Chapter Text
Dying means gradually ceasing to be.
Jason feels as if he’s dying every moment of every day. It’s this constant, oppressive, feeling.
It’s like rain.
Rain can be this light mist that coats your face. It can be a torrential downpour. It can just rain. Either way, you end up soaked, gasping once you get out of it.
Except you can’t get out of the rain. Every day, you wake up, and the rain starts. You start to look upward at the clouds, dark and gloomy, begging for just an inch of sunlight. A promise of light. That the clouds will break just once, and that’s enough. That’ll tide you over until you can find an umbrella.
Umbrellas don’t last long.
And you always end up wishing that the rain would just sweep you away, leave you fresh and new. You wish you could open your mouth and drown in it, open your mouth until the rain pours down, and it just all stops.
Jason’s gotten very good at walking through the rain.
And then there’s Percy.
Percy who can control water now.
Percy. Who. Does. Not. Know.
He has to tell him.
(he can’t. Percy will hate him forever.)
He just grits his teeth as he walks with Cass. Percy and Annabeth refused to walk next to either of them. (Green eyes glaring into his face).
They’re nearly at the Docks now. From the Docks it’s one boat ride away to Metropolis.
Because Percy and Annabeth need to run.
The Justice League weren’t acting like themselves which meant that Percy would not be safe here- or anywhere for that matter.
(he’d be safe wherever he’d been hiding.
He’d be safe with the League.
White streak. White streak.)
***
Day 1- 1:00 AM
Tim stares at the walls peppered with marker and string and questions and bullet holes. He couldn’t think.
Then he hears a crash.
Or does he?
Something is wrong. (right. Trust me.)
He settles back in, staring at The Wall.
Fear Gas.
Yellow. Red. Yellow. Red.
He can’t remember the colour of the fear gas that had crashed Percy’s memorial service. Of the boy with the dark hair and the vibrant eyes who had been brought up to the Watchtower. Who had run with Jason.
Tim had run.
He dug his hands into his hair, pulling, tugging, trying to get his brain to think. Who is he if he can’t do this. He-his only worth (the only reason he matters the one reason he isn’t alone anymore) is his mind.
He lifts a shaky hand, tracing the letters he had shoved into the wall. A hysterical laugh climbs its way up his throat.
That’s gonna be murder to kill.
(you don’t want to be here. Do you?)
Tim stares at the oppressive walls around him, taking a step back. What was he doing? Thinking he’s being possessed?
He’s fine.
The only thing wrong is-
Is-
When did Duke get here?
Tim raises a finger, pointing at him, “Halluncination.”
Duke snaps his fingers, and everything goes bright. Tim’s still blinking the spots out of his eyes when he feels a hand on his arm and a voice in his ear.
“Don’t move.”
Tim laughs, a proper, maniacal laugh. A laugh that sounds like someone in Arkham. He can’t stop it. Wouldn’t bother.
If they would just slit his throat and get it over with.
“Tim?” The voice is loud and then quiet.
Tim’s still laughing as his head lolls back.
“Oh, Tim,” And Duke sounds heartbroken. Tim wants to reach out, to squeeze his shoulder, to ask him (you don’t hear anything. This is normal, isn’t it?
Everyone hates you. You deserve it.)
“I’ve got you,” Duke says, and then he’s looking upward to an unfamiliar face.
When did they get on the floor?
Sharp blue eyes appear, dark hair, laser focused on Tim.
“Kon?” He mumbles, his eyes rolling into the back of his head.
And then he’s lost to the world.
***
When’s the last time this kid slept?
Thalia looks at the eyebags, the twitching hands even in sleep, and then at the wall, constant scribbling and questions.
In a dark red marker, in massive lettering- ‘There’s a voice in my head and it’s not my own.’
Was this guy crazy?
And then she peered closer, stepping over shattered mugs and furniture tossed this way and that. There were hundreds of notes, scribbled in different colours.
‘Focusing on things I know to be correct= quiet.’
‘Deleted posts.’
‘Schizophrenia????’
‘Keep HEARING owls.’
‘It doesn’t want me to leave.’
And then, when she turns around, she sees it again, frantic writing, as if they were the brief periods of lucidity Timothy had left, as if he knew he didn’t have long.
He looked so afraid.
‘They have the League.’
And underneath, in almost illegible writing: ‘they have Damian.’
The League?
She sucks in a breath- and both Nico and Duke turn to see what she’s looking at.
“The Justice League is compromised,” She forces, and the words themselves seem to condense in the air. Everything feels heavier.
(you cannot do this).
She straightens her shoulders. She is Thalia Fucking Grace.
And she is going to call her brother and make sure he’s okay.
“Can you wake him up?”
Nico shifts, the shadows behind him dancing, one curling around the shell of his ear, “I can try.”
“Do.”
She nods at Duke, “Can I borrow your phone?”
Duke tosses it to her, his attention on Tim, worrying his lip between his teeth. Brothers, in a sense. Brothers-in-arms, since Duke is Signal. Brothers by choice. Sounds ridiculous.
Sounds kinda nice.
She pushes away from the boys, heading for the window, and swings onto the fire escape from there, looking at Gotham wreathed in Mist. She idly trails a hand through it while she thinks. Thalia squints at the horizon, the smog and the dark clouds ominous, even to her. Looks like a storm would be coming in soon. She stares at the phone, and dials in the number that gave her the praetor’s office, and waits, fidgeting on the fire escape, swinging herself back and forth on the rusty metal.
“Reyna Ramírez-Arellano speaking,” A clipped voice comes through, “How can I help you.”
Thalia takes a deep breath, “This is Thalia Grace. Is Jason-Can I speak to Jason Grace, please?”
She adds the please almost as an afterthought, and waits.
“One moment please.”
There’s a click, and then she’s listening to-
“Viva la vida,” She asks, making a face, “Really?”
It was better than ‘Pompeii’ she supposes.
Barely.
“Hello?”
Jason sounds a little awkward over the phone, and she can almost picture him, his blonde hair falling over his face (he looks just like Beryl. Just like that bitch who abandoned you both), their shared blue eyes furrowed by a frown.
“Hey,” She offers, and they lapse into silence.
“Is everything okay?” Jason blurts, and then pauses, “It’s just- you’re calling, and you never call, and I worry-”
She laughs, ignoring the ache that followed the words ‘you never call’. It was true. Despite how much she wishes it wasn’t, they never really got the chance to be siblings. They’re strangers united by blood and old memories.
“I’m alright,” Thalia pauses, “As alright as can be expected. I just really needed to hear your voice, you know?”
“Yeah,” Jason says, and it rushes out like a sigh, “Yeah, I know. Are you on a hunt somewhere?”
She pauses, “Of a sort. Percy and Annabeth and it’s just one of those,” She gestures, “Things. Gotham. Freaky rain. Fucking jealous of Percy’s never-gets-wet card. And your air powers. Got the short end of the stick.”
Jason laughs, and its quiet. Quiet in a way that feels so unfair.
Out of all her cousins, she has the barking, furious laugh. One that demands to be heard. Percy’s got a warm one, one that makes you want to smile. Nico snorts, and that’s as close as he’ll get to a laugh.
Percy said he used to giggle, before.
Not so much anymore. They’re all too old for that now.
“ 'Percy and Annabeth’ tells me all I need to know,” Jason says wryly, “How do they have the worst luck ever?”
Thalia groans, “It would be funny if it wasn’t so-”
Awful.
Because if they had been any other demigods, the pair of them would be dead. It’s because it’s Percy-and-Annabeth that they’re still breathing. She’s grateful for that, every single day. But she wishes, wishes, that it wasn’t like this. That bad luck was stubbing your toe, or red lights all the way to work.
But instead it was life or death situations, eldritch creatures and, you know.
The Pit.
“Can I help?” Jason asks, and the youthful earnestness in his voice makes Thalia want to break down and cry.
Because that’s her little brother who she thought was dead for years.
Except he’s not so little anymore. He doesn’t need her anymore.
It’s a demigod trait, to need to be needed.
She sighs, leaning on the railing, “I don’t know. I have- a small idea of what’s going on. But right now we have three Big Three kids running around this city. Percy is..unstable. Fear Gas is still in his system and everything is just a mess.”
“Gotham,” Jason mutters, and then she hears a gasp, “Oh shit.”
“What?” She demands, standing fully upright, “What- Jason? Jason?”
“No I’m fine,” He calls, “Fine, fine, fine, just-um, stuff. Roman things. Don’t suppose anyone is like, hearing voices or anything? Like a, um,” He pauses, “Siren song?”
She throws her head back and laughs, “Siren song? No. No. Just insanity and mayhem and a little bit of murder. Hey- do you know any lawyers?”
“Why?”
“Pretty sure Percy killed Scarecrow.”
“Plausible deniability," Jason says immediately, “Self defense. Lie.”
“What about swearing on the Bible?”
Jason gasps, “Oh no! Not the demigod children of Greek gods swearing on a Bible and lying! How will the world ever recover!”
“Alright you menace,” She snarks, and she does feel lighter somehow. Even knowing that the Justice League can’t be trusted. Even knowing that Annabeth is somewhere in this city and she doesn’t know where- talking to Jason has made her feel..
Better. Lighter.
“Call me,” And Jason is deadly serious again, “The minute you think you need help. The minute Thalia. And I will be there within the hour.”
“You’re in San Francisco.”
“The hour. Promise me?”
“Yeah,” She agrees, “I promise.”
They hang up after that. Nothing more to say. She’s probably alerted all the monsters within a one hundred mile radius to where she is, but none of them will enter Gotham. There’s monsters of a different sort here.
“Thalia?” Nico is sticking his head out the window, his dark eyes not quite meeting hers, “Drake’s awake.”
***
Superman is infallible. He is- and always has been- the Hope.
Clark Kent is not infallible.
The only thing that can harm Superman is Kryptonite. To hurt Clark Kent is simple. Hurt innocent people. Threaten those who cannot stand up for themselves.
And also- Lois’s cooking. It was shockingly impressive how it could threaten even a Kryptonian stomach.
So when he hears screaming, it doesn’t matter that the Justice League is at odds. It doesn’t matter that Bruce is gone and he can’t get in contact with him.
All he can hear is that voice in his head telling him to (GO SAVE THEM).
And so he does.
***
Annabeth laces her fingers with Percy’s as she watches Jason- and the one she is presuming is Cassandra walking in front of them.
They need to talk.
Desperately.
She needs to talk to him, to look into his eyes, to take a deep breath and just hold him and make sure he’s alright. (neither of you are alright.)
She can’t do that right now, so she takes to squeezing his hand and feeling his pulse with the tips of her fingers.
The sewer water is an almost bioluminescent green, basically making the need for a torch obsolete. (It’s red.)
Annabeth frowns, lost in thought.
Percy is wearing shackles. Shackles that look old and battered, dragging him back toward Gotham. As if they never stood a chance. As if Percy was destined, fated, to have to return.
Her head is aching.
She hasn’t seen Percy since he saved her life. Since he pulled that- presumably Molyn-9 filled- liquid out of her.
Since she looked up and knew her mother had forsaken her because this was beyond cruel. She looked just like one of those fucking owls- like the one that had taunted her under Rome. A reminder of Mother Dearest.
Gods, she just wanted this to be over. She wanted to go back in time and to have never agreed to help Talia.
Percy didn’t even know Jason was alive. Jason didn’t know he was one of the driving forces behind Percy being swept up in all this, and she didn’t-she couldn't-
Everything was just too much.
(give up. You won’t make a difference. Powerless. Pathetic. The only gift you have is the presence of Perseus Jackson and you can’t even help him. You haven’t even told him his brother is alive).
Annabeth felt ill. She was awful. Jason was right there, walking unevenly, with Cassandra (?) beside him. And Percy had no fucking clue.
She could see those green eyes fill with disappointment, with hurt, already. He would look at her and walk away. Walk away with her heart beating in his hand and she’d deserve it because-
Annabeth blinked, stopping dead.
They were a team. And Percy wouldn’t do that. It was Percy.
Where had that come from?
She traced the thought with a finger, following it back into the tapestry of her mind, following threads and promises and memories and- burning scalding red.
“Annabeth?” Percy looked panicked.
His eyes were red too.
(you’re too late).
Annabeth screamed.
***
It was subtle, really.
The League of Assassins were the best.
Breaking into the Hall of Justice and initiating a lockdown whilst the Justice League members were at each other's throats was simple. Sealing them off from the world, letting them fight until they tore each other apart.
Superman was on his way.
Batman was in the Watch-
Batman was not in the Watchtower. Batman had ditched his coms.
Strigidae clenched his fists, slamming them into the table with a roar.
“Get me Robin. Get me the first. I want to see that mortal beg for mercy. I want him to watch as his two sons destroy each other.”
***
Talia gritted her teeth as she slammed the Court of Owls’ pawn into the table.
“Answer the question.”
They laughed at her through bloodstained teeth, “You cannot win. We will be victorious. The world will know only what we decide to tell it.”
She hissed at them, “You fool. You will have doomed us all. What have you done to my son?”
They cackled to themselves, pupils blown wide, “What haven’t we done? That boy was singing like..like a robin!”
Talia drew out a dagger and impaled it through their hand, driving the blade through the wooden table. Their screams were like music.
“What has it promised you?” She demanded, “Money, wealth, power?”
“Immortality.”
They licked their lips, grinning, “We shall live forever. In them. Glorious.”
She spat on the ground, “Where is he?”
“At his home. He has disabled the security by now, and sabotaged the suits. The so-called “Bats” will be useless. Gotham will be our-.”
Talia snapped his neck, the sound of bone breaking cutting through the air.
The body thumped to the ground.
Foolish, power-hungry swine.
She walked out of the room, heading down to the lobby of the Ritz in Gotham.
To Wayne Manor.
To her son.