Chapter Text
Waking up with Led Zeppelin singing in his ears, shelves of books rising all around him, and fluorescent lights stinging his eyes after having fallen asleep in his room was not the weirdest thing to ever happen to him. In fact, Percy doesn’t even know if it would make the top ten.
He groans, yanking the headphones out of his ears that had definitely not been there when he fell asleep. He tries to rub the sleep from his eyes and chase away the fog of sleep so he can try and figure out just where he is.
When he does so, he feels leather scrape against his skin. He yanks his hand back surprised by the gloves that are there. He was pretty sure the last time he had worn gloves was the winter he first met Nico. He’d learned pretty quickly that gloves heavily impeded his ability to fight when he ran into monsters. An occurrence that was all too common.
He pulls the gloves off, surprised how easily they slip off. The second they leave his skin, the leathers begin to bend and flex. He feels like he is looking through a kaleidoscope as the leather bends and twists, moving through a variety of colors and shapes before it is thinned out into a tan sheet of paper.
Scrawled across the paper was a ton of words. Just looking at it gave him a headache. The note was completely written in cursive. Not only that, but it was written in a golden color that made his eyes sting in the already bright lights.
After a few painstaking minutes of picking apart each part of the letter he was able to generally make out the words written down.
‘Perseus Jackson,
Fate has pulled at my need for your aid once again. The world you have awoken in is not your own. The people you know will not be the same here. A force unlike any you have met before is seeking you for your power. Although now what I have done may seem cruel to your mortal mind, you will soon be able to understand why it needed to be done. This note and the locations I have provided on the back are the only aid I will be able to provide you as you move through this world. The only other thing I will offer you is this reminder
Names have power’
Unlike the rest of the note, the last line is written in regular print, far easier on Percy’s dyslexia. The reminder seems out of place and odd. He flips the paper, see a variety of addresses listed on the back. Each of them is located in some place called Gotham in New Jersey. He folded the paper and pushed it into his pocket before standing up. The shelves around him towered so high he could hardly see much of his surroundings.
Percy moved out of the row of shelves, finding that he seemed to be in the back of some library. Towards what he assumes is the entrance there are small little clusters of circular tables, old looking computers sitting on them. Instead of blinding fluorescent lights, most of the light in this section of the library is provided by the yellow haze of sunlight that dips through the windows.
There are some beanbags lying around and clusters of kids are lounging on them, chatting or working on what he can only assume is homework. The sight of it reminds Percy that he should probably be at school right now. He could not afford to miss class. The workload was already overwhelming when he actually attended class.
“Please, let this be some cruel prank,” He whispers. He walks past the groups of kids, noticing a long desk set into the side of the room. Sitting behind the counter is a woman with red hair, green eyes bouncing around behind glasses as she looks at something on a screen. She has a name tag, but Percy can’t even begin to make it out from where he is.
Percy makes his way over, hoping she is not a monster. It would be just his luck if she is.
Her eyes flicked up to him a moment before he was going to speak to get her attention. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He couldn’t explain it, but he knew she had been watching him. Percy had enough experience with being watched without being watched to know when it’s going on.
“Hey, what can I help you with?” She asks, offering a warm smile. She turns her complete attention to him. Now standing closer to her he notices that she is sitting in a wheelchair. He can also make out the name ‘Barabra’ written out on her name tag.
Percy hesitated for a moment, hoping he could pick the right words to not seem too suspicious just in case she wasn’t a monster. “I seemed to fall asleep while I was reading, and I lost track of time. I was wondering if you know what time it is?”
He can tell his attempt at an inconspicuous tone fails by the way she lets out a small huff of amusement. She looks over at her computer before saying, “It’s about 3:30,” She says.
“Pm?”
She looks towards the window. The sun is still shining its rays down into the front of the library illuminating the space. Percy realizes that was a pretty dumb question.
“Yeah,” she says. “Do you need help with anything else? If my ears don’t deceive me, you're not from around here. New York maybe?”
“You can tell?” Percy frowns. He had never had anyone clock him as having a New York accent before. Sure Annabeth had pointed out his ability to absolutely ignore the existence of lines as a uniquely New York trait but never the way he spoke.
“We get a decent amount of people who move here from there. Not super far, still a big city, but the rent is far cheaper. Just have to be more careful. Are you just visiting or did you move down here with your family?” She asks. She seems to be doing so innocently, but Percy can’t shake the feeling that she is digging for information. He also can’t deny the fact that she has stated very obviously that wherever he is is not New york.
“Family. Um, where is the closest bus station?” He asks.
“That depends on where you’re going. Bus stations in Gotham are complicated. Most don’t go out unless there is a mandated city-wide evacuation-”
“Wait, is that a thing that happens? I thought that was just like in comic books and movies and stuff?” Percy says because there is no way you can just evacuate a whole city. Especially a big city.
“Happened last summer. Did you not see it on the news?” She asks.
He isn’t sure how to explain that last summer he was very busy fighting giants and trying to keep the world from being turned to smithereens. Again. Instead he just says, “Nope.”
She frowns. “All right. Well, where are you heading?”
“New York,” Percy says.
Her frown deepens at that, and Percy knows he must have said something wrong somewhere in that conversation. He was beginning to think it would be easier to just go and figure this out without involving anyone.
“You’ll have to take a bus to Metropolis and then transfer to one for New York,” She says. “The only station that offers a bus to Metropolis is in the Upper West Side.”
“Right,” Percy says. “Cool. Thanks. I will just be heading on my way then.”
“Wait!” She says, reaching out a hand as if prepared to stop him from walking away. “The upper west side is pretty far. It may not be wise to go all the way over there on your own. If you’re in some sort of trouble, we do have resources to help.”
Percy was not sure when the conversation had taken such a left turn. How did she come to the conclusion that he was in trouble? Sure, he probably was to some extent. Usually people thought he was a troublemaker first before they ever thought he was in trouble though.
“I’m fine,” He says. “Thank you for your help.”
“Of course,” Barabra says.
Percy quickly leaves, not wanting to make matters even worse. Once he steps out of the library, the city he walks into is a jarring sight. There are buildings all over, towering just like in New York, but that is when the similarities end. These buildings look as though they decided to model themselves after something from a dracula novel. Sure, there are some buildings in New York with gargoyles watching over them, but in Gotham it looks as though gargoyles are almost a requirement. The sun that he was sure was unobscured when he was in the library seemed buried within layers of gray clouds.
Percy pulled the hood on his hoodie over his head, feeling as though the darkness that was draped over this city expanded beyond just the lighting.
He walked for a while, wanting to put as much distance between himself and the library as possible. His main goal was to get home. He didn’t care whatever fun whatever god thought they were going to have with him. He was done with that. All he wanted was the chance to finally live a life. Go to college with Annabeth, have a chance at a normal life. One where he didn’t have to constantly glance over his shoulder, waiting for the next monster. One where he didn’t have to put his life on the line or the lives of the people he cared about because the gods couldn’t handle their own issues. He was done with it. He is not going to play their game.
Percy finally takes a moment to pause when he sees a little stand sitting next to a bus stop. It seems to have a bunch of brochures on it. They all look as though they have been there for ages. Many of them are illegible from the rain that has spread their ink away into fuzzy colors. He shuffles through them for a whole before he finds one with a partially legible map.
The front has a smiling man with black hair looking into the camera, a few kids scattered around his sides. The top says Wayn. He is pretty sure there was supposed to be another letter at the end, but the rain has turned it into teardrops of black ink that bleed into the happy looking guy below. Percy rolls his eyes, knowing it is probably some rich guy, pulling at sympathy through the advertising of being a family man or something. Percy doesn’t really care. He does though care about the back of the brochure which has a little map. There are some places marked on it, but he doesn’t give it much mind. What he really cares about is the words ‘Upper West Side’ pushed to the corner of the map. Perfect. Now he just had to figure out where he was.
A deep rumble of thunder makes Percy flinch. He glances at the sky, realizing the clouds have turned an even angrier shade of gray. The rain might actually work in his favor. Most people stay indoors. Making it easier for him to get to the bus station without running into any problems.
He backs up to the front of the bus stop the brochures are kept next to. There’s a small sign that looked as though at one time words had been printed on it. Like everything in this city though they were weathered away, faded into the color of the sign from the sun. He laughed at that, surprised there was any sun at all in this dreary place.
Just when he was thinking things could not get any worse, a deep growl sounded behind him. After this long he really thought he ought to know better than ever expect it to be impossible for things to get worse. He popped out the riptide. The pin was in its normal pathetic looking state. Part of the cap looked as though he had taken some bronze paint to it, but the real magic didn’t happen until he pulled off the cap.
The air around the pen seemed to bend as it grew into a big celestial bronze sword. He bit his tongue to keep from cursing the gods before turning around. As he had expected, in the middle of the street stood a bear-sized mastiff. Its eyes glowed like ruby gems placed in its head. Knowing Hades’ connection to wealth, that couldn’t be completely put out of the question.
Percy had met tons of hellhounds. They were kind of like the monster versions of rats in New York. Most were half-blood eating salivating monsters, the exception being Mrs. O’Leary of course.
“Do we have to do this right here? Almost as embracing as the school cafeteria. I don’t know how I managed to play that off,” Percy sighs.
The Hellhound actually seems to back up a step, it lips curling to reveal its once white teeth that were stained red. Ears flat against its head, it shook its head around before letting out a sharp bark. The shadows from the nearby builds stretched to the hellhound’s sides, forming into two dark masses.
Percy expected to form into hellhound buddies or something, but instead, they seemed to form into a silhouette of a hellhound and then stop. Now that Percy looked back at the original hellhound, waves of darkness seemed to move off of it in waves like steam.
Percy readied his sword, wishing he could’ve gone a little longer without a monster encounter. The hellhound hunched down, and a high pitched scream sounded to his left.
“What-” Percy’s head rocked to the side, realizing there was a group of about five people a ways off, watching on. There was a younger girl among them, about 10 or 12 who had screamed. Percy’s stomach twisted at the thought that she may be a clear sighted mortal, seeming through the mist at the real monsters behind it.
One of the adults with her pulled her back, grabbing her hand before running off. The other three lingered, their eyes wide as they stared at what was happening. Percy truly hoped whatever they saw wasn’t going to get him back on the FBI watchlist.
His feet suddenly yanked him back, hellhound claws barely missing his feet. Right. He’s in the middle of fighting against hellhounds. He knew that their biggest problem was their side, go around them fast enough, switch directions and they just can’t keep up.
So that is what he does, quickly moving to the right, running behind the hellhound and forcing it to turn around. It’s quicker than he expects, much much quicker than any hellhound he has met. As he goes to suddenly return the direction he came from, claws are waiting right there to meet him. He barely managed to bring up riptide to push them back.
He stumbles back from the force of blocking the blow. His teeth ache from the repercussion of the unexpected blow. A force from behind shoves him forward just as the hellhound moves to strike him again. He manages to duck, stepping to its left and swinging riptide for a strike at its belly.
In a blur its claws are there too, easily blocking the blow. The creature is moving with such speed, he is starting to wonder if it even is actually a hellhound. Percy should have this dealt with by now. There is far too much attention coming towards him.
He blocks another flurry of blows, much faster than they should be. His body has gone onto autopilot, the years of fighting against forces he truly should not be able to save him again and again from the sharp needles.
His frustration builds with every block, with every failed strike. Then he feels the familiar tug in his stomach and the rush of water in his ears. There is a loud metal clang and water slams against his back, also raining down on the hellhound.
He instantly cries out as the water burns. It feels like acid against his skin. Memories of screams and rot claw through his mind. He hears crying, the disheveled crying of Annabeth, gray eyes staring passed him into the dark abyss. He tries to reach out, but it is a memory, his hands swiping uselessly through her. There, hovering in the distance were creatures of his nightmares. Large wings that had few feathers clinging to the black leather of them. They had pools of darkness for eyes, and only the acid crawling into his veins seemed to give him the strength to stand tall. (She’s right there, she’s right there) He charged, swinging his blade and slicing through the first of the Arai. The sword cut clean through. Not just the monsters but the memories that had overlaid the world.
The darkness of Tartarus faded away, the dust of a hellhound floating to the ground just as the dust of the Arai had. Where Annabeth had been there was an empty section of sidewalk, a flickering street light casting a wonky shadow over the area. The area around his feet was wet. He carefully knelt down, touching the water. His fingers did not burn, the water feeling no different than normal. He clutched Riptide tightly, taking slow breaths to try and quiet the pounding of his heart.
Yet he couldn’t get the image out of his head of Annabeth. Gods he would give anything to have her right there next to him where he could touch her, see that she was okay. Watch the way she would roll her eyes with a small smile on his face when he said something stupid. But he didn’t know where she was. Gods he barely knew where he was and suddenly it was all catching up to him.
They had lived through hell, literally. Yet that didn’t seem to keep the gods from playing around with their lives. Memories of Jason joined the images of Annabeth and Percy felt like he couldn’t breath. If Jason, someone with so much good to do, so much power, could be robbed from the world by the gods after everything he had done, how were any of them safe? And if something happened to Annabeth and he wasn’t there? No. He couldn’t take that.
“You okay kid?”
Percy shot up, swinging riptide in an ark at the person who had spoken. The sword passed right through the mortal, and the sight of the startling red helmet they wore tore him from his thoughts. He became awfully aware of the bone deep ache within his limbs. He also did not miss the two pistols strapped to the figure’s side. In fact, now that Percy was looking he realized that the person seemed to be wearing some sort of armor, a red something spread across their chest. Maybe a bird. Maybe a bat actually. All he knew was that it looked ridiculous.
“What the fuck dude?” The guy said. Percy wished he wasn’t wearing a helmet so he had a better idea on if he intended to use the weapons at his side. Perhaps he had seen Percy hit him with a pool noodle.
Percy tried to focus really hard, like he had seen other mist users do. He snapped his fingers before saying, “Sorry for hitting you with a pool noodle.”
The guy had the audacity to laugh. Which, like everything with this guy, told Percy absolutely nothing.
“I know what a sword looks like, kid. I promise I just want to help. Maybe whatever meta powers you have know that too which is why your sword did whatever that was. Actually it is a pretty sick sword. That being said, you should not be walking around with that,” Red Hood said.
Percy should’ve been more alarmed by the fact that this guy was a clear-sighted mortal, but he couldn’t get over the word mera. He had been called many things, but meta just felt wrong. He hated the way it felt. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Annabeth always told him his best skill was playing dumb. (Most of the time it wasn’t playing, but he was pretty sure she knew that.)
“Are you here with someone?”
“Do you know how to get here?” Percy asked, pulling the pamphlet from his pocket and shoving it towards Red Helmet dude. He pointed at where Barabra had told him the bus station he was looking for.
“That is on the other side of Gotham, kid,” Red Helmet said.
“I’m 17,” Percy says. “And that’s cool, I just need to know how to get there.”
“You’re not from around here are you?” Red Helmet asked. There it was again, the quickness of people here realizing he was somewhere else.
“Does everyone here jump around questions like it is a competition?” Percy grumbles. “I just need to get to New York as soon as possible.”
The red helmet guy seemed to just stare at him for a moment. Percy wished he could see his face to gauge just what the Hades this guy was thinking. He seemed to have decent intentions, but he was not going to ignore the two pistols at his hip.
“Hop on. I’ll take you there,” Red Helmet guy said.
“Alright, I have been told that my self-preservation could use some work, but I don’t really know it's the best idea to jump on the motorcycle of a guy wearing a weird red helmet who speaks like he’s got metal stuck in his throat,” Percy says. “I can find it just fine on my own.”
“Either I take you, or you hop on. Those are your only options and I’m not offering twice,” The guy said.
And truthfully, Percy didn’t want to spend a second longer in this city than he had to. He couldn’t erase the feeling of the water from his skin. Even when he had swam in the Hudson, water piled so high with pollution it had felt suffocating, it had never felt outright painful.
“Do you have another helmet?”
-
Jason was certain this kid was on the run. From what, he didn’t know yet. He was also certain he was a meta. Not just some regular kid carries around a sword and fights monsters that look like they were ripped straight from the pages of a Percy Jackson book. On top of that, he looked tired.
It wasn’t the same type of tiredness that Gotham seemed to summon from all her citizens, but it was something much deeper. His accent plus the weird tattoo on his arm, Jason was willing to bet that the kid was involved in some sort of gang or mafia stuff.
Jason was still thinking about the kid who was not clinging to him nearly enough for the speeds Jason whipped through Gotham on his bike when he skidded the bike to a stop. Where the bus station usually was, there was a wall of darkness. It seemed as though faces pressed against the darkness, their translucent skin casting a stark contrast. Each of their expressions were captured in agony.
“Gods,” Percy sighed.
Jason tapped into the bat comms, finding they were pretty silent as no one was on patrol. It was the odd period before the night bats came out after Signal’s day patrol. The sun hanging low against the sky, less than an hour from pouring the world into darkness.
“Oracle?” Jason asked.
He waited a moment before Babs gave a small hum to let him know she was on the line and listening.
“Do you know what the fuck is going on in the upper west side? I came to the bus station and there’s a wall of faces here,” Jason said.
“I haven’t seen any reports, but- shit. Reports just started popping in from all over the city. Walls… popping up on bridges and at bus stations. I’m going to bring in Bruce. Stay back until we know what or who we’re dealing with,” Babs said.