Chapter Text
Jason let Cass go on ahead, watching her easily climb up the rungs to the manhole. He turned to see Percy-just behind him.
His brother looked on edge, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet.
Cass disappeared, pushing herself out of the sewers.
It was night out. Early morning August 20th. Jason squinted from his helmet. Smog filled. He could faintly hear water.
“You next?” He offered.
Percy scoffed, but grabbed the rusted bars, pulling himself up, muscles flexing with ease.
Where were you Percy?
He reached out- then aborted the movement. Not the time. Not after…everything.
Annabeth followed, shoving Jason out of the way with her shoulder. Her eerie eyes locked on him with a glare.
She paused, knuckles whitening on the rungs, “If you hurt him..”
“You’ll kill me”
“I’ll do worse than that.” Her voice was deceptively casual. Annabeth turned her head, curly blonde hair swinging as she vanished up there.
Then he follows, a sinking feeling in his gut.
***
Annabeth raises her hands slowly. Nightwing stares back, the white lenses reflecting the orange streetlight. He looks like a demon. Otherworldly.
Percy holds himself still, eyes darting between them, glaring at Nightwing and Cassandra. Dick Grayson and Cassandra.
Her throat still feels raw. Her head is pounding, her thoughts spinning.
Who is she without a plan?
She wants to take a deep breath, but the smog replacing the air in Gotham won’t help. So she takes shallow breaths, staring at Percy, then Nightwing.
There’s the sound of a gun’s safety turning off.
Jason is the last to his feet, gun in hand as he stares down his..brother.
Annabeth swallows hard. Oh gods.
Three brothers, swamped in secrets. Staring at each other. A gun, a sword and a mask.
This would not end well.
“You need to leave.” Jason says, raising the gun, pointing squarely at Dick’s chest.
His voice echoes in her brain. It’s as if she’s hearing it over and over and over again. She squeezes her eyes shut for a fraction of a moment, trying to reestablish some control.
My mind. My mind.
“You won’t shoot me,” Nightwing’s voice is devoid of emotion, arms crossed, obscuring part of the symbol on his chest.
Hope.
Dazed, she thinks of the icy-cold pithos of Pandora. Of hope. The one thing humans had-the one thing they were promised. Hope would not abandon them.
Hope feels very far away. Hope has been ripped out of the city, leaving nothing but rot and disease. Gotham is an infected limb.
Her eyes are watering, tears dripping down her face. It wasn’t quite crying.
“I wouldn’t be so sure.”
Nightwing scoffs, “You won’t shoot me in front of him.”
Annabeth meets Percy’s gaze. The gaze of a predator now.
She hated that. She saw it in the mirror.
She could not think.
“You’re confident,” Red Hood drawls, “For a boy in spandex. You have no idea what is happening. And you need to leave.”
“You won’t shoot me Jason,” Nightwing says. Annabeth’s knees give out, each voice echoing and pounding around her head. Her head her mind her head her mind Athena is the goddess of wisdom she cannot save you here she will not.
There is a guttural noise. A gunshot. She closes her eyes tighter, wrapping her arms around her head desperately.
She wants to go home. She wishes they had never come here, she-
Annabeth freezes.
She cannot tell the difference between her thoughts and it.
***
Jason is on the ground now. Percy tackled him down, throwing off the shot.
Dick’s on the ground too. He can just about see his broth-Nightwing, clutching his arm. There’s blood splatter on the walls.
How did that get there?
His ears are ringing.
Percy’s hands on the helmet, green eyes wild, staring into his. He doesn’t say a word.
Cass is by Nightwing.
He could have killed Dick. He nearly did.
The realisation is sobering, knocking all the air out of him. He isn’t paying attention, his mind still focused on the moment he pulled the trigger, the weight of the gun in his hand. Would Dick’s life feel the same on his shoulders?
Percy had stopped him.
And then suddenly the helmet is off, and he isn’t wearing a domino, and for the first time in six years, Perseus Jackson and Jason Todd looked at each other.
***
He looks old.
Percy stares at his brother for the first time in six years and that’s all he can think.
It’s true, of course. Jason’s eyes are more green than blue now, his eyebrows uneven, his hair cropped close on the sides, a curling white streak at the very front.
He wants to think that the streak is genetic.
But that’s the lie he always gives. And they’ve lied to him so many times, who knows. What’s one more to pull over Percy’s eyes? It’s not like he matters to them. Not how he thought he did. Innocent, childlike, stupid. So stupid. Gabe was right, after all. The bastard, may he rot in the Fields of Punishment, was right.
The helmet is still in his hands, cool metal. The gun fell somewhere.
He stares at Jason, taking in the scar by his lip, the crooked set to his nose, now bent to the left instead of the right.
Jason stares back. There’s silence.
And then the helmet grows warm in his hand, and panic bleeds across Jason’s face, and he wrenches the helmet out of Percy’s hands, throwing it toward the building.
It rolls innocently, and Percy stares at it, bright red against the dullness of Gotham.
And then it explodes.
It felt like an invisible force shoving him in the chest. He had been upright, on his knees, and then he was shoved backwards, crashing into a wall behind them. His back ached with the force of it. His ear drums rang. Dazedly, he raised a hand, swiping around them, bringing red blood onto his fingertips.
Everyone else was scattered.
His head swam, fracturing over the last few minutes. Just a minute ago, he had heard Jason’s name, his brain slotting the piece into place and staring at Richard-at Dick. At the gun pointed at his head and all he knew in that moment was that he didn’t want either of his brothers to die.
It hurt so much.
When did he fall to his knees?
His eyes darted around the alley, finding Annabeth, hands clamped over her ears, staggering to her feet, Cass wrapping an arm around her waist.
His breaths were staggered.
He couldn’t hear anything but his own shallow breathing. In. Out. In. Out.
Jason was alive.
He didn’t feel relief, or sadness or grief.
He felt rage. Aching, pulsing, pained rage. Because Jason had been there. Jason could have told him at any moment. And he didn’t. Because- once again- the only thing Gotham had proved was that he would never belong.
He stared at them.
Dick groaned in pain, clutching his side, but his head was turned to Percy. His domino was ripped, white indifference making way for painful blue eyes.
Percy swallowed, shoving himself to his feet, water rippling under his skin, filled with the desire to make them see just how much it hurt-
He stepped backwards, shaking.
“Percy?” Jason shoved himself upwards, and there was a desperation in his voice, in his eyes-
He looks the same. (He looks so different. They both do.)
“Dont.”
The words come out sharp, cold. He wants to wrap his hands around Jason’s neck and watch him gasp for air. To feel even a hint of what Percy had felt for years.
To drown. To gasp for air, to beg. To feel so achingly alone.
“Please,” Jason stumbles hard, falling. Percy watches, almost apathetic, even as his body shakes with the urge to run, to fight to do something.
“Percy, please,” Jason continued, “I meant to tell you - I did, I just-I didn’t know how-”
He doesn’t say anything. All the words are wrapped up in a knot in his throat.
(he hates you. He’s lying. He left you alone.)
The bronze ring on his finger burns, icy-cold.
He pulls it off, throwing it on the ground.
He just stares at Jason. For a long moment, there’s silence.
And then they hear sirens.
It’s almost too slow, watching everyone else’s heads turn toward the sound.
Percy bolts, running as the skies open and rain starts to pour.
The bronze ring glints in the dust where it had been dropped.
(They wrap around the boy, triumphant, and the air grows colder.)
***
Talia almost breaks down the door of the Manor when she walks in. Her eyes flick to Pennyworth.
“My son?”
Alfred stares at her, fully taking her in, “You knew.”
She closes her eyes, “I tried-”
“He’s in his room,” The butler interrupts, something in his eyes she can’t quite place, “Unconscious. He won’t be waking up for a while. He isn’t himself, you understand.”
Talia, for the first time in years, wants to cry.
Damian.
She did- she does, all of this for Damian.
For her son.
She nods at the Butler, rushing up the stairs, heels clicking, slowing to open the door.
. She walks over to Damian, hand ghosting over his face, pressing a kiss to his forehead. He had been a pawn in this, as she had.
She had thought all of this was to take down the League of Assassins. That the molyn-9 wiping out their agents had been an orchestrated plot.
All the suppliers had wanted was Perseus Jackson. She had handed him over on a silver platter, even knowing Jason was alive.
She regretted Damian got hurt because of her actions. But he would have been wrapped up in this one way or the other.
Her Damian.
She holds herself there for a moment, just breathing with him.
Then stood abruptly, turning to Pennyworth behind her, "I don't suppose you can contact Ms Gordon for me?"
***
Tim’s phone rings.
They all stare at it in silence.
Tim’s eyes seem more focused. He glares at Thalia as she walks in, throwing herself on the couch, cracking her knuckles.
He picks it up, putting it on speakerphone, “Drake speaking.”
“Hello, Red Robin.”
The voice is rich, and dark. It curls around the room, and they all lean closer to the phone.
Drake straightens, his eyes widening, but he doesn’t say anything.
“Tell me,” The voice says, “What would you do to keep Stephanie Brown safe?”
Tim’s grip on the phone tightens, “Where is she?”
“You’re only now noticing?” The voice tuts, “Some friend you are.. But that makes sense, doesn’t it? Who is Timothy Jackson Drake without his mind? How have you been coping?”
Tim raises a brow, “Pretty well. And if you did that then you know what I’m capable of. I suggest you think very, very carefully about this plan of yours.”
The voice laughs, “Oh Mr Drake, what I want is very simple. Leave Gotham. Walk away. You should be good at that by now.”
There was silence.
“You have two days before we send you her head.”
“I want proof of life.”
A chuckle, “But of course.”
Screaming.
A girl screaming and sobbing, begging nonsensically.
Tim went rigid.
The phone call ended with a click.
“Steph,” Tim said brokenly, turning to Duke, “Steph. They have-Steph.”
“I know,” Duke reached out, “Tim, I know.”
“You don’t.”
Tim threw his phone against the wall, and they all flinched back at the noise. He gripped his hair, “I can’t even fucking think. I can’t tell what I’m thinking and what it’s telling me.”
They all froze.
“It?” Thalia asked carefully.
Tim groaned, “Two days ago, it was Perseus Wayne’s anniversary. Who isn’t dead. I think. There was fear toxin. I thought it was yellow but- it-,” He gritted his teeth, as if it was painful to think, to speak, “It was red. And ever since then, my thinking patterns have been thrown off. We all inhaled it. And Bruce brought it to the Watchtower, I don’t even know if he’s noticed and-”
“What exactly is it?” Nico snaps, getting to his feet, “Don’t leave anything out.”
Tim stutters, staring at the boy for a second, before blinking, “It tells you what you want to hear, I think,” He laces his fingers together, resting his forehead against them, “Or it doesn’t. It integrates into your thoughts, making it almost impossible to tell what is it and what is you. It makes you more paranoid, less trusting, until the only thing you trust is it.”
“Why isn’t it working on you?” Thalia asks.
Tim scoffs, “I don’t even trust myself.”
Duke sighs, “And you all laugh at me when I say you need therapy.’
They all glare at Duke.
Thalia rolls her shoulders back, “And it has ‘Damian’?”
Tim pales, “Damian.”
Duke and Tim share a look, and Duke pinches the bridge of his nose, “We need to-”
The lights go out.
They’re plunged into darkness.
And then there’s laughter.
***
Diana stares at Superman.
Not Clark. Clark Kent is calm and mild-mannered. This is all Superman.
Goosebumps prick across her skin.
“Diana?” His voice sounds strained, “I don’t understand.”
She closes her eyes, “Please.”
“I can’t let you go, you tried-”
“What did I try to do, Clark?” She asks, “Save a seventeen year old? He’s a child. He’s my cousin. You would have done the same. You have done the same.”
He flinches at that, blue eyes rimmed with red.
She recognises it.
Mother had spoken of it. A reason to never join Man’s World.
Diana stares at Clark, her eyes beseeching, “Please.”
He opens the cell door, walks in, and breaks the collar.
“Go quickly,” Superman says, eyes solid, staring into her own, back straight, “I’ll get Donna and Kaldur out and send them after you.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t,” Clark says, eyes closed in pain, “I don’t deserve it.”
Superman leaves the Watchtower five minutes later, after all the cells are opened, collars broken on the ground.
The Hall of Justice comms for aid five minutes after that.
***
Percy runs until he can’t anymore. Until tears are pouring down his face and he can’t quite breathe.
And then he meets a figure, waiting for him in an alley.
“Hello Perseus,” The creature-monster-person, looks at him, tilting their white mask, “We’ve been waiting for you.”
There’s a stinging in his neck, and everything goes dark.