood up silently, his chair hardly making a sound as it was pushed against the scraped floor. He moved through the row of desks to the front, and the students fell silent as he passed. Good, they should be silent.

Damian sat at the teacher’s desk, picking up the attendance sheet and tapping his pen against the clipboard as he scanned the classroom with an impassive expression. The students of Gotham Academy, all dressed in their pristinely pressed uniforms, sat stiffly in their seats, eyes forward, not daring to so much as whisper.

A few of them shifted uncomfortably, but none spoke out of turn. It was preferable. Especially considering the icy glare he was levelling them with.

With the silence now reigning the classroom, Damian began taking attendance. He only called by his last name, everyone knew when to answer. It was better this uneasy silence.

He was nearing the end of the schedule, hardly anyone with a last name past “M,” since rich people were weird.

“Martin,” he called.

“H-Here.”

“Mathews.”

“Present.”

The door creaked open, and Damian didn’t bother looking up. “You’re late,” he said, marking it down. The room remained eerily silent until a throat cleared, and Damian finally lifted his gaze to see Vice Principal Hayden Davis standing in the doorway, arms crossed, expressing a mixture of irritation and disbelief. He took in the scene—Damian seated at the desk, the students unnaturally quiet, the attendance sheet in perfect order.

“Took attendance. Everything is in order.” Damian held up the clipboard before setting it neatly in place on the desk. “Miller"—their homeroom teacher, who was of hardly any help and would never earn the address of "Mr" from Damian—"had to step out.”

“I see that,” Davis said, voice tight. He let out a slow breath. “Return to your seat, Mr. Wayne.”

Damian did so without argument. He had done the logical thing—someone had to maintain order in the woman’s absence. If anything, he had saved her time.

The rest of homeroom passed without incident, though Damian noted Vice Principal Davis lingering longer than necessary, even when Miller returned, before leaving. It didn’t concern him. He had science next.

Upon entering the lab, the smell was what hit Damian first. And it all escalated from there.

McCarthy's hands were shaking. She was supposed to be an accomplished biology teacher, but alas, infidels the lot of them.

Damian did not understand why her hands were shaking. She had asked for this, so he had complied. While, perhaps, it was rare to see true artistry in a place such as this. The biology lab smelled of formaldehyde and inadequacy, the dissection trays lined with limp, lifeless specimens. The assignment had been to make an incision and locate the organs of the frog, a primitive exercise, but Damian had refused.

“Barbaric,” he had stated plainly.

McCarthy had informed him he must partake in the experiment unless he had a note excusing him from doing so. He had no such note, so Damian took part.

Then he had done it properly.

His scalpel was precise, his hands steady as he worked. His lab partner, some nervous child Damian had no need to know the name of, had dropped his own scalpel the moment Damian began, watching in silent horror as Damian extracted each organ with surgical precision.

By the time McCarthy had returned to watch Damian at Damian's desk, Damian had already completed a full autopsy. The frog’s organs were extracted and neatly labeled in a precise line along the tray, each one identified in impeccable script. Liver, heart, lungs, kidneys, intestines—thirteen in total. His lab partner had turned an alarming shade of pale, and at some point, McCarthy had begun to cry.

The silence in the room stretched long and awkward. The other students whispered amongst themselves, though none dared to meet Damian’s gaze. He ignored them, focused solely on adjusting the alignment of the extracted organs to be more symmetrical.

The sound of heavy footfalls echoed from the hallway, and moments later, Davis reappeared, looking between Damian’s organized workstation and McCarthy's watery eyes with a pained expression. There was a brief silence.

Then:

“Mr. Wayne, step outside.”

The door to Davis’ office clicked shut with a certain finality, but Damian merely took his seat across from the man’s desk, expression unreadable. The vice principal sighed, rubbing a hand over his face before pinching the bridge of his nose. He looked as though he were developing a migraine.

“Damian.” He exhaled through his nose. “I don’t know what to do with you.”

Damian resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “I fail to see how I’ve committed any wrongdoing. I ensured an efficient and organized classroom environment and demonstrated advanced biological comprehension.”

“You took over a class.”

“The teacher was absent.”

“You performed a full autopsy.”

“It was a more thorough approach.”

Davis gave him a long, measured look before reaching for a form on his desk. He clicked his pen and began to write, pressing the tip of the pen to the paper with unnecessary force.

“Detention,” he said, scribbling Damian’s name down.

Damian narrowed his eyes. “For what reason?”

“For being completely and utterly unsettling.”

Damian straightened his posture. “That is not a valid infraction.”

“Take it up with the headmaster.” Davis slid the slip across the desk. “And please, for the love of all that is holy, try to act like a normal thirteen-year-old.”

Damian snatched the slip, glancing at it before standing. “I will take it under advisement.”

He would do no such thing.

Secret Society of Trash Gremlins

Caffeinated Gremlin
Guess what
Demonspawn got a detention

Wildcard
why
what did the Baby Ninja do?

Caffeinated Gremlin
Get this
He took over homeroom, taking attendance and keeping the entire class orderly
And then he made Mrs. McCarthy, the bio teacher, cry because of a perfect dissection of a frog after calling it barbaric

Wildcard
I see no reason for detention there
I mean, he hasn’t even blown up the science lab
Or killed a teacher
Or destroyed the bandroom
Or dropped his entire class in a shark tank because sharks whispered he should do so
The teacher is weak

Lit-lover
The fact that you have done all those things is incredibly beautiful and horrifying because i love education but i am totally here for destruction

Chaos-bringer
👌😈

Wildcard
Exactly, Cass gets it!!
I make great chaos

Jason grinned, laughing as he walked down the dark streets of Gotham. Now, see, it was dark because Gotham was always cloudy and grey, but it was not night time, it was the afternoon.

Lit-lover
we need to plan the Metropolis visit
and make sure the Big Blue Boyscout doesn’t know it was us

Wildcard
he wouldn’t know it was us if I just teleport us
I mean how is he gonna prove we were in Metropolis for half an hour when we were seen in Gotham during that exact time period and I was in Bludhaven?
Also Big Blue Boyscout is way too long, just write BS
short for Boyscout
Obviously
What did you think i meant?

Caffeinated Gremlin
We all thought you meant Boyscout, don’t worry Perce
any reason we’re cutting out “blue”

Wildcard
my favourite colour

Jason laughed again, earning incredulous glances. He didn’t care, this entire chat was chaos and it was beautiful. All he needed was popcorn and he’d be set as he watched Percy utterly ruin people with a text that would, hopefully, never reach the light of day.

He was also very glad Tim had “Barbara-proofed” the chat so she could not hack and find anything…incriminating.

It was possibly the most unlikely chat ever considering the fact that he and Tim still didn’t get along, and Percy was not even a Bat, but they made it work with the fact they all knew each other’s identities and, honestly, to mess with people.

The bad part was that the chat needed a permanent name because they kept changing it every other week due to unforeseen arguments.

(That is a lie. They were foreseen, everyone just liked the chaos the arguments caused. People choosing sides, it was a war between 4 people. And shockingly enough, Percy usually one, though Cass was close in second place with 14 wins. Percy had 17 wins. Jason had 9. And Tim either got sidetracked or was tranquilised half-way through his argument that he lost, giving him 4 wins.)

The names everyone gave each were funny too.

“Lit-lover” was agreed upon by everyone, much to Jason’s utter offense, but he was overruled. Chaos-bringer was Percy’s personal nickname for Cass, and Cass decided she wanted to use it. No one argued. Caffeinated Gremlin was also agreed upon by everyone when a sleep deprived Tim suggested it, then promptly collapsed. And Wildcard was just naturally written in by Cass because, well, Percy is a wildcard. One day, she could be going to work. Next she could be fighting a god with an arrow as her only weapon. Who knows?

Lit-lover
fine BS is it
now when should we go to Metropolis???
i say this weekend

Wildcard
can’t family dinner
Dad said I had to be there
or he’d give me a permanent tiara for four weeks
do you know how fucking extravagant coral tiaras are?!?!?
that shit is so dramatic

Lit-lover
Next week?

Wildcard
i’m free
Will have to tell Blue i'm not doing patrol that night tho

Caffeinated Gremlin
Blue?
oh you mean Dick
Also, next week is good as I actually have a meeting there next week
Cass?

Chaos-bringer
✅

Perfect, Jason thought with a maniacal grin. “Operation: Blow up Lex Luthor’s office” was a go and everyone had an alibi, except Tim. But Tim would spin the tale to get out like he usually did. Seriously, he would, and he’d get away with it because Bruce would not be able to prove anything about any of them.

Anonymous
#onlyingotham does one pass Jason fucking Todd and get the fear of god instilled in them because he is cackling like an ancient witch from the times of the Salem Witch trials, about to curse all into misery
Why is my guy staring at his screen while grinning like he’s about to set Wayne Manor on fire?????
#whatisheplanning #icaughtaglimpseofhisphonescreen #hewasonagroupchat #icaughtthewords"blowup” #imscared #onlyingotham #WayneKids

ChaoticNeutral
Wayne Kids: literally the cryptids of Gotham
I mean, seriously, they are so weird. In school today, at Gotham Academy, Damian Wayne took attendance for my class, spoke back to the vice principal, perfectly dissected a frog and made our bio teacher cry, then walked out of school and somehow escaped Detention
#onlyingotham are rich people more entertainment than the fucking vigilantes. Batman a cryptid? Hell no, we have Damian Wayne, the guy who pulled a kunai out of his bag and spun it in his hand while glaring at every single person
#onlyingotham #schoolconfessions #Waynekidsareweird #WayneKids

LifeisaNightmare
Since we’re on the #WayneKids topic, know that new Wayne kid in Bludhaven? Yeah, she was just walking with Dick Grayson, who looks like a stripper in his cop outfit (no cop looks that good), and she is definitely a Wayne kid. Bruce got another one. I mean, she not only multitasked while talking to Dick Grayson, but that girl was helping a little old lady cross a street while holding the lady’s shopping, her own coffee, and five shopping bags.
#Waynekidsareweird #WayneKids #cryptids???? #thefuckingstrength

I’mjustaKIIIIIIID
Three days ago, the new Wayne girl was heading to her place of work. She works at Aquatic Research, you know that WE Marine branch. Yeah, so she’s not only ethereal, she’s fucking smart! Definitely some conspiracy. How is Brucie Wayne a himbo and his kids the weirdest, smartest, most effectively cryptic people in the world?!!?!?!
#onlyingotham are the rich kids better than the rich parents

Canigetawaffle
Crazy story: So, the Wayne girl, I did some digging and found out that Wayne girl is Perseus Jackson. You know that terrorist story from about 12 or 13 years ago, a girl blowing up the St Louis Arch? Yeah, that girl is the new Wayne girl. Perseus Jackson. Even crazier, I used to go to school with her during 9th Grade, in New York, and that girl nearly got expelled before she could even join the fucking school because girl blew up a band room and two of our cheerleaders were never seen again. Then, she still came to the school, but disappeared the next year, only to come back alive at 17 years old, five inches taller, and somehow strong enough to punch a wall.
The school did not welcome her back, but that wasn’t the point. She’s a legend at our school!
Also, she can’t be a new Wayne kid because that girl is devoted to her family. She has a mom, stepdad, sis and all. I think I even see her siblings from her dad’s side coming over (no one really knows what happened between her mom and dad)
#Perseusisn’taWaynekid #PerseusJackson #cryptid??? #hotaftho #likesheisripped #shewasstaroftheswimteamwhenshewasatGoode #brokeOlympicrecordsgood #schoolconfessions

MotherIcraveViolence
Wait, so she has a family? She isn’t an orphan? She actually has alive parents, a cohesive family, siblings, and a life? Is she like…marrying into the Wayne family? I mean, if she’s seen with Dick often, gotta mean something? Right? Someone please tell me we have not labeled some random child with a happy family and a good source of income as Wayne’s new kid!!! What if the rogues target her??!?!

Canigetawaffle
You don’t have to worry. That girl is a walking disaster. She can be hot and smart, but that girl is an emergency. I mean, she was spotted with Piper McClean a couple years back, and there was a conversation caught, something like:
Piper: so, in an emergency, call Percy
Perseus: no, don’t fucking call me
Piper: you are literally the strongest out of all of us
Perseus: yeah? and?? I’m the fucking emergency! None of y’all would have an emergency unless I’m around. Don’t call me, call the fucking police and get the hell away
Piper: what kind of emergencies have you been in?? I was literally kicked out of three schools
Perseus: Beauty Queen, darling, I was kicked out eight schools, one each year. Get on my fucking level
So, yeah, that woman has some kind of trauma, no one knows what happened. I’m pretty sure there is some weird shit on her dad’s side of the fam, but for all we know she is an adrenaline junkie unable to run away from trouble.
#PerseusJackson

IcebabyIce
Quick check, we’re talking about Perseus Jackson, the former terrorist turned kidnapee when she was 12, right? Boy, I have a story to tell you.
Perseus, preferring to be called Percy, is indeed an adrenaline junkie and probably some sort of chaos magnet. Not only did that girl somehow blow up a school bus on a field trip, drop her class into a tank full of sharks, blow up a science lab when they weren’t even working with dangerous substances, break a whole ass concrete wall, and stay under water for like 9 minutes straight, but that crazy girl could parkour. Like, I, being a weirdo (don’t judge), decided I had to know what shit Percy would get up to in her next school after I met her when she transferred to my school during 4th grade. Now, get this, I followed her into every school (and yes, I know, stalker behaviour, but I was invested, she is literally a cryptid and I wholly believe she is immortal considering the crap she goes through only to escape with a scar), and I soon followed her to Goode High during 11th grade, before she disappeared again. That girl fell off the roof of the building (5 stories high!) somehow managed to survive when she grabbed a sewage pipe that was peeling off the building. Not only did she survive, she managed to pull herself up, stand on the bent pipe (which she had bent more) and backflip downwards.
But the craziest part was when she was gone, I looked at the pipe, which had been bent further, and it was dented. Percy’s hand prints were fucking branded into the pipe. Never before have I been so ready to become part of a cult worshipping this mysterious god.
#PerseusJackson #immortal???? #issheagod???? #goddess?? #canImakeacult? #PercyJackson #superhuman #alsoshehasnorighttobethatterrifyinglyhot #likeshelookswaytooprettyfornormalhuman #andinascaryway #Iheardhersayshegotitallfromherdad #andthenwentontosayherdadaskedifhecouldkillsomeoneannoyingher #mafia???? #isshepartoftheAmericanmafia

Percy leaned against the wall outside of the BPD. She was meeting Dick again because she didn’t have many close friends in Bludhaven and Dick, well he was fun. Getting to know him outside of him being Nightwing was incredibly interesting.

She’d learnt many new things.

She’d already known he loved his siblings, that he was a little reckless but quick at thinking, and that he was good with comebacks.

But outside of Nightwing, he enjoyed hot chocolate, had a severe sweet tooth (Percy was guilty of this too), loved to play pranks (having not lost his inner child), was incredibly sweet and gentlemanly, enjoyed making people laugh, would drop anything for a complete stranger, and was a walking inconsistency considering his nighttime job as a vigilante contrasting his daytime job as a police officer.

When she’d first seen him in Wayne Manor, she had had to admit he was incredibly attractive. And naturally, him being Nightwing inside the mask, well she knew she’d immediately drop everything to help him because Percy got attached easily. Very easily.

(Throwback to Bianca and Nico.)

And as it turned out, Nightwing had wormed his way in easily, just like Cass, and Jason, and Tim, and Damian, and even Stephanie, though she knew her less than she did Damian.

She closed her eyes as she waited, ignoring the murmurs, the whispers, and the burning glances. She was used to it.

She made sure to expand her presence, merely to keep passersby at bay. If a monster came, they’d know she was a demigod. If a mortal came near, they’d merely be too scared to come close. Even if they were particularly brave, any demigod’s intimidation factor was enough to utterly damn a mortal’s bravery (or stupidity).

It was unfortunate that closing one's eyes, especially as a demigod, always led to something unfortunate. Especially when Percy heard the sound of glass shattering. Heard something that always sent her spiralling.

The noises around Percy silenced. The silence turned to flashes. And suddenly, Percy wasn’t 25, outside the Bludhaven Police Department, confident in her skill. She was afraid, and running, alone in her old apartment, and a new wound.

She was on the roof, knees pulled to her chest, her breath coming in ragged, uneven gulps. The city lights flickered in the distance, uncaring, just as they always were. A cut burned across her cheek where the glass bottle had caught her. Her fingers trembled as she reached up, tracing the warm, sticky wetness of blood. Bruises bloomed across her arms, ribs, legs—some fresh, some barely faded from the last time. She had barely managed to grab a pair of shorts and a shirt before scrambling up the fire escape, heart pounding so loudly she thought it might echo in the empty night.

Below, Smelly Gabe’s voice slurred through the apartment, filled with drunken fury. The words were nothing new—useless, waste of space, ungrateful brat—but they still curled around her like choking vines. She had learned early on not to argue, not to provoke. It didn’t stop the outbursts. It didn’t stop the hits. It didn’t stop anything.

Everything hurt.

Her fingers dug into her arms, nails pressing half-moon shapes into her skin. It could end, she thought. It could be so easy. One step too far back. A fall was better than going back inside. But Percy Jackson was a coward, and she feared the fall as much as she feared the monster disguised as a man.

She shifted, wincing as a sharp pain lanced through her. She was bleeding. Not just from the cut, but from elsewhere. Wrong. Wrong. She was eleven. Her period had never started. It shouldn’t be happening. And yet, it was.

She bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted copper. She curled tighter, pressing her forehead against her knees. She didn’t cry. She never cried. Tears wouldn’t stop the hurt. Wouldn’t stop him. Wouldn’t change anything.

The wind picked up, brushing against her skin like a whisper, a reminder that the world kept moving, indifferent. The stars blinked above her, silent spectators to her suffering. The distant hum of car horns and sirens filled the air, a city alive with people who would never know, never care. And Percy?

She had nowhere to go. No one to turn to. She was alone. And it hurt.

It could easily end. She could easily end it. Again, she thought about it.

And again, she said no. Because Percy Jackson was no hero, not really—just a girl too afraid to jump and too broken to fight the monster in a man’s skin. 

Her stomach twisted with hunger, but she didn’t dare go back inside. Not yet. Maybe not ever. She wished her mom were home. She wished Gabe had never come into their lives. She wished a lot of things, but wishing was for people who had hope, and Percy wasn’t sure she had any left.

She breathed through the pain, through the pounding in her head. Tomorrow, she’d cover the bruises. Tomorrow, she’d pretend nothing happened. Tomorrow, she’d endure. Because that’s what she did. That’s what she always did.

But tonight, she just sat there, staring at the edge of the rooftop, and tried to forget how easy it would be to step off.

Something brushed against her arm and—

Percy gasped, her breaths coming out ragged, and the person who had touched her pinned against the wall. She couldn’t see, everything was red, and someone had touched her.

She didn’t feel any blood dripping from her wounds. She couldn’t feel any physical wounds.

And she wasn’t outside the BPD. She was in an office, possibly inside the BPD.

Her clothes were still on, though. And no one was touching her there . And everything wasn’t hurting. And she wasn’t 11 years old, alone on a rooftop.

“Percy?” Her name sounded choked, even as the man gasped it out.

The voice cut through her haze of thoughts. She knew that voice.

Her vision returned, the red haze ebbing away, and concerned blue eyes she knew well were watching her. Searching through her eyes. Looking for something.

What was he looking for?

He must’ve found something because his eyes hardened and he looked furious and warm at the same and Percy wanted to scream at him for touching her, but thank him for saving her.

“Percy?” He was tentative, not removing himself from her grasp despite it having slackened and he could easily. He could arrest her for assaulting a police officer. He could do some much. Could’ve done so much during those mere few minutes she’d been gone. And shrunk back into that small, stupid, little 11 year old girl.

Percy gasped and shoved away. Everything was righting itself.

Outside BPD, waiting for Dick. Closed her eyes. The apartment. The first time he’d done it. Smelly Gabe, that disgusting beer smell following him.

She smelt it there too. It was suffocating.

“Percy, you’re panicking—”

What was Dick saying? Everything was too much.

Percy’s breaths came in short, sharp gasps, her chest tightening as the world pressed in around her. The memory still clung to her like thick smoke, distorting everything. The walls of the office blurred, shifting between past and present, between then and now.

She knew she wasn’t there anymore. She knew Smelly Gabe wasn’t here. But her body didn’t. Her body was still caught in the past, still bracing for another strike, still waiting for pain.

Still curling in because what else could she do?

“Percy,” Dick’s voice was steady, his tone calm but firm. “I need you to breathe with me.”

She couldn’t. Her lungs weren’t working. The room felt too small, too tight.

She stumbled back, but Dick didn’t move closer. He didn’t reach for her. He just crouched slightly, lowering himself to her eye level, hands visible but relaxed at his sides. A cop’s stance, but not a threat. He knew better than to corner her.

“Okay, it’s okay,” he soothed. “You’re safe. Just listen to my voice.”

She tried to focus, but everything was too loud. The rush of blood in her ears, the rapid pounding of her heart. She needed out. She needed air.

Dick must have noticed her frantic gaze darting to the door. “You don’t have to go,” he said gently. “You’re safe here. But if you need to step outside, I’ll go with you. No pressure.”

Safe. The word sounded foreign.

Her nails dug into her palms. Her arms shook.

Dick inhaled deeply and slowly exhaled, exaggerating the movement just enough for her to see. “In for four, hold for four, out for four,” he instructed, demonstrating as he spoke. “Come on, Perce, you can do this. Breathe with me.”

She tried. Her first attempt was shaky, too fast, but Dick didn’t correct her. He just did it again, counting softly. His voice was steady, grounding.

“In for four. Hold. Out for four.”

She clenched her fists, focusing on the rhythm. In. Hold. Out. Slowly, painfully, her breathing started to match his. Her chest still ached, but the panic began to ebb, loosening its grip inch by inch.

“That’s it,” he praised, voice warm. “You’re doing great.”

Percy swallowed hard, the last remnants of her panic attack leaving her lightheaded and exhausted. Her legs felt weak. She shifted, pressing her back against the wall to steady herself.

Dick didn’t push. He just stayed where he was, watching her carefully, making sure she was truly back in the present.

“Could I have some water, please?” she asked, her voice sounding weak to her own ears. She must’ve looked so weak and pitiful. She couldn’t believe she’d even let anyone see such a panic attack.

Dick nodded, giving her one more glance before leaving his office and closing the door behind him.

She hated this. Hated looking weak. It made her feel exposed, fragile in a way she despised. But she shoved that down, locking it away where it couldn’t reach the surface.

He returned, a bottle of water in hand. She noted it was not the same type of water as the one the JL had in the Watchtower. She drank it readily, finishing the bottle in seconds. The strength returned quickly, the colour returning to her pale face.

She avoided Dick’s gaze as she remained seated, pressed against the wall. “…Thanks,” she whispered.

“It’s not a prob—”

“No, thank you, for— Thank you for—not—” Gods, why was she so pathetic? And people called her a hero!

She watched through the hair covering her face. Watched as her gratitude sunk in. She knew he understood by the way his eyes darkened in fury, not at her, she could tell. It wasn’t directed at her. He was angry.

“Are you alright?” he asked after a bit.

Percy shook her head. “Haven’t been for a while!” It was forced, the cheerfulness, the fake calm. Dick didn’t smile, just regarded her sadly as she pushed herself up from the ground, straightening.

“If you don’t want to—”

“Dick,” she interrupted, her voice colder, “I would still like to get coffee with you, as long as your shift is over.”

“It is,” he answered quickly, smiling easily.

She was glad for how easily he changed tune, how quickly he picked up on her reluctance to talk about it.

Dick was not a fool. He was not ignorant. And he certainly was not blind to someone’s suffering.

When he’d seen Percy outside the BPD, eyes closed, that odd presence of hers keeping everyone at bay, he had known something was wrong. The downturn of her lips, the tension in her shoulders, the way she flinched even in stillness—it all told him the same story: she wasn’t just waiting for him. She was somewhere else entirely.

He called her name.

No response.

He softly led her into his office in the BPD. Waited and watched as she remained in that odd, hidden state.

So he touched her arm—gently, lightly, the way one might brush a petal with their fingers—and her reaction had been immediate.

She snapped.

For a few terrifying moments, he wasn’t in Bludhaven anymore. He wasn’t Richard “Dick” Grayson, police officer. He was prey caught in the sights of a warrior, a soldier fighting ghosts he couldn’t see. And then she was gone, replaced by someone injured, aching, and terrified.

The way she’d looked at him—it wasn’t recognition. It was survival .

It hadn’t even occurred to him to be angry about being shoved into the wall. What did that matter? She was hurting. She’d been somewhere far worse than here. He knew that look. He’d seen it too many times on others—on victims, on friends, on himself.

And now in Percy. With the way her wild eyes glinted with barely held fire, the way her steps felt like power, the way she commanded respect and fear just by stepping into a room (he’d seen it when she walked into coffee shops, Tim spoke about it when she walked into meeting rooms). It all echoed with tragedy.

But this wound, he’d seen it before on victims of something far worse. This wound was mentally and physically taxing. It destroyed no matter the age.

He’d seen the way victims looked at everyone as an enemy. Flinched away from touch. Avoided contact. And, with women, avoided men. Fearing what they would do. He hated that it happened to anyone, especially Percy. Even if the wound was old, she clearly hadn’t healed.

Now, as she sat across from him at Special Blends, fingers wrapped around her mug of tea (he noted the faint gold swirl in the drink, the way the tea had not cooled down in the ten minutes it had been near, still emitting plumes of smoke in mesmerising swirls) like it was an anchor, he watched her like someone studying a wildfire. Beautiful. Dangerous. Devastating.

But beneath the spark, beneath the smile she wore like armor, he could see the cracks.

He knew trauma. Intimately. But hers... hers felt ancient. Like it didn’t just live in her mind, but in her bones . In her blood . Something had hollowed her out a long time ago and filled the space with rage, and loyalty, and scars that were older than most of his memories.

She looked up at him suddenly, catching him mid-thought.

“What?” she asked, not harshly, but warily. Like she already knew what he was thinking and didn’t want to hear it said out loud.

He smiled, easy, unthreatening. “Just wondering if they’ve got a special recipe so drinks don't get cold here.” His drink too had yet to cool down to cold despite the fact that he’d had his for fifteen minutes, it remained at the perfect temperature.

Her lips twitched, almost involuntarily, and she shook her head. “No, but Sarah might have some special techniques she hasn’t disclosed to me.” There was a knowing glint in her eyes that told Dick she was lying, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

The little quirk of her lips was something. That was a step.

He wouldn’t push. He couldn’t . He’d seen too many people break when pushed too far. Jason. Bruce. Hell, himself.

So he’d wait. And maybe she’d talk. Or maybe she never would. Either way, he’d be there.

Because Dick Grayson had a thing about people with haunted eyes.

And Percy Jackson? She was practically a tempest in a human skin.

Jason and Percy sped to Gotham Academy.

See, Percy had gotten a week off of her night job to spend in Gotham with the Secret Society of Trash Gremlins for the fun of it (Lou, Travis, and Connor holding fort for her and Nightwing—Nightwing took the week off as well, saying he had some family to visit (hint: the Waynes), so those other three were covering for Percy and Nightwing, staying in Percy’s apartment and eating the food she’d prepared for them, which she’d also put in the freezer so they would have food for the week and would not burn down her apartment).

“Why do we need to pick up Damian?” Percy shouted as she twisted between two cars, Jason right behind her.

“Alfred is cooking for you to come over, Replace— Sorry, Tim and B aren’t back till later for dinner. Dickie-bird is heading straight after his work is over, so after Demonspawn finishes school. Cass and Steph are technically not allowed to drive yet since neither have licenses!” Jason replied, coming to drive beside her.

Percy nodded, “Cool! Whose bike is he getting on?”

“Yours.”

“Why?”

“I think you’re more tolerable to him. Also, he likes to talk about pets and you have some cool ones!”

“Maybe I can introduce him to Julie!”

“Who the fuck is Julie?!” Jason yelled, barely moving past a car as they split before they came back next to each other, grinning like madmen.

Percy had her helmet on, but she knew Jason knew she was smiling like hell was on fire. “My griffin!”

Jason nearly barrelled into a car had Percy not manipulated the vapour in the air to push him out of the way and keep him on course.

“You have a pet griffin?!”

“Fuck yeah! I have a hellhound, three pegasi, two horses, a wolf, five sharks, fifteen fish, and a griffin. When I say my pets are exotic, I mean exotic!” She sped up, passing a car and waving at the kid inside, who waved back with a bright smile.

(Percy didn’t know but she was the kids new idol since the kid decided she wanted to ride a motorbike while wearing a black leather jacket, black combat boots, awesome studded gloves, and whatever the hell the tattoo on Percy’s right inner forearm was—which she didn’t know was burned into Percy’s skin, but we don’t talk about that—as it was minorly exposed since the gloves ended just past the wrist and the SPQR symbol was burned just past that. Also note that the leather jacket had been bunched up past the elbows since Percy found they often annoyed her when riding a bike.)

“Don’t, please for the sake of all humanity, let Damian meet Julie because 1: you have a secret identity that he needs to figure out, 2: because that guy will try to steal your pets, and 3: no, just no.”

“You’re no fun!” Percy shouted, skidding to a stop at the traffic light while Jason glanced over at her with a glare.

She grinned back, once again knowing he’d know she was grinning.

“I hate you.”

“The SSOTG says otherwise~” she sang back.

“Did you seriously say SSOTG to refer to the Secret Society of TRash Gremlins?”

Percy nodded. “Fuck yeah, bitch, and I’d do it again!” The light flashed green and she was off, Jason hot on her tail.

They arrived at Gotham Academy just as the students started pouring out in waves of endless gremlins. Percy got off her bike and pulled off her helmet, shaking her head as her hair fell down her back. She hadn’t bothered tying it up, instead holding it, placing her helmet over it and letting it fall when her helmet came off.

She and Jason waited, leaning against their bikes and chatting.

“Okay, but like, Terry Pratchett was ahead of his time,” Jason said.

“Hell yeah, I mean the classic “Come hither fool/The fool jingled miserably across the floor” was far too ahead of its time, the Wyrd Sisters was beautiful.”

“Of course! Just…iconic,” Jason affirmed.

Percy nodded. “Of course, iconic quotes come from everywhere. But, Shakespeare must be so sad how many raw lines come off tumblr too. Like, he must be delighted that literature is still powerful, but he must be rolling in his grave that the quote “You kneel before my throne unaware that it was born of lies” came off a post about bullshitting assignments.”

“Definitely,” agreed Jason, his acid green eyes scanning the crowds. “Also that other quote: “You, who are without mercy, now plead for it?” from the 1986 Transformers movie? Iconic.”

Percy paused before sighing, her head bowed. “I plagiarised a quote. I said that when I was in Gotham a couple months ago to a monster pleading for mercy and I forgot where I heard it, so I thought I was just good at making things up on the spot, but no, I plagiarised a Transformers quote!”

“You didn’t know, it's okay.”

“Thanks Jay.” Percy shook her head, looking across the area. “Where is Damian?”

“Maybe he got held back again?”

“You stay here, I’ll go in,” Percy decided.

“You’re not a listed guardian though.”

“And do people question Damian’s guardians? I mean, as far as I know, only Mr. Wayne and Mr. Pennyworth are listed, but everyone picks him up.” She looked back, smirking. “I can pass myself off as a Wayne, I might as well abuse this power.”

Jason nodded and she turned to go in.

People parted like the sea parted for Moses as Percy walked through the hallway. She stood heads taller than most of the people in the school, practically looking down on everyone. Unfortunately, Percy had no idea where she was going, so she stopped a young girl on the way.

Now, see, Percy was intimidating due to not only height but also her naturally brooding face she inherited from her father. Added to the all black get up and the couple of visible scars, anyone would be scared. Especially the 15 year old girl in either 9th or 10th grade.

“Hey, do you know Damian Wayne?”

The girl quickly nodded her head.

“Where is he?”

“P-principal's off— office.”

“Where is that?”

The girl just pointed down the hallway and then pointed right. Percy smiled kindly, to which the girl immediately relaxed and the tension seeped out of her frame.

“Thanks, have a good day.”

She passed quickly, weaving through the crowds of kids.

The door to the principal’s office was of dark oak, glossy and still clean, as though new. The door handle was gold, but clearly fake. Percy noted the too bright sheen, the fading paint at the edges.

The plaque on the door was also gold, a border of laurels etched in.

Principal
Arnold Richmond

It was written in a horrifying cursive that killed Percy’s eyes as she knocked.

“Who is it?”

“I’m here for Damian,” Percy answered and the door opened very quickly, a greying man smiling. Or trying to; it looked more like a grimace, especially with his trembling frame and shaking fingers.

“Please, come in.”

Percy stepped passed, quickly looking around the entire room. Two cameras in opposite corners of the square office. A dark oak desk, very large, screaming expensive sat at the opposite end of the room to the door. Upon the desk, a lamp turned off stood, another golden plaque in that horrible cursive. The room itself was all wood; the floors, the wall, the bookshelves, the trophy shelves, everything screamed privileged. 

Damian sat in a chair while a boy sat in the other chair, holding an ice pack to his left eye. She noted the bruise just beneath. The woman behind the other boy was haughty looking, her blonde hair fake and stringy. Her blue eyes weren't fake, but they certainly looked more like a vomit-blue mix than pretty. She was wearing a dress with a blazer over it, and Percy could immediately tell what she thought of her when the woman gave Percy a glance from behind her sunglasses.

“Jackson,” Damian greeted curtly.

“Hey Damian, I'm here to pick you up. What happened?”

“Mr. Wayne here—”

“I didn’t ask you, Richmond ,” Percy snapped, eyes burning holes in the principal’s face. He cowered back, everyone did except Damian, and she turned back to Damian, her eyes softening. “I asked Damian. What happened?”

She noted the miniscule smirk of smugness Damian shot at the principal before looking at her. “He insulted my family, I hit him.”

“So you were physical first?”

“Yes.”

“What did he say?”

Damian turned away, fire burning in his rich emerald green eyes. “Must be nice to have a rich last name to hide behind. Some of us actually earned our way in.” He repeated it with venom lacing his tone. Percy noted the way the kid, brunet, flushed red in anger. He said nothing, a glance at Percy watching him stopping his mouth from opening.

“What else?”

“You think being a Wayne makes you special? Everyone knows they only took you in out of guilt. You’re a pity project, not family.” He said the statement robotically, repeating it from pure memory.

Percy held back her anger and stepped behind Damian. “So, what do you propose, Richmond?”

“Who are you?” he asked weakly.

“Percy Jackson, Damian’s guardian for today, though I do not see how that is relevant considering that the problem is the child who insulted Damian, who rightfully defended his honour. Unless, of course, you believe punishing the victim is correct?” She was taller than everyone in the room, and she held the most power.

Or, she assumed everyone knew, until the blonde lady opened her mouth.

“Percy Jackson?” she repeated. Fuck, she even sounded privileged and posh, an accent of snobbishness colouring her nasaally voice. “You mean the terrorist? Bruce really takes in madness these days. What have the Waynes come to?”

“Firstly, I was a victim of kidnapping and had to fight my captor to get away. Secondly, the Waynes are still the most powerful family in Gotham and you’re lucky your son even goes to this school considering your name is hardly known.” It probably was known, but Percy had no clue who this woman was and she certainly wasn’t going to pretend to care. “Thirdly, your son insulted Damian, so don’t start with me on “madness” when Damian was provoked and reacted accordingly. Would your son allow himself to be insulted without responding?”

She gaped at Percy like a fish as Percy regarded her coldly.

Percy turned away, rolling her eyes. “Richmond, what are you doing about this situation?”

“S-suspension,” he stuttered out.

“For both, right? Since Damian was physical, four days suspension should be alright. Since the other boy was the one who provoked Damian first, I propose a two day suspension. Both go on personal records and any foul play, I will know, and I will make it my personal business to ruin you.” She directed the final sentence at both the mother and Richmond before patting the back of Damian’s chair.

“Let’s go, we’re going to go and celebrate your very good punch.” She ignored the offended yelp from the woman, the shocked gasp from the boy, and the widened eyes from the principal. “Well done on getting the eyes, it’ll take a while to heal that.”

The woman and son made an indignant shout as Damian left the room. Percy paused in the doorway, one last glare directed at everyone. “I hope you weren’t actually going to only punish the victim. Gotham Academy is very prestigious, I’d hate for it to…lose students due to negligence.”

She slammed the door behind her and walked with Damian in silence.

“Thank you, Jackson,” he murmured silently just as they reached the sliding doors.

Percy smiled. “I hate bullies. And honestly, I was bullied during my schooling career until 10th grade, but I was always punished. I know what it’s like.”

Damian sent her a small look of surprise before masking it and following.

“What took so long?” Jason asked.

Percy looked back at the school disdainfully. “Damian was about to be wrongfully punished. I set the record straight and he’s suspended for four days.”

“Ah, cool. The other kid?”

“Two days.”

“Nice. Demonspawn, you’re riding with Percy. Here’s a helmet.” He tossed it to Damian, who caught it. Percy pulled on her own after twisting her hair up to keep in the helmet.

Damian didn’t argue, just got on behind Percy, who started the motorbike, the engine revving a little loudly.

“Who was that kid?” Percy asked.

“The Alan family,” Damian answered.

“Who?”

“Sixth wealthiest family in Gotham,” Jason answered. “Pretty sure the Alan’s are swamped in corruption, though.”

Percy hummed quietly. “So, Damian, what do you want to do to celebrate?”

“Celebrate a punch?” he asked incredulously. “That’s absurd.”

“No, I mean celebrate getting off school for four days when you already know the entire curriculum. You won't fall behind, so come on, tell me. Spar, sword fight, meet my pets, prank war on your siblings?”

“Those are very interesting ways to celebrate,” Jason commented.

Percy shrugged as she sped past, Damian holding on a little tighter. “Well, yeah, everyone celebrates differently. If I punched a kid that perfectly, I would celebrate by getting ice cream or buying a new book.”

“Your pets,” Damian said.

“Are we allowed to ride horses in Gotham?” Percy asked.

“Probably. People do anything in Gotham, honestly,” Jason answered.

“What about wolves? I have a pet wolf that my cousin is taking care of, but she can bring him over. Damian, want to meet my wolf? Her name is Arcane.”

“Yes,” Damian answered. Percy could hear the barest hints of excitement and she smiled.

Jason glanced to his left to look at Percy briefly. “Why is your wolf called Arcane?”

“Because “arcane” means mysterious or secret and it sounds cool. She’s a black wolf, and she has silvery-blue fur on her belly. Her eyes are ocean blue,” Percy explained. “Mysterious. Also, I really like the Arcane series, like that animation style? So good!”

Jason nodded. “Fair.”

“When can she come?”

“I’m over for a week, invited by Cass, Jay, and Tim, so maybe in a couple of days,” Percy offered.

Damian agreed immediately and Percy smiled to herself. To be fair, it might have been odd that a normal human had a wolf as a pet but loads of people had wolves as pets, mistakenly taking them in as dogs. Percy had not mistakenly taken in this wolf. She’d found Arcane injured and alone near the Wolf House and after Lady Lupa helped her heal the wolf pup, because even though they believed in strength, they also believed in the young, Arcane had stuck to Percy and started following her.

Percy had gotten the Hunters of Artemis to look after Arcane when Percy went to university, to train her and teach her their wolven ways, but Arcane had always been Percy's and honestly, Percy loved her wolf. She was massive now, reaching Percy’s hips in height, maybe a little higher. But her fur had always remained black and rich, with the silvery-blue belly fur a stark contrast but gorgeous.

The gates to Wayne Manor opened when they arrived and they entered, the gates clanging shut behind them. The noise echoed around the massive grounds as Percy followed Jason to the underground parking (rich people), where Percy saw several sports cars, other cars, more motorbikes, and Cass waiting.

Placing her helmet on the bike handle and locking her bike, Percy grinned at Cass, who hugged her around the waist, Percy returning it quickly.

“Hey Chaos.”

“Hi,” Cass rasped out.

She followed Jason and Damian to the lift, Cass still hugging her waist, and the four rose to Wayne Manor.

“Hey!” Jason called.

“Afternoon!” Percy called after.

Cass said nothing, as did Damian, just continued walking.

Damian split, heading to his room, obviously to change out of his stuffy uniform (Percy was so glad none of the schools she went to had uniforms, honestly). Jason, Percy, and Cass headed to the kitchen, where Jason split (still banned from entering), while Cass and Percy entered.

“Hello Mr. Pennyworth,” Percy greeted, looking around the spacious kitchen. Even though she’d cooked in it before, it was still really nice. Three ovens, two microwaves, several cupboards, drawers, three sinks… Honestly, she could make four dishes at the same time and have fun.

“Hello Miss. Percy, we finally meet. And Alfred is just fine.”

“I’ve heard lots about you, Alfred, all good things. Percy is just fine too, formalities annoy me,” Percy replied easily, her eyes catching the sharp glint in Alfred’s eyes. He knew, it seemed, well she knew too.

“Any requests for dinner?”

“I like spicy food, but anything is fine,” she answered honestly.

Alfred nodded. “I’ll set a bit aside for you to have spicy food.”

“It’s fine, really, I don’t mind—”

“Nonsense, you are a guest,” he cut in. “Would you live anything while you wait?”

Percy smiled. She liked this guy already, his warmth and familial feeling reminding her of her mother. “A cup of herbal tea, something strong please. Do you use tea bags or tea leaves?”

“Tea leaves, Miss. Percy,” and he sounded offended she’d even suggested tea bags.

Percy’s smile widened. “Then a strong herbal blend, preferable with cinnamon, please, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“None at all, Miss. Percy. Go and sit in the living room, I will bring it along.”

Percy paused, her smile dropping. She’d had poison in her drinks before and while her gut screamed to trust Alfred, she still wanted to be there to watch the tea made. He must’ve noticed because he retracted his words.

“Or stay here, I know people enjoy watching their tea made.”

Percy smiled, nodding and sitting, Cass sitting beside her. Jason returned with a book as well, sitting on Percy’s left and handing her her duffle bag with her clothes for the week.

She laughed. “Shit, forgot about that.”

“Language, Miss. Percy.”

“Ah, sorry Alfred.”

Jason leaned closer, whispering conspiratorially, “He’s very strict about that.”

Percy nodded, laughing softly. “I see.”

The tea was delicious, truly, and dinner was a brilliant affair with the chaos that came.

(Tim collapsed in his chair, having stayed awake 83 hours straight. Dick and Steph had started a food fight that Percy came out of unscathed and Bruce just sighed in exhaustion during the food fight. Damian had a knife and had perfectly got it into the space between two wooden boards on the walls. Cass, Percy, and Jason had teamed up with Jason and Percy spewing random lines from books (e.g. “We few, we happy few, we band of brothers!” from Henry V, Shakespeare; or when Percy, while flinging peas at Dick, shouted, “Chaos isn’t a pit. Chaos is a ladder,” from A song of Ice and Fire, but George R.R. Martin.)

Percy had been given a room near Cass’ for the night, where she did not sleep well.

Alfred knew warriors. He knew how easily they hid pain. And he knew how strong one was.

He was surrounded by warriors. His family, his sons and daughters. They were warriors. And a new one had just joined the ranks.

Not born into it. Thrust. Tempered.

The kind of warrior who doesn’t carry her scars on her skin—but in the way her shoulders tense at a sound that doesn’t belong. In the way she watches shadows like they remember her name.

Perseus “Percy” Jackson was one of those.

And Alfred—Alfred had served beside men who bled in silence. He'd mended wounds not meant to heal, and stood still for ghosts that never truly left.

He recognized the look in her eyes when no one else was watching.

So tonight, when the hour turned cruel and quiet—2:04 a.m., to be exact—Alfred prepared the tea.

Not the usual English black, not anything spiced or sharp. No, something gentle. For dreams that bit at the heels of sleepwalkers.

Lavender. Chamomile. A hint of lemon balm, if only to remind the soul that peace was still possible.

The teapot was an old porcelain set, cream and blue with ivy curling around the rims. Martha Wayne had chosen it once for its elegance. Bruce had broken the saucer once, as a child. Alfred had never thrown it away. Some things stayed, even when cracked. Especially when cracked, because it could be mended.

(He’d gotten the saucer mended by kintsugi, the Japanese art of mending broken pottery with lacquer and gold. It was as beautiful as the day they got it, just worn by time, but still beautiful. The cracks were not so much a bad thing as they were a way to show the passage of time, a testament to its journey. The gold-filled seams made it whole again, but in a way that honored the brokenness, making the imperfections part of the beauty. The cracks were not flaws; they were stories. And some things, some people, were more beautiful for the history they carried.)

He set the cups down, the steam curling like ghostly fingers in the kitchen light. And then—soft footsteps. Hesitant, but no longer trying to pretend they weren’t heard.

Percy entered the room like a shadow trying not to be seen. But Alfred had always seen shadows. Knew how to welcome them.

She didn’t speak. Neither did Alfred.

The girl sat down across from him, her hair windswept as though returning from the beach and her eyes tempered, hiding the pain. That taunting silver streak was not hidden as it had been at dinner, the Mist not being used due to her knowing he knew and him knowing she knew. Hands wrapping around the cup—grateful, not surprised.

They drank in silence.

Not awkward. Not stiff.

The silence of understanding, that rarest and most fragile kind.

And Alfred thought:

Some people break like glass. Others, like the sea—loud, violent, and forever returning to shape. Percy was the sea.

You didn’t rebuild something like that. You let it rage. And you gave it the shore to crash against.

A few minutes later, the stairs creaked again.

Jason—another warrior. One who bore the weight of leadership the way Atlas once held the sky. He joined them wordlessly, as though called not by sound but by something quieter. Something true.

Three warriors.

Three cups of tea.

No words.

The night outside stretched on, but within these walls, there was calm. Not peace, no. Peace was a luxury. But calm—calm was something Alfred could brew.

And so he did.

He watched as the two drank calmly. Alfred found peace in rhythm. He found peace in the act of service, in the quiet of these small, sacred moments—preparing the tea, watching the steam curl, listening to the faint clink of porcelain. There was a calmness to it, a stillness that felt like a world at rest.

But he knew something about the two sitting across from him. Peace was not a simple thing for them.

Percy, with her restless energy, the tension in her limbs, the way she never fully let herself sink into stillness—she found peace in violence. Not in destruction for its own sake, but in the release it offered. In the battle. In the motion of combat, the swing of a blade, the sharp breath before the fight began. She found clarity in the chaos. The world made sense when it was all falling apart around her.

Jason, too. His peace came not from silence alone but from the order of battle, the structure of leadership. Alfred had seen it in the way Jason carried himself. He carried the weight of leadership like a mantle, but it didn’t crush him—it sharpened him. His peace was forged in the heat of war, in the noise and blood and fire. The adrenaline and clarity that came in the moments before the storm. Jason found peace in the eye of the chaos, in the decisive strike that ended a conflict, in the control over the violence.

They both came from war, and they both sought peace in ways that most could not understand. Alfred knew that. He knew that peace wasn’t always the absence of noise, but the presence of knowing. Sometimes, the heart found its rhythm in the stillness, sometimes in the storm.

But tonight, there was no storm. Just the calm. The silent bond shared over cups of tea. The unspoken understanding that the world outside might rage, but here—here, they could just be.

And that was enough. For now.

But Alfred knew something that most didn’t. A watched pot never boils. It sat there, simmering beneath the surface, quietly growing until it was unwatched and one day it would break. And so too would the dam that held back their rage. Percy and Jason, as much as they carried their peace within the storm, couldn’t hold it forever. One day, the anger, the violence—they wouldn’t be enough to contain what was brewing inside them.

They were warriors—destruction was a part of them, woven into the very fibers of their being. But destruction, as Alfred had seen time and time again, was a consuming fire. It could burn bright, but it didn’t last. It left ash. It left ruin. And in the end, it took as much as it gave.

They needed something more.

They needed creation.

Not the reckless kind that tore down walls or shattered lives. No, they needed the right kind of creation. The kind that built something out of the rubble. The kind that was patient, steady, and tender with its hands—capable of molding peace out of the chaos. It was a delicate art, one Alfred had seen too many warriors struggle to grasp. But it was the only kind of creation that could heal the cracks without filling them with more destruction.

Percy and Jason were warriors. Destruction would always be a part of them, but if they ever hoped to survive the storm inside, they would need a counter to their rage. They would need a creation that wasn’t born from the violence they carried, but from something deeper. Something that could stand against the fire when it threatened to consume them.

Alfred thought, for a fleeting moment, that perhaps this house—this family—was their first step. Maybe it was here, in the quiet rhythm of these moments, that they could learn to build.

The hurricane could wait for another day. Tonight, they had found something to hold it back.

He made another pot of tea, his eyes lingering on Jason and Percy’s matching white/silver streaks.

Damian decided Jackson was not bad per se. Especially her wolf.

Tituts was delighted at meeting Arcane, who was very calm and beautiful. Jackson reminded him of a wolf with the way her eyes were ever watchful, the sharp glare she carried, the confident stance, and the silence with which she stalked her prey.

He preferred Astron for Grayson, but if Grayson could not court Astron, Jackson was not bad as another person to court.

(He had wanted to say option, but option meant he regarded her as a choice, as an object, and Damian was trying to view people as people, not choices.)

Arcane was amazing. She was silent, agile, well-behaved, and beautiful. He’d thought that a lot as he watched the wolf trot to beside her owner, who held out a hand, which Arcane gladly licked. Wolves were notoriously hard to gain the trust of, but Arcane clearly trusted Jackson explicitly and Damian trusted the judgement of animals more than humans.

He watched Percy laugh, petting the head and then handing Arcane a piece of raw meat, to which Arcane happily ate. She nudged against Jackson’s leg before bounding over to Damian and sniffing at his held out hand, nudging against it as a sign of trust.

Damian beamed, or what could be considered a beam.

He noticed Jackson's smile too. “She likes you,” Jackson said. “She doesn’t trust people much after what humans did to her. I found her injured in a forest and saved her. Arcane actually only liked me until my cousin, she generally only trusts women too.” Percy stepped over, petting Titus along the way. “The fact that she trusts you says a lot about your character. You must be a great person.”

Was Damian a great person? His head told him no. Told him he hurt and would never be much other than a horrible person created to kill. His heart told him he was going to be a great person, someone worthy of the mantle of Robin.

Arcane licked his face as if reading his thoughts, Titus joined too. He heard Percy laughing in the background and he flushed red, but it was quickly gone when Titus licked him again.

He didn’t mind this.

Until that evening, and his mood plummeted.

Drake was in charge of the mission, as Father had to go and stop Riddler. Grayson was keeping Jackson company, Todd was heading back to Crime Alley, and Cass was helping Father. That left Brown, Drake, and Damian to stop the human trafficking ring.

Damian had always been at odds with Drake. It wasn’t new. Ever since becoming Robin, there had been a part of Damian that couldn’t help but constantly measure himself against the others. Grayson, Todd, Drake—they each had their strengths, their moments of glory. Grayson had the heart, Todd had the unpredictability, and Drake… Drake had the strategy.

Damian could hear the words in his head, but he refused to speak them. You need to be better than them. Better than Drake. He couldn’t help it. It wasn’t jealousy—not in the way that Drake would think—but a need to prove something. To be something beyond the shadow of the others.

The mission had gone well, at least on the surface. But Damian had salvaged it—not because it was necessary, but because he wanted to. He needed to. He thought maybe if he took charge in his own way, showed Father he could handle it without Drake’s meticulous plans, maybe he’d get… something. But it didn’t go unnoticed that Drake had snapped at him afterward.

“You’re reckless, Damian. You ruined the mission,” Drake had said, his eyes sharp, his voice strained. There was no malice in it—just pure frustration. But it still stung. Damian wasn’t reckless. He was decisive. He was quick. He didn’t hesitate like Drake did.

“You should thank me for salvaging your op!”

“You ruined it!”

“I saw an opportunity to capture the trafficking leader and I took it! It is not my fault that you are so incompetent, you could not see it yourself,” he shot back.

But the truth gnawed at him. The mission had gone smoothly because of Drake's planning. Damian’s instinct was to override it, to carve his own path, and in doing so, he’d sabotaged their clean success. The thought twisted inside him like a burr, biting deeper with every passing second.

It wasn’t the first time. Every time they went out on a mission, Damian found himself trying to fight for validation that wasn’t his to claim. Trying to prove himself in ways that only made him feel smaller when it didn’t go the way he wanted.

He could hear Father’s voice echo in his mind: "Be your own man, Damian. You don’t need to compare yourself to others."

The thing was, he didn’t know how . How could he? When it felt like everyone around him had a piece of the puzzle he wasn’t allowed to see? He was constantly chasing what they had.

He stormed away. He changed quickly, showering off the grime of the mission, the grime of himself. And then he found himself exiting the lift from the Batcave to the Manor. Instead of heading to his room, he heard a noise in the kitchen and entered the kitchen.

He wasn’t sure what compelled him to, Grayson was always up at odd hours. Or he had thought it was Grayson, but no, it was Jackson.

A soft glow from the overhead light illuminated the kitchen in the stillness of the early morning, and two cups of tea sat on the counter, steam curling lazily in the cool air. Lemon and ginger. The china cups, the silver teaspoons, and a little pot of sugar so he could add however much he wanted. It was the kind of detail Alfred would make, and yet—here was Jackson, making it feel like home in a way Damian couldn’t quite explain.

Arcane was curled around Jackson’s chair, her chest rising and falling with each breath, a deep noise with each breath.

It was rather…calming.

He turned and was stopped by Jackson.

“Dick went to bed a couple of minutes ago. He told me he needed some rest before the tour he was giving at WE tomorrow,” she started. Why was she talking to him? “I made tea for you. Come, sit.”

Damian didn’t argue. He did as she asked, sliding into the seat across from her. There was a moment of silence, a long one, where he almost didn’t know what to say. What was he supposed to say?

How had she even known?

Percy took a slow sip of her tea before setting the cup down and looking at him. Her gaze felt like a quiet challenge, like she could see more than just the surface of things, more than just the angry, frustrated boy who stood before her.

“You know,” she began, “you’ve been running yourself ragged, trying to prove something. You don’t need to prove anything to anyone, especially not to them.”

Damian’s brow furrowed, but he stayed silent. He could feel his pulse quicken, like he was about to argue, to push back—but Percy’s voice was steady, like she’d known this conversation would come.

“I’m not sure what it is you’re trying to prove,” Percy continued, her tone gentle, almost like she was weighing each word before she spoke. “But whatever it is, I can tell it’s not about being the best, not really. You’re chasing something you’ll never catch if you’re looking to compare yourself to the others. You’re never going to be Dick or Jay or even Tim. You’re you. And that’s enough.”

Damian looked down at his tea. She didn’t know. She couldn’t. But her words pierced through him anyway, like she saw past the mask he’d been wearing. She knew something was different. She knew he wasn’t just a kid trying to live up to their shadows. He didn’t know how, but there was something about Percy that made him feel… seen.

Her words continued, quiet but firm. “I know what it’s like to have the world expect something of you. To feel like you’ve got to keep up with everyone else’s idea of who you’re supposed to be.” She paused, her gaze steady. “But you can’t live in their shadow, Damian. You’ll always be chasing it, and one day, you’ll realize that all you’ve done is run away from who you really are.”

Damian clenched his fists around the cup, his fingers trembling slightly. He wanted to lash out, to deny it, but something about the way she said it—like she’d been there, like she understood—made him pause.

Percy leaned forward just a little, her voice softening, “It’s okay to be who you are, Damian. You don’t have to be anyone else. Just focus on being you.”

Damian didn’t speak for a long time. He let the words sit in the quiet, their weight heavier than anything he’d been carrying in his chest. Maybe she was right. He didn’t need to keep running. He could stand still for once. He could just be.

There was something about the way her presence was both powerful and comforting. Something about her words that touched him so deeply. Something about the way she spoke that made him think she knew more than—had seen more—than he could ever understand. And maybe it was the way she sounded like Alfred with her steady advice, her calmness…

Damian was destruction. He knew Jackson was destruction too. Everyone emanated different levels of it. But he was a force of destruction and destruction spoke to destruction. So he listened to what she said, let it sink in, let the silence after her words settle down.

The silence stretched between them, but this time, it wasn’t awkward. It wasn’t thick with frustration or anger—it was just peaceful. And for once, Damian didn’t feel the need to prove anything.

For now, it was enough.

He went to bed later, a text from Drake telling him to meet him the next night at a Safe House in Gotham elsewhere. He sighed, but sent a text back in agreement.

“You and Damian got off to a pretty rough start, huh,” Steph commented.

Tim nodded, the events of the evening replaying in his head before going to when Damian first appeared and took his title as Robin. “We did. And, if I’m being honest, I'm still holding onto a lot of resentment. After Jason was murdered, Batman needed a Robin and I stepped into the role. I loved being Robin, even if someone could’ve done better, probably, but I loved it with my whole heart. It meant everything to me, that feeling of fighting for my city, of being Bruce’s protege. It felt special, a mantle passed from person to person, it held so much weight.

“When Damian came, his existence was a surprise to everyone, but everyone naturally thought that it was right for him to be Robin. His relationship to Bruce… His arrival changed so much around here, especially for me. One day, I was Robin, I had everything.” Tim paused, took a breath, sighed. “The next, I had lost it all, was replaced. IT felt awful, horrible. It was demoralising.” He put his head in his hands, ignoring the sympathy in Steph’s look. “I’ve tried to move past that, am trying to. Damian and I have changed a lot, but this battle feels like it will continue forever, and I’m so tired of it, Steph.”

Steph patted Tim’s shoulder, causing him to look up. Her coffee brown eyes were warm, soft, comforting. “I know this family is terrible at talking, but… I think you should reach out to Damian. Have a one-on-one like Bruce and Jason did recently. Clear the air, figure out the problem, move forward together. It helps and couldn’t hurt to try.”

“With the number of knives Damina carries, it could,” Tim shot back, an awful try at humour, but Steph smiled a little with him.

“You can take him.” The faith she had in him was certainly more than he had in himself. “Besides, think about Damian’s point of view as well. The kid is still adjusting. Even if he’s been with us for a year or two, you can’t undo all that abuse, that conditioning. He had to be the best or he’d be killed and probably still believes he has to be, though the killing part is not in the conditions, maybe he thinks everyone will be disappointed. I think he’s just worried he’ll never measure up to other Robins that he is always at odds with you, especially with the Robin that brought Bruce back from the brink of destruction.”

Tim blinked a few times in a daze. He’d never thought about it that way. “You’re probably right. It’s time to talk.”

“Atta boy.” Steph ruffled his hair and Tim had to smile.

He texted Damian.

Tim: meet me at Safe House #7
Tim: tmr
Tim: before patrol

Damian: fine

He went to bed in his apartment. He was going to stay at Wayne Manor the next night, but for now, was fine in his apartment. 

The next night, he and Damian met up in Safe House #7.

He’d entered first, the entire place dark. Damian entered through the window.

“Hello,” Damian greeted brusquely.

Tim turned on the light. “Thanks for coming, Damian.”

“Very theatrical, especially for you, Drake,” Damian commented unhelpfully.

Tim crossed his arms as he stepped into the centre of the room. “We need to talk, just you and me. This is a clean Safe House; no bugs or cameras.” Safe House #7 was perhaps the only one since Bruce’s paranoia was a little much. It was a nicely furnished Safe House as well, a simple coach, several classic books on the shelves, a Tv, the coffee table matching the plain, dark brown couch.

“Why? What do you want to talk about?”

“We need to stop this constant confrontational problem between us. We need to stop always being at odds.”

“Is this about the ops yesterday? You should thank me for salvaging your missi—”

“You didn’t salvage it! You nearly ruined it!” Tim ran a hand through his hair. Calm down. “Why do you keep going against me?”

“Tt. I thought you were a genius detective, figure it out.” Damian crossed his arms, turning away. It infuriated Tim.

“I can’t! I don’t know why you keep doing this! None of your actions make sense! And at least I’m trying to fix this! All you do is turn your nose up!” he shouted back. This was a mistake. He shouldn’t have bothered.

Damian turned away further. “Of course you are. The incredible Timothy Drake, so perfect and smart, he can fix everything. Always has the perfect plan, the perfect timing. So utterly brilliant.”

His tone was scornful, but Tim heard the bitterness. The anger. The…envy.

It was shocking that he actually felt the need to step back, his eyes widening in surprise. “You’re…jealous of me ?”

Damian snarled, turning around, and Tim saw the denial in his eyes. His lips said differently. “Of course I am! I can do everything you do, I can do everything better than you, but all I hear are praises singing your name. From Father, from Grayson—even Pennyworth! What’s so great about you?!”

It didn’t make sense. Surely Damian Wayne, the blood son, the true heir—surely he wasn't jealous of Timothy Drake.

“That doesn’t make sense. Wouldn’t it make more sense to be jealous of Dick—”

“Grayson is great, he is.” Damian took off his mask, looking down. Shame painted his face before that too disappeared. “But Grayson and Todd had nothing when Father took them in. Brown was regaining her family’s honour. Me? I was born to be a weapon. Specifically trained to be one.

“You? You chose to be a hero. You didn’t have to, had no need to be…but you still became one.”

Tim blinked, startled. The words hit harder than he expected.

“You chose this,” Damian spat again, quieter this time. “You weren’t trained in a League. You weren’t raised in war. You were… normal. And you still became Robin. You took something sacred. Something that defined me —and made it look easy . You left me with an impossible legacy…how am I supposed to live up to it?”

There it was.

Tim felt his breath lodge in his chest. For a long moment, he said nothing. His heartbeat roared in his ears, and he gripped the edge of the table a little tighter.

He didn’t expect that. But, honestly? He understood it.

“I didn’t feel chosen,” Tim said, finally. His voice was soft, a murmur that barely reached Damian’s side of the cave. “I figured it out. Batman was losing control. He was spiraling. I pieced the clues together. Followed him. I made myself Robin.”

He turned, slowly, to look Damian in the eye. “And for the longest time, I thought he resented me for it.”

Damian’s brow furrowed.

“He chose every other Robin,” Tim said with a dry laugh. “Not me. I inserted myself into the legacy. No tragic backstory. No dead parents. No grand purpose. Just… a kid with a sharp eye and too much time on his hands. And a need to fix things no one asked me to fix.”

The silence that followed wasn’t cold. It was… reflective. Like the stillness after a storm, when everything feels washed and real.

Damian looked down. His jaw was still tight, but the heat in his eyes had shifted. Less fury. More something else.

“You were born a weapon,” Tim said gently. “But I wasn’t. And I still fight beside you. You think that makes you less? It doesn’t. It makes you more.”

Damian’s arms slowly lowered from their crossed position. His fingers flexed once. Twice. Then he extended a hand.

It wasn’t the first time they’d stood like this. But it felt like the first time it mattered.

Tim stepped forward and shook it.

Damian’s grip was strong. Steady.

They both smiled—awkward, unsure, but real.

And in that moment, Tim felt the familiar weight of expectation lift—just a little. Enough to breathe.

Maybe, he thought, just maybe… they were both learning what it meant to stop surviving, and start living.

Together.

Chapter Text

Secret Society of Trash Gremlins

Caffeinated Gremlin
Percy where are you??

Wildcard
with Kitty
in the gym
we’re about to spar with swords
Arcane and Titus are here too
why

Caffeinated Gremlin
my business meeting in Metropolis is in two and a half hours
I was wondering if we were still blowing up luthor’s office

Chaos-bringer 
✅

Lit-lover
wait!! i’m coming too
4hrs right?
i’ll prep the bags of explosives
some vigilante justice shall be dished out tonight
we have to go in uniform tho

Wildcard
good news is my suit is always on me
can we rope in BS’ child? Jon, or Superboy?? He looks adorable
and a little chaotic

Chaos-bringer
✅

Lit-lover
yeah let’s get SB Jr to join as well
It will be so much fun
and with SB Jr coming
we should also bring along Demonspawn

Wildcard
organise the rest
Kitty and I are about to spar

Percy placed her phone down with a grin and walked over to the wall of swords. None of them were balanced, but she’d fought with unbalanced weapons before and Percy was nothing if not adaptable.

She grabbed a katana that was the closest to the correct balance, spinning it experimentally.

To be honest, Percy preferred double-edged blades, but single-edged blades were better for hiding her identity as Astron and she was fine with both since most people in Atlantis used single-edged blades and she’d been trained in their style by Atlanteans (her father’s wishes).

The family dinner four days ago—Atlantean family, the one with the Waynes was two days ago—had been fun, and then she’d gone to Gotham to chill with the Waynes because why not. And finally, Damian’s curiosity got the better of him and he challenged her to a spar.

The mat was marked by slashes and scratches, years of training. It might need to be replaced soon, Percy noted, eyeing the dents in the mat. When moving on the mat, someone had clearly placed more pressure, leaving marks.

“Let’s do this, kid.”

Damian and her began circling each other, almost like a Mexican stand-off, until the door burst open and in poured Stephanie, a massive bowl of popcorn, those red-blue glasses, and a giant bottle of coke.

“Don’t stop on my account,” Steph waved her hand airily.

Damian and Percy exchanged glances before lifting their weapons and circling again.

Damian moved first, a feint to Percy’s right.

She didn’t fall for it.

His weight had shifted the wrong way. Too subtle for most, but Percy wasn’t most people. She sidestepped fluidly, letting his blade pass by her side, and gently nudged his wrist with the back of her own blade, just enough to unbalance him.

"Sloppy," she said, not unkindly.

She noted the flash of recognition, like her moves and the way she spoke were familiar, but he couldn’t place it. Well, to be fair, not many people tried to teach while sparring. But Percy couldn’t help it considering the fact that she used to train kids while sparring, so it became a habit to comment and fix mistakes.

Damian gritted his teeth and spun back around, stance correcting almost instantly. He was fast. And precise. The way he handled the blade was unmistakable—Robin's fingerprints were all over his technique. Percy recognized the aggressive rhythm, the way he baited her into predictable counters, then adapted on the fly. Classic Bat training.

She adjusted her own stance slightly, keeping it closer to the Atlantean form she’d learned. Her feet moved smoothly around the rough edges of the mat, using the uneven texture to keep her balance light and quick. The tip of her blade danced with his, a flick here, a catch there, never enough to give her away, never more than what a skilled fighter with minor dabbling in training might do.

"You’re holding back," Damian growled, slicing upward. Percy blocked it effortlessly.

"So are you," she pointed out with a grin. "Besides, the mat is damaged as it is. I don’t think it’s being replaced for another few weeks, so I don’t want to ruin it further and move up the schedule."

He scowled, lunged again.

Percy flowed like water. Let him wear himself out a bit. She wasn’t even sweating. She probably wouldn’t break out in a sweat during the entire spar, demigods didn’t sweat easily once they reached a certain stage in ability.

She saw the opening before he did. His left foot slipped slightly on a deeper gash in the mat. That was all she needed. Her blade came up, slid along his until she knocked it loose with a controlled twist, and in one step, she had her blade at his throat.

"Dead," she said casually.

Damian stared at her, shocked for half a heartbeat. Then his expression morphed into reluctant admiration.

"Tch. Again."

From the couch, Stephanie cheered with a mouthful of popcorn. "Oh yeah! This is way better than the movies."

Percy chuckled and offered Damian his weapon back. "You’re good, kid. Give it a few years. You might even land a hit on me."

He took the sword, eyes narrowed.

"I will."

She believed him.

“Okay, everyone knows the plan,” Jason said, looking around.

They did, in the end, invite Jon and Damian. So, there were three trained vigilantes, two superheroes, and a demigod about to bomb Lex Luthor’s office because they were bored and he was a known criminal somehow evading the law (and committing more crimes while at it).

“Hang on, why did we decide to do this?” Jon asked, levitating slightly as he looked around, eyeing Percy a tad longer than the rest. To be fair, Jason got why he was confused as to why Percy was there, but the entire operation had been planned meticulously.

Percy, as Percy, had finished her spar with Damian and then said she had some errands to run in Gotham. She exited and walked around, getting coffees and such, before vapour travelling to her apartment in Bludhaven and returning as Astron to an alleyway Jason had previously agreed to meet her at with Damian and Cass.

Jason had then gotten Damian, and Cass, the three meeting up with Percy, having seen her appear from mist, all changed in their suits and disappearing three minutes before the scheduled time for detonation.

The explanation to Damian: Astron had vapour travelled there at their request and would be vapour travelling them to LexCorp in Metropolis, where Jon had already been informed that they would meet at the top of LexCorp.

And yeah, that led to this. Tim was already at his meeting on the 22nd floor, way below, so they had free rein.

“We were bored and Luthor is an easy target,” Jason answered.

“Okay, yeah, but why is uhm…Astron here?” Jon asked, looking at Percy carefully.

Percy tilted her head. “Hood here said that he wanted me along because I cause carnage with every step I take, which I take grave offense to.”

Jason grinned beneath his helmet. “Yeah, yeah, you’ll survive, Princess .”

“Fuck you.”

Jon looked between the two, probably wondering of the relation between them. Well, they’d get no answers from either Jason or Percy, considering the fact that Jason wasn’t even sure. Were they friends? Siblings? Partners in crime? All three? All three were good.

Cass tapped Percy’s arm and Percy leaned down a lot (like wow, Cass was short—don’t tell anyone Jason said that) and Cass whispered something into her ear in…another language. Great. As if they’d know what was going on.

Percy nodded. “Orphan and I will be distracting Luthor, you three will be placing the explosives or messing up stuff with graffiti; I think Hood's deciding jobs. Orphan and I are distracting Lexington Lustrous, well I'm distracting and Orphan is filming for...blackmail? I think. So, without further ado, Autobots, roll out!”

“Cheesy idiot!” Jason shouted as Percy disappeared, Cass holding her arm. The sea followed the disappearance of the two incredible fighters.

“Damn, she’s cooler than I thought,” Jon added.

“Tt. Of course she is, imbecile, Astron is far superior to your inadequate abilities.”

“Oh, hang on!”

“Guys!” Jason clapped his hands together, gaining their attention. “Bombs. Demonspawn and Jon, you two will be going for his vault of special plans that he thinks are totally secret and exploding them, that’s the only place with bombs. I will be doing the graffiti on Lex’s office and other rooms. Don’t let any citizens be harmed in the process. Go!”

This was going to be so much fun mainly because they were all bored. The other reason was because Cass had made the request and everyone complied with Cass.

Running around as Red Hood with a can of spray paint would surely get a whole load of questions

Jason dropped into another empty office like a ghost through the vents, landing with a soft thud on the pristine carpet. The place reeked of LexCorp: soulless, spotless, smug. He pulled the spray cans from his bag, grinning underneath the helmet.

"Lex is going to have an aneurysm," he muttered, cracking the seal on the first can—electric blue.

Naturally, Jason’s graffiti was pure gibberish. He had never been one for the arts, going off what he’d seen in back alleys and abandoned places, his time as a street kid invaluable to this, and yet it looked nothing like that. Didn’t stop him, though. Jason was all vibes, no rules.

He started with jagged spirals that turned into what might have been letters or alien symbols, switching between neon green, blood red, and gold as he went. He left chaotic trails that didn’t say anything meaningful, just aggressive swirls and chaotic symbols that screamed, you can't control this.

He paused to admire his handiwork, then shrugged. "Looks like a toddler got into Batman's utility belt." Perfect.

The next room had a big LexCorp logo on the wall. Jason gave it a deadpan stare. Then, with a snort, sprayed a bright orange "L" over the top and turned it into an awkwardly shaped duck. Or a boot. He couldn’t tell. He didn’t care.

The vents creaked above him. He tossed the empty can into a corner and grabbed another. Purple this time. His colors were so mismatched it was like a rainbow had been mugged and left behind pieces.

He loved it.

Sliding back into the vent, he crawled forward, boots silent, a shadow of chaos. Occasionally, he'd peek into rooms to make sure they were empty, then drop in like some paint-happy Phantom of the Opera. Every room was a new canvas. Every wall was a rebellion.

This wasn’t even about Luthor anymore. This was for the boredom. For Cass, who had asked. For Percy, who kept quoting Transformers like it was gospel. For the stupid thrill of it. And because Lex’s stupid bald head deserved it (for Roy, honestly).

Somewhere below, Jon and Damian were probably arguing about explosive placements. Above, Percy and Cass were likely already giving Luthor a migraine. And here Jason was, Red Hood, rogue vigilante, armed to the teeth...

...with a spray can that now hissed hot pink into the air.

He laughed to himself.

Honestly, Cass was delighted Percy and her were working together. Because truly, dropping down from the ceilings to have Lex Luthor turn around with his usual smug grin was delightful when it quickly turned into a frown.

It all started as Luthro started most conversations.

“Ah, hello Orphan, and Nightwing’s partner… Astron, I believe. What a pleasant surprise,” he said with that oily kind of faux charm that always made Cass want to roll her eyes.

“Hi! I was informed by Red Hood that there was a man here, a really pretty guy in charge. Don’t know his name, know he’s Superman’s biggest enemy, and I should come to talk to him.”

If Luthor was shocked she didn’t know who he was, he hid it.

“You’re looking for Lex Luthor, I presume,” he asked, smiling serenely, his tone dipped in artificial sweetness.

Percy snapped her fingers like she just remembered the name of a half-forgotten celebrity. “Yeah! That guy—Lestor. Where is he?”

“The name is Lex Luthor, you may address me as Mr. Luthor, thank you. And I am the man in question.” He sounded cocky, but there was a sliver of annoyance. Cass smirked behind her mask as she leaned against the wall, awaiting Percy’s response.

It did not disappoint. Her lips turned down. The narrowing of her eyes were felt despite the white lenses of the domino mask. The dagger in her hand, the one she spun expertly, glinted. “I see…” She paused, giving Luthor a critical once over and once again looking down at the man who was perhaps 2–3 inches shorter than her. “Huh, this is…mildly disappointing. I wouldn’t have come if I had known he was bald.” She tossed the statement at Cass over her shoulder and Cass stopped the giggle bubbling in her throat.

Luthor hid the twitch of anger well, but Percy was known for getting under her enemy’s skin in record time, and this was clearly a favoured pastime. Also, Luthor was no saint.

Percy had warned her before this mission that things would get unprofessional fast. Cass hadn’t expected just how fast.

“I assure you, my lack of hair does not affect my intellect,” Luthor said through gritted teeth, clearly irked.

“Oh no, absolutely. Totally. Sure, Lewis,” Percy nodded with wide eyes, the picture of innocent agreement.

“Lex.”

“Right, right. My bad, Lance.”

“Lex.”

“Got it, Lorenzo.”

Cass made a tiny wheezing noise in her throat. She covered it with a cough. Percy didn’t miss a beat.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, Lyle, you have the whole ‘evil billionaire chic’ thing going on. But honestly? I was expecting more drama. A cape, maybe. Evil villain monologue. Bald and bitter is kind of underwhelming.”

Luthor’s hands twitched slightly at his sides. The only sound in the hall was the soft snick of Percy’s knife spinning. Cass watched him bristle like a cat dunked in water.

“You’re stalling,” he finally accused.

“Yes,” Percy said cheerfully. “Well done, Leonard. You're smarter than you look.”

“That’s not my name.”

“I’ve heard that before, Landon.”

Cass bit down on her lower lip. This was better than any sitcom.

“Why are you here?” Luthor snapped, patience slipping.

“Well, Lucas,” Percy said brightly, “Orphan and I just wanted to have a little chat. Stretch our legs. Take a tour. Maybe critique your art choices. Also, I hear you’re a fan of illegal experiments and general villainy. So we figured, why not drop in? It's rude not to say hello.”

“Leave.”

Percy tilted her head, the silver hair glimmering in the dying sunlight. “Oh no, sorry, can’t do that, Luke. You see, we’re kinda booked. Big plans. Vague explosions. Minor sabotage.” She waved her hand vaguely.

Cass stepped forward finally, silent but present. Just enough movement to let Luthor know that while Percy was all mouth, she was the blade waiting in the shadows.

“Fine,” Luthor ground out. “You want to play games? Fine. But there will be consequences.”

“Ooo, spooky,” Percy whispered, clearly unimpressed. “Was that a threat, Lincoln? Should I be trembling now?”

Cass, despite every bit of training, let out the smallest snort of laughter.

Victory.

Lex Luthor was not going to live this down.

Especially not when Percy finished it off with, “Anyway, thanks for the chat, Larry. We’ll be around.”

And just like that, with a flick of mist and movement, the two disappeared—leaving behind a thoroughly pissed off villain and the soft sound of Percy’s laughter echoing like a war drum down the hallway.

Naturally, at that exact moment, right as the green mist disappeared, the explosions sounded. Luthor was nowhere near fast enough.

They were being scolded. Harshly.

Cass had no regrets. None.

Okay, maybe a few. But not enough to stop her from joining Jason in planting bombs, spray painting, and annoying the heck out of Luthor. The thing was, they were being scolded because Bruce knew it was them, he just couldn't prove it with the time frame considering they were gone for half an hour to forty-five minutes. Still, here Damian, Cass, and Jason were standing in the Wayne Manor living room with Bruce Wayne pacing like a very tired, very irritated bat.

Jason looked mildly amused under the weight of Bruce’s disappointed stare. Damian stood stiff and indignant, scowling like he hadn’t been caught blowing up an illegal vault with a Super and a demigod. Cass stayed quiet, of course, keeping her eyes on Bruce while silently calculating how long it would take for Percy to enact her rescue plan.

And sure enough, here Percy came, rounding the corner while on the phone, passed the entrance to the living room. Cass knew the ploy immediately, Percy purposely making her footsteps loud.

“Father, seriously, Kym doesn’t know how to use technology so just hand her the phone.” A pause and a low groan. “Please, I will cry if you don’t. Please, dad .”

Another pause as a grin stretched across Percy’s face. Cass hid her smile; Percy clearly didn’t call Poseidon “dad” too often. Or threaten to cry.

She wore a silk, deep green button-down shirt tucked into high-waisted black pants with silver buckles at the hips. The top two buttons were undone, but still rather high up the shirt so nothing was revealed, and her sleeves were rolled up to just past her elbows, showing the toned muscles and the scarred forearms. And that weird tattoo branded onto her right inner wrist. Her black combat boots were heeled just slightly and shined like they'd just been polished, which, knowing Percy, was probably possible. On her fingers, rings. Many, many rings, but the main two were really pretty; her left hand, her index finger had a black ring the shape of a snake snaking around with two aquamarine gems as eyes, her right index finger had a thick black band with sea green etchings in a different language. Ancient Greek, probably, Cass surmised.

“Hey, Kym, quick question: are you available next Thursday?”

Silence as Percy awaited her answer, everyone was enraptured by the conversation just past the door, where a certain daughter of the sea god was stopping midwalk, a dark look covering her face.

“Perfect. I’m planning to,” Percy paused and looked over at the living room, scanning them consideringly, “actually, I’ll tell you later, but it involves your favourite activity.”

Bruce looked back around at them, his back turned against Percy, with concern marring his face. Cass could almost see the words forming behind his eyes: What favourite activity? Should I be worried? Is it violent?

Honestly, Cass wanted to join because maybe it involved something magical, or kraken summoning, which sounded way more fun than it should.

And over his shoulder, Percy’s sinister smile changed and she sent them a crooked grin, winking as she continued past.

Cass caught the phone’s blank screen as Percy passed—she hadn’t even been on a call—and hid her smile by turning her head away. The whole conversation was staged.

Jason snorted, not even trying to hide his grin. Damian blinked, lips twitching up involuntarily, as if the situation amused him. Or it was in confusion, like he couldn’t decide if Percy was a threat or a lunatic. Probably both.

Bruce had long since lost his train of thought, no longer scolding them as he turned around again to look at the retreating back of Perseus Jackson with distress etched into every line of his face. And exhaustion. He looked like he was about to pass out from the antics of another of his children despite Percy not being his.

“She’s not even my kid,” he muttered, rubbing his temples. “Why do I feel like she is?”

Cass allowed herself a tiny laugh.

Dick heard all about the stunt Jason, Cass, Damian, Tim (though he had been in a meeting, so no one really knew if he was involved), and Jon (somehow they pulled in Superboy Jr) pulled in Metropolis despite the timelines being completely messed up.

(Little did he know that Percy, as Astron, had been there, so it was possible.)

And now it was 2 AM and sleep had eluded him.

The manor was unusually quiet. Patrol had pulled the others away—Cass, Jason, and Damian were out with Bruce. Alfred had retreated to bed hours ago. Even the clocks seemed to tick softer in the stillness.

That left Dick in the silence of the hallway, drawn toward the warm, faint sound of humming and the smell of… cocoa? Following the smell, he found himself in the kitchen.

He paused at the kitchen doorway and leaned on the frame.

There was Percy.

Still dressed in grey joggers and a dark blue tank, her hair in a messy bun with several black locks escaping, she stood at the stove, humming faintly, stirring something in a pot with the kind of care most people reserved for sacred rituals.

“Is that…” he sniffed again, “hot chocolate?”

This scene was eerily familiar to that night upon the rooftops when he first met Percy as Nightwing and referred to her as “Mysterious woman” for a solid week, or more, ages ago. Except Percy was making the hot chocolate and not holding a flask full of it.

Percy looked over her shoulder, eyebrow raised, spoon still stirring. “You say that like you’re shocked.”

“You’re gonna summon a marshmallow demon if you keep stirring like that,” he said lightly, finally moving to stand behind Percy and watch over her shoulder. He didn’t even look down at the concoction, instead opting to watch Percy smile, the shine in her eyes (those gorgeous green eyes).

Percy didn’t jump. She just glanced over her shoulder, smirking. “Maybe I already did. You’re the one who came wandering into my domain, Pretty boy.”

Dick blinked. “Did you just call me pretty?” He was pretty sure he was smirking, until Percy’s words dashed his hope.

“I didn’t say anything,” she said innocently.

“You totally just called me pretty.”

“Nope. You’re imagining things. Sleep deprivation is real. Symptoms include hallucinations and poor banter recall.”

Dick snorted, turning around and grabbing a stool as she poured two mugs with practiced ease. He noticed then. “Oh, it’s blue.”

“Yeah,” she said casually, “normal hot chocolate’s boring. This one’s got sea salt caramel, cinnamon, crushed blue rock candy, and just a pinch of rebellion.”

Dick gave her a mock-serious look. “You’re a menace to tradition.”

“I’m an innovator,” she corrected, sitting down opposite him. She smiled over the rim of her mug and— Holy shit, was her beauty heightened in the morning? Does it even work that way?

“You know,” he said, hiding his breathlessness, “people who make hot chocolate at 2 AM are either going through something... or plotting something.”

“Why not both?” Percy slid a mug across the counter toward him. “Go ahead. Live a little.”

He took a sip. Paused. “Damn. That’s actually incredible.”

“I know,” she said, hopping up to sit on the counter, legs swinging lazily. “Tastes like childhood joy and poor impulse control.”

Dick laughed. “You’re weird.”

“You’re one to talk, Grayson ,” she teased, biting into a marshmallow from the tray. “You walk around the manor like you’re in a cologne commercial and then hide cereal in your desk drawer.”

His eyes narrowed. “How did you—”

“You’re bad at hiding things,” she said smugly. Her eyes glimmered mirthfully. Dick was suddenly reminded of Alfred and his all-knowing strength. He was thrown into it, watching Percy’s knowledgeable, crooked smirk.

Dick sipped his cocoa with a long-suffering sigh. “So basically, you entered the Manor to judge my snack choices.”

“You eat like a twelve-year-old gym rat with commitment issues,” she replied sweetly.

“Accurate, but rude.”

They laughed. It was easy. Comfortable. The kind of quiet connection that didn’t have to say too much to mean something.

A beat of shared amusement passed between them. The kitchen, warm and dim, felt like a world apart from the rest of the manor. It was easy. Comfortable. The kind of quiet connection that didn’t have to say too much to mean something.

But then, after a long beat, Dick’s voice dropped—casual but a touch too deliberate.

“You know… last week. At the station. When you stopped by.”

Percy’s mug stilled against her lips.

He continued, carefully, “You had a rough moment. I just—if you ever wanna talk about what happened in my office…”

The shift was immediate.

And Percy was gone—not physically, but in every other way. 

Percy’s body didn’t move much, but everything in her did. Her posture sharpened. Her humor vanished. Her gaze dropped. Like someone flipped a switch. The tension hit the air like a cold front. The warmth drained from her features, leaving only a quiet stillness that settled over the room like a storm cloud waiting.

“I’m fine,” she said flatly.

Dick blinked. He hadn’t expected… that much change. That fast.

“You don’t have to talk,” he said softly. “I just—when you quickly changed the subject, I wasn’t sure if—”

“I said I’m fine.”

The ice in her voice was too practiced to be accidental. It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t even fear. It was defense, pure and unyielding. And suddenly, Dick wasn’t sitting across from a bantering insomniac anymore—he was staring at a wall with a girl painted on it.

He watched her eyes, how they didn’t meet his. How her fingers tightened just slightly on the mug. Every detail screamed distance. Not go away , but you don’t get this part of me .

It reminded him so starkly of Jason when Jason returned. His closed off demeanour, his silence, his anger. He didn’t get to face Jason’s anger, he never got to go against it and actually face it. In the end, he never got that part of Jason. That cold, harsh, reality-slapping frigidness.

Except with Jason, he never pushed and that was a mistake because Jason believed he hadn’t cared. So he pushed against that cold wall Percy had built, the one growing thicker and taller by the second.

“You’re not as invisible as you think, you know.”

Percy glanced at him finally, expression unreadable. “I didn’t ask to be seen.”

“I know. Doesn’t mean I’ll stop trying.”

There was a flicker in her eyes—something wounded, sharp. Then it was gone.

She stood smoothly, rinsed her mug, and placed it in the sink. She didn’t look at him as she said, “You shouldn’t get close.”

“Why not?”

A pause.

“Because I break things.”

Then she walked out of the kitchen, soft footsteps fading into the hall, leaving behind only the faint scent of sea salt and cinnamon in the air—and the distant ache of a door quietly closing.

And really, what could Dick say to that?

“In light of the ancient Greek monsters wreaking havoc upon our land, I have decided we require a debate based upon a common monster depicted in myths,” Jackson announced, placing her book down on the coffee table.

Damian was unsure of the need for the formal tone, extremely formal tone, but it was apparent that she didn’t even notice she’d slipped into a more formal tone than one would expect from her.

Drake looked up from his laptop, his coffee tightly gripped in his hand. “What animal?”

“Centaurs!”

Despite his newfound respect—he could admit her swordsmanship was admirable—he still found the 25-year old woman less than appealing as a companion in the long run. Especially considering her unnecessarily loud exclamations during peaceful periods of time (Damina ignored the fact that everyone disrupted the silence and this was perhaps the third time Percy had done so during the 6 days she had been at the Manor).

“Why are we debating about centaurs?” Brown asked, looking away from her phone (the one she had been giggling at for an entire hour).

“Centaurs have six limbs and are therefore insects.” There was a wicked gleam in Jackson’s eyes as she finished her statement, a pin drop silence greeting it. “Discuss.”

Oh, this was not a good discussion to have, especially in the living room. Unfortunately, Jackson clearly knew what she was doing because she already had her phone out and was hiding behind the couch as Todd jumped to feet, slamming his hand down on the coffee table, a furious glint in his toxic green eyes.

“By that logic, sphinxes, pegasi, and griffins are also insects!” he shouted.

Jackson, that wench, Damian cursed as he closed his sketchbook and placed it down to watch. He may have disliked the idea of the debate, but he was invested due to the arguments that may be made.

He looked at her to see her grinning while filming the entire argument and curse the damn imbecile, he was going to ask for the video too.

Grayson was outraged by the very thought of what Todd said as he too jumped up from his seat (after scrolling on his phone and periodically glancing over at Jackson forlornly, the lovesick infidel he was). “Wings don’t count! They’re not limbs!”

“Then what are they?!” Drake inquired with far too much volume.

“They’re— They’re—” Grayson grinned, snapping his fingers victoriously as he pointed at Drake. “Appendages! They’re appendages!”

“What the fuck do you think limbs are you idiot!” Brown exclaimed, rounding on Grayson while brandishing…a butter knife. Acceptable in this situation, Damian noted absentmindedly.

“You know what I meant!” Grayson defended.

And this entire conversation was abysmal, utterly abysmal, Damian cursed Jackson again. He glanced over at the woman to see her and Cass grinning like maniacs (or as much a grin as Cass made) while Jackson’s camera remained firmly there.

Todd had devolved into threatening to shoot Grayson, who had started cussing in Romani. Drake was running a hand through his hair haphazardly, his coffee mug having fallen from his grip and now marking Alfred’s poor carpet in brown. Brown, the person, had dropped her cookies and looked close to tears as she cursed in English far less eloquently than Grayson. Alfred would possibly murder them.

It was Damian’s turn to add his part into the conversation. He threw a knife, hidden in his sleeve, at the wall. It buried itself right between Grayson and Todd, in the crack between the panels.

“You're attempting to structure an argument atop a meaningless metric. Limb count is hardly a basis for meaningful categorization, and frankly, it's a waste of intellectual effort,” he said calmly.

Drake pointed at Damian as if to accuse him of falsehood. “Support your argument!” demanded Drake.

Damian looked around the room, locking eyes with Jackson, who smirked. He glared, huffed when her smirk turned into that annoying, crooked grin, and turned away to face Drake.

Drake raised an eyebrow challengingly and who was Damian to disappoint? “Octopuses are arachnids.”

There was an abrupt and dramatic silence at his statement, deafening in every way. Until Todd interrupted it.

“You shut your heathen mouth!”

“No, no, he’s got a point,” Drake said gravely.

Brown had taken to throwing cookie crumbs like holy water at Grayson, screaming about the sanctity of baked goods and how “Wings are fucking limbs you imbecilic baboon!” Grayson, running from the enraged blonde, attempted to find cover by running to Damian, who maneuvered aside for Brown to continue her scheme of attacking with “holy crumbs.”

Todd, for his part, was no longer debating logic or structure—he was, in fact, attempting to physically scale the coffee table like a wrathful bear. His target: Timothy Drake-Wayne.

“How dare you agree with Demonspanw! ‘Octopuses are arachnids’,” he mimicked in a high-pitched voice. “Say that again, and I will shove you out one of the Manor’s few hundred windows!”

“I didn’t say that!” Drake jumped over the back of the couch, using it as a shield between them. “Besides, that is more accurate than wings not being limbs!”

Grayson, with a throw pillow as a shield, looked at Drake, scandalised. “Timmy! Wings do not count! They can’t possibly!”

Jackson, still crouched behind the couch like an undomesticated raccoon, was steadily filming with the calm of a war correspondent who had both accepted and encouraged the madness. She was smiling— beaming , even—like she’d discovered fire. Cassandra was next to her, the homemade “FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!” sign now upgraded with glitter.

Damian’s eye twitched.

“She is a menace,” he muttered aloud to no one. “A pathogen with a Wi-Fi password. And no one knows it.”

“Say that louder, Baby Wayne!” Jackson called out with infuriating cheer, not even bothering to look up from her screen.

“I will not,” he replied evenly. “You are not worthy of the breath.”

In the background, Drake had retrieved a whiteboard. The sudden appearance of the thing suggested it had either been summoned by ritual or hidden in a location that defied all logic. He was already diagramming limb categories, shouting something about homologous structures and vertebrate evolution.

“Jackson,” Damian called, voice sharp, “you are aware that you have introduced a deceitful premise with deliberate intent to incite turmoil.”

Jackson, still not looking away from the fight and still holding her stupid phone up, the camera remaining on, grinned. “I am aware and very pleased with myself, thank you.”

Drake was now drawing a Venn diagram with himself in the center labeled "Reason", which was especially ironic given he looked like a man on the brink of tearing out his own hair.

Brown was on Grayson’s back now, equipped with a fork and twirling it in Grayson’s hair while Todd was pulling out encyclopaedias on insects and animal classifications. Damian wasn't quite sure where he acquired them, but perhaps it was necessary.

“Limbs,” Drake said, tapping the board with a marker and gaining the attention of everyone (Jackson angled her phone towards him), “are structural units with skeletal support, joint articulation, and muscular movement. Therefore, wings—avian or otherwise—are limbs .”

Grayson immediately dropped Brown and crossed the room, erasing half the board with his sleeve. “Incorrect. Wings are appendages . That’s why we don’t call bats insects!”

“Bats are mammals, you idiotic mime!” Todd shouted, slamming his books down on the couch (the coffee table upturned and in the corner). “Besides, bats have four limbs! Two wings and two legs, of course they aren’t fucking insects your fish-sucking, butt-less ape!”

“My ass is amazing, Jay! How dare you—”

Damian found himself revising his earlier assessment: this was no longer a debate—it was a psychological case study with several test subjects clearly experiencing accelerated decline.

“You’re ignoring the precedent of classical depictions!” Grayson argued, eyes wide. “Centaurs are always shown using their arms to fight, which means the front limbs are arms and the rest are equine limbs!”

“Meaning they have six total limbs,” Drake said, circling a number on the board. “Six limbs. Like an insect. Percy was technically correct.”

Brown let out a sound that was half-sob, half-scream. “If you validate her, I swear I’ll bake lemon squares with salt instead of sugar. I’ll do it.”

“Bake them, Steph! You can’t fucking cook and are banned from the kitchen! If you do somehow manage to get in without Alfred knowing, I assure you no one would eat it even if you did!” Todd screamed, now armed with a rolled up newspaper that he produced from an unknown location.

From behind the couch, Jackson whispered with dramatic flair, “Do it, Stephanie. Be the disorder you want to see in the world.” Do not encourage Brown, you fool!

Cass silently clapped. Do not encourage Jackson, traitorous girl!

Damian pinched the bridge of his nose. “You are attempting to classify hybrid creatures based on arbitrary anatomical criteria, as though the distinction between ‘limb’ and ‘appendage’ is a matter of divine decree,” he said coolly. “Centaurs are not insects, because centaurs are not insects. They are mythological hybrids designed without biological logic. Your argument is void.”

There was a pause—one of those rare, golden silences where everyone’s brain attempted to restart.

And then, with deeply disturbing glee, Jackson asked, “Would you classify minotaurs as bovines or humanoids?”

Damian stared at her.

She smiled back, her phone shifting slightly to get a better look.

Todd groaned. “NO!”

“I’m already Googling ‘bi-pedal bovine taxonomy,’” Drake muttered, pulling out his phone.

Grayson face-planted into a pillow. Brown looked like she was considering using her butter knife on herself now. Cassandra, ever the traitor, was clearly waiting for the next escalation.

“No, but seriously, is it bovine or humanoid as it is part human and part bull. Two legs, two arms, two horns. But not exactly human, not exactly—”

“Shut the fuck up!” Todd roared.

Suddenly, a pulldown projector screen appeared at the far end and Drake, armed with his laptop and phone, opened a PowerPoint slides, projecting it onto the living room TV via a projector Damian swore none of them had seen before in the living room.

Jackson took one glance at the screen and announced, “PowerPoints are tools of cowards and corporate stooges. Long live WordArt memes.” She and Cass remained next to each other basking in the pandemonium.

Grayson, still recovering from his impromptu face-dive, remained face-down, groaning. “You people are feral,” he muttered, rubbing his face as Brown perched like a gremlin on the arm of the couch, watching Drake’s slideshow like it was a gladiator match.

Drake clicked to the next slide. “Here we see examples of limb structures across species—note the symmetrical placement of appendages across phylogenetic trees—”

“Replacement, shut up,” Todd snapped. “You are not helping. You are fuelling the fire. This is arson, and you are the gasoline.”

“Biological arson,” Jackson added from behind the couch. “My favorite kind.”

“Do not encourage him, Jackson,” Damian ordered icily, stalking across the room to retrieve his thrown knife with surgical precision.

Jackson finally looked away from her screen long enough to shoot him an amused glance. “You’re just mad because I’m right.”

“You are not right,” Damian growled. “You are the living embodiment of anarchy wrapped in delusion.”

“Thank you,” she replied sweetly.

Drake’s next slide popped up: “The Mythological Chimera of Classification: Why Hybrids Break Science.”

“Okay, that one’s kinda sexy,” Brown admitted, grabbing a cookie off the floor with concerning nonchalance.

“I’m going to burn this house down,” Todd whispered, visibly vibrating with rage.

Cass, bless her dangerous soul, helpfully held up a new sign she had been making with glitter glue: “SCIENCE FIGHT ROUND TWO: BOVINE EDITION.”

“Damian,” Drake said thoughtfully, turning from the screen, “you were the one who said mythological creatures defy biological logic, correct?”

“Yes,” Damian said warily.

“Would you then argue,” he continued, ignoring the warning look from Damian, “that any classification effort is doomed to fail, and thus all arguments are equally invalid?”

“No,” Damian responded flatly. “Because you’re applying a false equivalence fallacy. Jackson introduced a deliberately inflammatory premise—one designed to bypass logic and invite chaos. She is the human embodiment of cognitive terrorism.”

“I have a sword, too, you know,” Jackson said pleasantly. “And a license to use it.”

“She does, ” Cass confirmed, giving a small, pleased nod.

“I don’t think a sword license is a real thing,” Grayson mumbled, still lying face-down on the pillow.

“I have a sword license,” Todd offered from the couch, sounding oddly proud for a man brandishing a rolled-up Gotham Times .

“Does everyone here have sword licenses except me?” Brown asked, looking offended. “Even Cass ?”

Cass blinked once. Then slowly reached behind her and pulled a small, laminated card from her hoodie with the words “PROVISIONAL BLADE PERMIT” printed in Comic Sans.

“I made them,” Jackson explained, still filming. “Laminated them myself. I’m thinking of opening a shop.”

“I abhor you,” Damian said.

“I know,” she beamed.

Groaning loudly and angrily, Grayson finally peeled himself off the couch and glared at Jackson. “You know what, I bet this all started because you’re the kind of person who eats pineapple on pizza.”

There was a hush.

Slowly, deliberately, Jackson lowered her phone (not enough that the video would stop capturing the scene, but enough for the full effect of her glare to be pronounced despite the couch covering most of her body) and peered over the couch with all the menace of someone who had once stared down an exploding washing machine and won.

“I would rather wrestle the fucking god of war, Ares—if he existed—in a septic tank than let that fruit salad abomination anywhere near my pizza,” she said flatly.

(No one commented on how she mentioned Ares as if he was nonexistent—because technically, he was a myth to the normal world. The gods had been outed not too long ago thanks to the League of Heroes, but only to the Justice League and trusted associates, but Damian didn’t know Percy already knew that since, well, Percy was technically a normal human being in his book. In fact, she’d known for years. So really, she was gaslighting them into thinking she didn’t know what they knew she shouldn’t know about something they all technically now knew. Five-dimensional gaslighting at its finest.)

“Oh thank heaven,” Drake muttered under his breath.

“You take that back,” Grayson said, outraged. “Pineapple on pizza is refreshing! It’s the sweet to balance the savory! It’s practically—”

“I will disown you,” Jackson cut in.

“You can’t disown me, we’re not even related!”

“I will find a way,” she replied, eyes narrowing.

“Don’t act like it’s the worst thing you’ve eaten,” Grayson huffed. “You drank that questionable gas station coffee once! Two weeks ago!”

“That tasted like death and regret! But it wasn’t on pizza!” Jackson snapped back, rising to full height now, still holding her phone to record, but now looking away from her screen to scream her different opinion. “You don’t mix hot cheese with cold fruit! It’s a crime!”

“She’s right,” Damian said, surprising even himself by backing her. “Your culinary tastes are as lacking as your ability to land silently,” he told Grayson.

“I land just fine!”

“You land like a dying walrus—”

“Okay, but I think we’re ignoring the real crime,” Brown cut in, grinning like a cat with a loaded water balloon. “I once added kiwi to a pizza. Just to see who’d notice.”

The room fell silent again.

“You’re a monster,” Drake whispered, eyes wide with betrayal.

“You fed us kiwi pizza?” Todd asked, stepping forward like she’d confessed to siding with Joker.

“Not all of you,” Brown said quickly, hands raised. “Just you, Dick, and Tim. It was the green slices during movie night Three weeks ago.”

Grayson gagged, eyes huge with horror. “You said that was pesto!”

“It was mostly pesto,” Brown said, beaming. “Plus treachery.”

“You’re a traitor,” Drake said, pointing at her with deep, bone-deep offense. “An unholy union of culinary sabotage and chaotic evil.”

“I liked it,” Grayson muttered.

Everyone turned.

“You what ?” Jackson hissed, visibly disgusted.

“I didn’t know it was kiwi, okay?! I just thought it was… tangy. A little sweet. It wasn’t bad!”

“Grayson,” Jackson said solemnly, placing a hand over her heart like she was testifying in court, “I would have died for you. I am taking it back .”

“Fair,” Grayson said instantly.

“Kiwi,” Todd repeated, voice hollow. “I’m gonna need therapy. Again.”

“You never went the first time,” Jackson reminded him, to which he pointed the middle finger at her. She, like any mature woman, stuck out her tongue.

Drake sighed, picking up a fallen cookie and brushing it off. “We’ve officially devolved beyond recovery.” Then, finally realising the mess on the carpet was his coffee, he collapsed to his knees. “My coffee.” And then he was crying. The foolish, imbecilic, CEO of a multi-billion dollar company was crying.

Jackson finally ended her recording and sat back down on the couch, Cass at her side. “I don’t have the energy anymore. I mean, we went from animal classification to kiwi on pizza, of all things! All I wanted to ask was if harpies are technically airborne mammals or just really aggressive avian monsters with a grudge?”

“ NO !” everyone roared.

Then Alfred stepped into the room.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at them—at the spilled coffee, the half-eaten pizza, the crumbs, the weeping CEO curled on the floor, and the phone Jackson was very clearly trying to discreetly tuck into the couch cushions.

Everyone froze.

Alfred's eyebrow rose in slow, judgmental ascension.

“If anyone would like to explain this…” He gestured vaguely toward the disaster that was their living room. “—situation, now would be the time.”

No one spoke.

Drake sniffled. Brown silently slid a cookie behind her back. Todd straightened as if preparing for court martial. Grayson looked like he was weighing the odds of successfully defenestrating himself. Cass just offered Alfred a cookie. He took it.

And then, in that calm, British drawl that meant doom was nigh, Alfred said, “If this happens again, I shall be calling Mrs. Jackson .”

Jackson sat bolt upright. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would.”

A pause. Then:

“If my mother had the ability to control me,” Jackson said with slow, deliberate weight, “she would have stopped me at age ten. Likely during the Great Macaroni Flood of 2011. She’s a brave woman, but even she knows when to strategically retreat.”

Alfred's eyes narrowed just slightly.

Jackson narrowed hers back.

No one breathed.

There was a moment —one of those legendary, unspeakable moments that only occurred when two terrifying, all-knowing forces met in open daylight, like spies on opposing sides of a cold war.

Damian had seen a lot of strange things in his life. Alien invasions. Time travel. The Joker in a tutu. But nothing—not a single thing —compared to watching Jackson go head-to-head with Alfred and somehow emerge… if not victorious, then at least unscathed .

Finally, Alfred nodded. “Very well. I shall hold the call. For now. ”

“Appreciated,” Jackson said smoothly, as if she hadn’t just waged psychological warfare in casual conversation.

Alfred turned with a quiet sigh. “I expect this room to be cleaned within the hour. And if I find so much as a single cookie crumb on the carpet, Miss Brown, you’ll be helping Master Bruce sort paperwork. Without gloves.”

Brown made a sound of sheer horror.

And then Alfred was gone, leaving behind only crumbs, silence, and fear.

Damian stared at Jackson, who had resumed casually scrolling on her phone like nothing had happened.

He didn’t understand what had just transpired. He suspected no one did. But one thing was certain:

Jackson had gone toe-to-toe with Alfred … and lived to tell the tale.

Damian wasn’t sure if he was impressed, afraid, or both.

Probably both.

Definitely both.

Alfred’s Favourite Headaches

Jaybird
Guys!!!
Percy is leaving tomorrow
We need something nice planned

Demonspawn
Literally all she has caused in mayhem
I see no use in holding a party for a clearly foolish individual

Gremlin
you take that back!
how dare you, you satanic buffoon

Blonde
She’s literally the reason we were punished by Alfred
she started the entire centaur argument

Golden Boy
you have no say
You poisoned us with kiwi on pizza
your words are lacking in this department

Gremlin
@Blonde go to hell
You ruined my life

I’mBatman
What happened this evening?
You had a fight in front of our guest?

SilentbutDeadly
👍🙂
🎉😌✨
🐉🦄🦅❓🤷‍♀️
@Jaybird 🏊‍♀️🌊🤔
💙🌊

I’mBatman
You had fun arguing about creature classification in the living room, ruining a carpet in the process?

Jaybird
Yes, B, keep up with the time
And @SilentbutDeadly you’re right! We should show Percy the indoor pool, she loves swimming

Gremlin
great we have a plan
Also Percy is outside my room
she says I need to sleep

Tim stared at his room door, the knocking having stopped as Percy waited for an answer.

“You may not enter!” he shouted. There was a quick patter of footsteps, fading away from the door.

Golden Boy
you do need sleep Timmy
please get some sleep
I’ll help her knock you out

TheSaneOne
Master Tim you are not going on patrol tonight
You have not had sleep in the past 72 hours
Remain at the Manor
I will ensure that Miss Percy is on your case if you so much as try to escape

Tim groaned, turning off his phone. They couldn’t do this to him. He was 18 years old! They had no right—

Tim’s phone pinged. He picked it up to see a notification from Percy on their private chat. Opening it, dread slowly pooling in his stomach, he read.

Percy: Alfred gave me a tranquilizer
Percy: I’m outside your door
Percy: welcome to hell

“Hang on, you can’t just open my door without permission!” he shouted. “Get in without opening my door or window.”

Maybe it was sleep deprivation, but as soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted them because he knew Percy could absolutely enter without a door or window.

“Hello.”

Tim screamed and looked to his right to see Percy Jackson, the faint scent of the sea surrounding her and the unmistakable glittery sea mist fading from view. There is no recovery from that kind of jump scare. This is the kind of threat where you laugh and cry simultaneously. Percy Jackson is not the chaos. She was the conducted symphony of chaos.

“How the fuc—”

“I didn’t open your door without permission. I entered your room without opening the door, fulfilling the terms you stated.” She was holding two cups of coffee, the smell welcoming. “Alfred didn’t actually give me a tranquilizer, I just wanted to scare you. Here.”

Tim hesitantly accepted the offered mug as Percy smiled at him serenely. Just as he went to sip the coffee, he blacked out.

(Later, he would learn, Percy had pressed a pressure point on his neck to knock him out for a few hours. The coffee had no drug or anything and was normal, caffeinated coffee. Percy enjoyed both of them in the comfort of her room. The betrayal Tim felt was twice that of when Stephanie fed him kiwi infested pizza— Actually, that’s a bit of a stretch. It was 1.5 times larger, not twice as large.

Kiwi on pizza would forever remain in the top two of his List of Abhorrent Crimes. Percy luring him to trust her with coffee would be No. 1, because yes, those were Tim’s priorities.)

The rain was sharp against her skin, icy needles that bit at her face and tangled her dark hair against her cheeks. She didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. The cold was a comfort these days. It numbed the places inside her that still felt too loud.

The rain beat against the rooftop like it was trying to drown her without mercy, but she barely flinched. The cold didn’t bother her anymore. Neither did the ache in her ribs or the phantom sting of old scars that sometimes itched under the skin. Some nights, like this one, it felt like her bones were made of salt water and broken glass, sharp and brittle and too easily spilled apart.

Perseus Jackson was not an easy sister to have. She wasn’t an easy person to be around. When you find yourself lulled into her pull, it’s too late, and suddenly you’d die for the girl. When she drags you into her heart, you’re protected on all sides. There is very little that can get away with hurting someone under Percy’s protection.

See, yes, she may agree that Batman was right to be angry that Jason killed after returning from death. And see, she was correct that Batman was good in the sense that he did not kill. For in a city where death and crimes were the norm, he refused to stoop to that level. In a world where people expected as such, Batman was a light despite his darkness. And Percy respected that. She would always respect someone who had the self control to hold back, the ability to look at someone who had killed endlessly and still not murder in return. Because he was good. And something special in this cursed world.

I’m one who could kill a human, but I respect your decision not to. Afterall, who are we to decide the fate of another life when we have yet to understand our own?

But Percy knew her fate.

Percy’s life was but an endless loop of misery and pain. She was a continued contrast of power and weakness. A coward in the loosest of terms. A monster born from humans. A dangerous twist of anguish and hatred.

And yet, as always, though this world created her, she found small parts she liked. Small, little things she’d watch and smile about. A small child helping another up. An old woman calling her “darling” when she helped them. Because despite how much this world had cut at her, it still held something in her bitter and broken and shattered heart that she fought for humanity every time. Despite all the anguish she faced, she looked around—

And still, she loved this world.

Gods, it was pathetic.

She watched the lightning split the sky and thought about how it felt to bleed in Tartarus—how the air was thick and the ground breathed beneath her feet. How Akhlys laughed with her throat full of rot and decay. How Percy had grabbed her by the neck and smiled when she felt her bones crack.

And she hated that she relished the feeling. That, for one brief moment, Misery had felt her Misery and Misery had fled in the face of it.

People called her a hero. A savior. A child of the gods.

But what was she, really?

A kid whose hands couldn’t forget the feeling of a goddess’s throat under her fingers, whose mind played the scene over and over because some part of her liked it .

Because wasn’t that what monsters did?

Wasn’t that what Gabe did? And Luke, and Kronos, and every other cruel, violent thing the world spat out when it had no use for kindness?

It was easy to say you fought for the right reasons. That you killed a monster because it was a monster. That blood on your hands meant you saved someone else. But Percy knew, with a gut-deep certainty, that sometimes you fought because it felt good. Because it was easier than thinking. Because you could pretend you were still human if you kept moving, if you kept winning.

Because you were too scared of what you’d see if you stopped.

The problem was, when she fought Akhlys, when she controlled the poison, when she grabbed the goddess by her bare hands and held her down, she relished that feeling. Because for one, brief, terrible moment—she felt powerful. She felt in control. She wasn’t a pawn or a victim or a hero. She was a monster, and it felt good.

And what did that make her?

A hero who could murder a goddess and still wake up the next day. A coward who left pieces of herself in every war and never bothered to look back. A girl who hid her shattered edges because she was afraid to cut the people around, cutting only herself. Because she didn’t think she deserved any better. 

Annabeth’s voice still echoed in her head sometimes. Sharp, cruel things spat between clenched teeth in moments where love turned sour and brittle.

You were never enough.

You're dangerous, Percy. You're broken.

And maybe she was. Maybe Percy was everything they said. A weapon disguised as a girl. A bomb waiting to go off. The kind of person you kept around because you needed them, not because you wanted them.

Perhaps, it was true that Percy clawed herself out of the grave only to find she belonged there more than anywhere else.

The rain blurred the city lights into smears of color, softening the sharp edges of the world. Percy’s throat ached. Her eyes burned.

She respected Batman for his rules, his iron grip on the edge of his own abyss. But Percy had long since fallen into hers.

She sat there in the rain and wondered how long it would take for them to realize she was a ghost. That Percy Jackson was a myth walking on borrowed time, a name whispered like a prayer and spat like a curse.

She wanted to live. That was the most tragic part of it.

She wanted to see the sun rise again, feel the ache of her muscles after swimming, laugh at some stupid movie, eat blue food until she was sick. She wanted to fall in love again—not the fragile, brittle thing she had with Annabeth, but something reckless and sharp, something alive .

But how do you love a world when you can’t stand yourself in it?

When you can’t look in the mirror without seeing a weapon dressed up like a girl.

When every time someone says your name, you think of blood and war and screaming.

Percy curled her fingers into fists and let the rain drown out the sound of her breath hitching.

Maybe she could stay up here forever. Maybe the storm would take her. Maybe it wouldn’t.

Maybe, for once, it didn’t matter.

But in the back of her mind, like a stubborn ember refusing to die, she remembered blue cake. Her mother’s arms. Grover’s laugh. Tyson’s crooked grin. Estelle’s sparkly eyes. And for a second, she hated herself a little less.

And that…that was terrifying.

Again, the rain that healed her and welcomed her pricked her skin. Burned her. Cold drops stung like tiny glass shards against her skin. Somewhere far beyond the thick clouds, stars burned and broke and were born again.

She wondered if that’s all she was meant for—a life of collapsing, over and over, until one day she burned too bright, too fast, and left nothing behind but ash and a name no one remembered how to carry.

This life—this endless, miserable cycle of fight-survive-bleed-repeat—it was all she’d ever known. And she was so godsdammed tired.

But leaving wasn’t an option. Not yet.

Not with kids like Jason around. Not when she saw in his eyes the same kind of fury. The same kind of grief. The kind of damage that made you dangerous to the world and yourself.

Maybe… maybe it was selfish, but if he could stay, then maybe she could too.

Just a little longer.

But for now, she stayed.

For now, she smoldered.

And that would have to be enough. Because even now, even shattered and half-dead inside, Percy Jackson was a protector.

If she was going to burn, she’d at least keep the others warm.

The morning came with grey skies and heavy clouds, the kind that threatened rain but never quite followed through. Dick noticed Percy’s absence at breakfast, though no one else seemed to. Alfred brought her a cup of tea without comment, placing it at the empty seat like it was routine. When Percy finally did come down, her hair was damp, clinging to her neck like she'd already braved the rain, but her eyes were steady. Alfred handed her the tea without a word, and Percy offered him a small, exhausted sort of smile.

Breakfast was pancakes—Alfred’s special recipe—loaded with fruit and chocolate chips. Damian complained about the inconsistency in the chip distribution, and Tim promptly stole his second helping. Jason arrived late, sunglasses perched on his head, pretending he hadn’t been out half the night, and Dick found himself cataloging the normalcy of it all.

They'd planned a pool day—a rare, lazy afternoon where nobody was chasing leads or dodging assassins. Steph and Cass had picked out one-pieces from a department store run the day before, and Percy showed up in something similar: a dark one-piece with simple shorts tugged over it. She kept a towel slung over her shoulders, hair left free and open.

Percy looked… lighter. Not like that weight had gone, but that she was content to enjoy this moment. Her smile came easier today, and for once, she wasn’t watching the door or scanning the tree line. If he noticed the way some of her scars shimmered and blurred when the light hit them—like old ghosts vanishing before his eyes—he didn’t mention it. Everyone carried something.

She laughed when Steph cannonballed into the deep end and sent a wave crashing over Damian, who sputtered and immediately plotted his revenge. Cass challenged Percy to a handstand contest, which Percy won with smug ease, balancing upside down in the water while Jason theatrically demanded a rematch on behalf of Cass.

A swimming contest where Percy cut through the water easily, unnaturally so. Somehow, it was entrancing watching her long strokes in front crawl as she easily surpassed Jason and Damian in a race. Cass cheered her silently.

Steph challenged her to a butterfly stroke race next, Percy won.

Dick was mesmerised again, the ease at which she moved. He still felt terrible about the other night. Not about asking her, but how he asked her. He felt like the minimal trust he’d built had frayed.

Except, he didn’t seem to need to worry because Percy reached out. Not how he expected, but still, she reached out. Or, more accurately, the water sent by her reached out.

He spluttered, only to see Percy, in all her smug, crooked grin glory challenging him with a single eyebrow raised. How she managed to spray water from where she was onto him was a mystery, but Dick, while wiping water from his face, called, “Oh, it’s like that now?”

Percy grinned wider. “I dunno what you’re talking about, Dick. Must’ve been the wind.”

“Must’ve been the wind, huh?” Dick stood up and entered the pool by the steps, gliding through the water toward her. “You do realize you just started something you can’t win.”

“Bold talk for a man who can’t swim as fast as me,” Percy teased, backpedaling through the water with practiced ease.

“Oh please,” Dick scoffed. “I was doing backflips off docks before you could walk.”

“Yeah? I was beating sharks at races by the age of 13.” It sounded absurd, but Dick laughed.

“Outrunning sharks?” he echoed, laughing. “Is that what you call the slow kids at public pools these days?”

Percy let out a sharp bark of a laugh. “You’re cute, Grayson. Hope you can still talk with a mouthful of water!”

“Beat his ass, Percy! Oh wait, what ass?!”

Dick let out an indignant gasp as he turned to face Steph, happily laid back on a floatie. She sipped her lemonade loudly. Percy laughed, tipping her head back.

Dick’s gaze returned to her, eyes watching a water drop run down her neck. He blinked and focused. Revenge, right.

Before he could respond, she surged forward, sending a splash directly at his face. Dick yelped and retaliated immediately, sending a wave back at her with both hands. Water flew in all directions as they waged their impromptu war, laughing so hard it hurt.

Steph cheered from a lounge chair, “Get him, Percy!”

“Bury him!” Jason added, lazily floating by on an inflatable shark.

Cass, sitting on the edge of the pool, just kicked her feet in the water and grinned.

Dick dove under and popped up behind Percy, grabbing her by the waist and dunking her with a victorious shout.

Except Percy was clearly skilled beneath the water, moving far too easily. Like, how the fuck did she move that weel under water? No one would know, it seems.

Percy twisted, flipping Dick and then pushing away with both her feet. Dick grunted as he surfaced for air, Percy surfacing right after with a wicked gleam in her eyes. Her tongue darted out, licking her lips, Dick followed the movement as he took in some air.

“Oh, it’s on now,” Dick warned, diving after her.

They circled, both grinning like idiots. Steph, having moved from the floatie to a lounge chair, cheered, waving a foam noodle like a referee’s flag. Cass floated by on an inflatable shark, raising a brow at their antics but otherwise content to spectate.

“You sure you wanna start a war you can’t win?” Percy teased, backpedaling as Dick advanced.

“In this house? I was born for it.”

Percy didn’t wait—she kicked up a splash that caught him square in the face, then turned and swam for open water. Dick sputtered, wiping his eyes, and gave chase.

“Dirty move!”

“Didn’t hear a rule against it!”

He caught up at the shallow end, grabbing for her ankle, but Percy twisted, grabbing his wrist and yanking them both under. The water muffled their laughter, bubbles rising in the space between them as they surfaced together.

“That all you got, Grayson?” she challenged, breathless and grinning.

Dick grinned right back. “Not even close.”

He sent another wave at her with both hands, and Percy ducked too late this time, sputtering as it hit her full in the face. She still kicked under the surface, headed straight for Dick. He moved to the side, but Percy’s arm shot out, grasping his wrist as she pulled him close, both of them surfacing and a face full of water smacking Dick in the mouth.

The weight of Percy's grasp disappeared and Percy was gone, the other side of the pool already. Dick coughed, shaking his head and rubbing his eyes.

They laughed, as it continued, before Dick called a truce because, for all his talk, Percy truly dominated the water.

They drifted for a moment, the noise of Steph and Damian arguing over pool rules in the background. It was easy, in that rare kind of way Dick didn’t get often. No patrols, no masks. Just sun-warm water and someone who could keep up.

“You’re not bad, Percy,” Dick admitted, bumping her shoulder with his.

Percy smirked. “Better than you, actually.”

He rolled his eyes. “In your dreams.”

And then Percy splashed him one last time for good measure.

“Hey!”

“You left yourself open, Richard. Rookie mistake.”

“Next time,” he promised, already plotting his revenge. He didn't comment on her use of his given name; in fact, it sounded good coming from her lips.

Another hour and they left the pool. Showers and a late lunch, Percy took her leave, smiling at Dick as she left. He felt like something had fixed what happened the other night, but it wasn’t perfect. It was tentative. Easily broken. He’d need to fix that.

Then, just after dinner, an alert.

They all piled into the cave.

Joker had escaped Arkham.

The room had gone quiet, the half-hearted jokes fading into tense silence. Jason swore under his breath, and Damian already had his phone out, scanning for leads.

Dick sighed, reaching for his comm, already knowing what came next. He was supposed to head back to Bludhaven in the morning—another patrol, another city. But Gotham wasn’t done with him yet.

He texted Astron, alerting her to his prolonged departure because, well, he couldn’t leave.

Not while Joker was out there. Not while people he cared about were still in harm's way.

So he stayed.

Chapter Text

It was back, the depressing thoughts and such consuming her. He felt it all a thousand times over. And so he stood up, apologising to his companions, before disappearing for Bludhaven.

Grover Underwood had always known Percy Jackson better than most.

It wasn’t just the history, the near-death experiences, or the way their souls had practically grown to be twisted around each other like vines. It was the empathy link. That impossible, ancient tether between satyr and demigod that meant when she bled, he felt it. When she screamed, it echoed in his chest. And when she sat alone on rooftops in the middle of a storm, praying for the rain to finally swallow her whole, Grover felt the tug of it like a noose around his heart.

So when the sharp, cold ache bloomed in his ribcage that night—like needles under the skin, like brittle glass shattering—he knew.

Percy was breaking again.

He didn’t hesitate.

The memories of her sharp grin, her stupid jokes about blue food, and the way she fought for people who didn't deserve her came rushing in like a tide. And for a moment, he let himself ache with it. Because even if Percy wouldn't ask, even if she'd push everyone away with blade-edged words and venomous silence, Grover had never been good at leaving her alone.

He wouldn’t start now.

Grover remembered the day that their trio, The Original Trio , broke apart. It destroyed him as he watched Annabeth and Percy, once so close, just snap.

He knew, perhaps in some small part of his mind, their relationship wasn’t built upon a stable footing. And yes, he’d subconsciously acknowledged it wasn’t perfect because they got together in times of danger and anger, like a sort of beacon for other demigods in the darkness. But, while he expected a break up because it was their first relationship and no one stayed with their first, he never expected such a destructive separation.

Grover hadn’t taken sides. Not at first. Not when they were both his family. He'd listened, offered what comfort he could, tried to patch over the cracked spaces between them with gentle words and too many awkward jokes.

He’d remained neutral, but really, how could he have remained neutral when he decided to feel through the empathy link because this was getting painful.

Then he'd felt it. The hollow, world-caving-in feeling Percy didn’t let anyone see. The kind of grief that wasn’t loud—it was suffocating. And in that moment, through the link, he'd heard it. Her thoughts.

Annabeth was right. I’m broken. And shattered. And monstrous.

He’d moved immediately, Camp Half-blood his destination. It was a break in the university year and Annabeth was at Camp. Percy remained at Camp Jupiter, watching over the building of the temples, as Jason had requested of her if he should not be able to complete it.

He pulled Annabeth aside. Steadily, he spoke, “Did you tell Percy she was broken?”

In true Annabeth fashion, she closed up. But Annabeth’s tells had always been easy. Her shoulders tensed. Grey eyes darkened. Her nails dug into her arms as her arms were crossed. And Grover knew, anything she said would be a lie. Straight to his face.

“No. Whatever she said to you was to turn you against me. That Seaweed-brained girl thinks so highly of herself because of her titles. She turned the camp against me,” Annabeth replied. Lie, lie, lie. Grover knew, his nose twitched.

“Annabeth, I want you to answer me very honestly, please.” She huffed, turning up her nose. He continued. “What did you say to Percy?”

“Nothing. Seriously, Grover, you’ve known me longer. You know me.” She sounded pleading now, and Grover knew why. He truly did understand.

Because everyone left her. She pushed people away because everyone chose someone else. But the oddest thing was Percy chose her. Over and over again, Percy had chosen her and Annabeth still pushed her away.

In Camp Half-blood, Annabeth had never bothered to befriend her siblings. She became Cabin Counsellor, but refused to be close to them. When Luke betrayed them, Annabeth had been in denial, and yet Percy had been a stable figure. And everytime, Percy chose her . So why, why did Annabeth hurt her in return.

“Annabeth, please, be honest to me—”

“Since Percy clearly polluted your opinion, I’m going to step away from this conversation. I did nothing to the stupid hero , and whatever low thoughts you have of me, keep them. You clearly value Percy over me.”

She turned away, walked away. Grover watched. His words pinned her in her place.

“Percy never said anything to me. I felt it through the empathy link. She didn’t mean for me to, kept her thoughts well hidden, and closed them off. But really, I pushed through and felt what she felt.”

Annabeth was frozen solid. He could hear her breathing, more rapid. Less steady. The grey streak in her hair, the exact same as Percy’s, was dark and moved as she turned her head. Grover traced it, the link between the two. Except it no longer linked them. Because Annabeth’s streak was grey and Percy’s was a shimmery silver. Annabeth’s streak was dark against her hair, Percy’s was crystal clear against hers.

The change had come from Tartarus. Whatever happened down there, the streaks had become bolder, but one went dark and the other went light. One faded slightly at the roots. The other became more .

“Fine, yes, I said whatever you heard.”

Something struck Grover, shattered everything he’d known. “Did you tell her she was dangerous? That she wasn’t enough?”

Annabeth turned around, fury dancing in her eyes. Eyes that used to be so bright and kind. “I was right! I AM RIGHT! Have you met that girl?! She choked a goddess! Piper agreed with me, that she needed to be controlled. I controlled her! Percy should not have that power because she nearly killed a goddess!”

“She was surviving. It was Tartarus, Annabeth, fucking Tartarus! And you thought Percy would turn her power on you?! Try to kill you!?” Grover saw the fissure. It was uncrossable. She’d done something unforgivable. “Percy would rather die than hurt you!”

“She is a weapon! The gods think of her as their personal attack dog! She’s too powerful and she needed a leash, I had one! I controlled her perfectly! She shouldn’t be able to subdue a goddess in her own domain, I stopped her! I made Perseus Jackson and I was right to tell her what she was!”

And gods, what the fuck? No wonder Percy avoided Annabeth like the plague. She sounded delusional. Destructive. Monstrous.

She didn’t think of Percy as human. She thought of her as a dog. A weapon. A beast to be chained.

There were a couple of reasons Percy hadn’t ended herself long before.

One reason was that she wanted a poetic death. For some odd, inconceivable reason, she wanted to die poetically. It was stupid, really. Morbid and selfish in a way only the broken could understand. Grover had heard it a hundred times over the years, scattered between battles, whispered beneath bloodied skies, or murmured when she thought he was asleep on the other side of the campfire. How she’d silently think about how the water around her could drown her—how it should drown her—until she remembered it couldn’t. And she still felt like drowning anyway. Because where better to die than the one place you ought to be safe?

The other reason was Grover.

The empathy link. A tether that cut both ways. If she died, he died. Simple as that. And for all she wished upon herself, Percy would rather fall into Tartarus again then allow Grover’s death to be on her hands. Grover himself was a tether to the world for Percy, and honestly, it was a trying job that he took with the utmost caution.

He never told anyone what she thought about. What he saw in those long, brittle silences when her green eyes dulled like seawater gone stagnant. It was their secret. Because if anyone else knew, if anyone else really knew , it would make it worse. So Grover was a silent comfort. A quiet companion. The one person she didn’t have to pretend around.

It was raining in Bludhaven.

That should’ve been nothing new—it always rained there, in streaks that left the city slick and drowning in its own reflection. But Percy hated the rain now. Had ever since that day . It was natural that rain would be her source of discomfort. And it reminded her of Annabeth. Of words that still cut into her skin even though they’d been spoken years ago, slicing her open from the inside out.

She hadn’t said it, but Grover felt it every time the sky opened up. The way she stiffened. The way she shut down. The way she’d watch the water trace lines down the glass like it was writing something only she could read.

And maybe it was.

Grover could end her misery.

He could help her escape.

The tragedy of Grover and Percy was that one wanted to live and the other wanted to die. The tragedy of Griver and Percy was that they were linked despite the pain it caused. And selfishly, Grover was glad he kept her alive because, gods, where would he be without Percy? Where would Percy be without him?

The apartment building was of Wayne Enterprise, naturally. Percy worked for one of their branches—Aquatic Research, as Percy would always help the environment—so they made sure she had safe housing. She paid for most of it, they just recommended the apartment complex.

He entered the apartment with the key Percy gave him when she first got the place.

It smelled of Percy.

That ever-present hint of salty air, like the ghost of a storm lingering on the shore. Petrichor hung thick in the air—the scent of rain-soaked concrete and earth after a downpour, a fragrance that clung to her skin and clothes as if the storms followed her indoors.

There was a sharp, clean note too, like ozone right before lightning splits the sky, mixed with the faint metallic tang of weapon oil. Beneath it all, there was something softer, older—the worn pages of old books she pretended she didn’t keep, sea glass in bowls on windowsills, the barest trace of cedarwood and midnight air. It was the scent of battles won and lost, of lonely nights spent staring out at Bludhaven’s crooked skyline, waiting for a storm that would never come.

It smelled like Percy. And like grief.

He locked the door behind him, slipping out of his damp jacket. His hoofbeats were soft against the hardwood floor as he moved through the familiar halls. Past the kitchen where a cold cup of coffee sat forgotten. Past a wall where an old photograph of Camp Half-Blood hung, its edges curling, colors sun-bleached and faces half-forgotten.

The living room was dim. Rain battered the windows in a steady pulse like a second heartbeat. Percy sat, curled up on the couch, an anime playing on the screen quietly. Haikyuu, if Grover remembered correctly, Percy’s comfort anime. She had a few, but she enjoyed Haikyuu and Bungou Stray Dogs the most, which was an odd range considering how Haikyuu was volleyball and Bungou Stray Dogs was literally traumatised orphans running around Japan trying to fight the mafia and stop wars.

Percy didn’t look up when he came in.

Grover crossed the room and sat down beside her without a word. Let the silence stretch between them like a worn, familiar blanket. Percy didn’t need noise. She didn’t need empty reassurances or gentle questions. She needed presence.

A reminder that she wasn’t alone, even if it felt like it.

For a long time, neither of them spoke.

The rain played its steady percussion on the glass. The city hummed in the distance, a restless, sleepless creature. The television flickered with the soft glow of the anime’s quiet moments. A character laughed. A volleyball soared. Neither of them looked at it.

Eventually, Percy spoke.

“Didn’t ask you to come.”

“I know.”

Her voice was raw, edges frayed and soft in a way most people never heard. She scrubbed a hand over her face, smearing the tear track down her cheek but not erasing it.

“Didn’t mean to… y’know.”

Grover’s throat tightened. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I know that too.”

There was a tremble in her shoulders she couldn’t quite disguise. Not from him. Not when every jagged breath she took tugged at the frayed cord between them. Grover could feel it. The ache of it. The pulse of misery that hummed like a storm warning in the back of his mind.

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Percy muttered.

“I’m not asking you to.”

Another silence.

A heavier one.

Grover reached out, slow and careful like she might shatter if he moved too fast, and laid a hand over her wrist. Her skin was cool to the touch, damp with the ghost of rain and salt.

“You’re still here,” he murmured. “And you don’t have to be. But I’m glad you are.”

Percy’s throat worked around a sound she didn’t make. A choked-off thing. Her fingers flexed beneath his hand, not quite holding on, not quite letting go.

And Grover stayed.

Because that’s what you do when the world hurts too loud and the storm won’t let up.

You stay.

And that was enough.

For now.

For both of them.

(And if later, Percy leaned on his shoulder and fell asleep, felt trusting enough to lay down and sleep while he watched her, no one would know but the two present. Percy never fell asleep around others, not unless she truly believed she was safe. Few could boast this. Grover found it a tragic thing to brag about.)

The Archive of Glory had always been Annabeth’s favorite place.

Once.

Back when she still believed the marble walls whispered her name with reverence. When the flicker of torchlight against ancient tapestries felt like a promise—one day, her likeness would hang among them, stitched in gold and silver thread, capturing her genius forever. Back when she thought Architect of Olympus meant something more than a title passed around the divine court like a polite formality.

Now, no one even looked at her when she passed.

The nymph at the gate barely lifted her head when Annabeth strode in, scroll case tucked under one arm, face set in tight, controlled lines. She hadn’t wanted to come—Olympus had been rebuilt for years now, the temples gleaming, the halls immaculate. But a nymph had gone to ground, and someone needed to collect the report on monster activity from the outskirts that the nymph had gone to collect.

She couldn’t even remember the nymph’s name. Why should she? It was just a nymph.

Annabeth had asked around, annoyed she’d have to do this herself, and one of the naiads had snickered about Lady Perseus charming her way through the lower courts again, always digging up forgotten names, forgotten faces. How Percy had spent weeks convincing the gods to grant land for shrines to the overlooked and discarded, so no one would be forgotten. Even the minor ones , the naiad had said with a simper. Your old friend was always good at that.