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Jason, he thinks.
Jason, he prays.
Jason, he breathes.
Grief isn't new to Percy. He is unfortunately intimately familiar with grief. He grieved his friends who were but children and died in a war that wasn't theirs, he grieved his family and friends who were by all accounts still alive, but lost to him. His mother, stepdad, his own father regardless of their relationship, his friends, camp, New York, Mrs O'Leary, Blackjack and his entire life.
None of it holds a candle to what he felt when he realised his son was dead. He couldn't understand it, couldn't let himself believe what Bruce meant when he called to tell him the news. It just didn't make sense.
Jason? He's supposed to be home. Fighting with Bruce and giving them a prime time show of teenage rebellion. He isn't, he can't be–
He understands that for all of his protests of child soldiers, he never once imagined his children dead. Why would he? There were no wars here. No Titans or Primordials trying to end the world and even with all the problems of this world, there were no prophecies saying that his kids will die. They could choose not to go to wars. Percy would've locked them in their rooms before he let them go to war.
Except that isn't true is it? He did let them fight. His other son is in space, fighting Gods know what away from his reach. A different kind of fight, but still,he let them and not once did he actually think that they'll die because of it.
He made sure Jason knew how to fight. Some random mortal shouldn't be able to kill his son.
Kill… because that's what happened. Jason didn't die, he was killed. He was killed by a madman, alone and scared without both of his parents.
Did he scream? Did he call for Percy hoping that he'd come? Did he call for Bruce?
For fucking Batman?
He must have. He must have thought they'd reach him in time. Percy told him he'll always be there for him. He knows better than to make promises that he can't keep, but he didn't think, he never thought that Jason would…
Gods, he was barely sixteen. Percy hasn't even taught him everything he knew. Jason and Dick were like their father, hand to hand fighters. Swords weren't their weapons but he made sure they knew how to fight with them anyway. Maybe he should have given Jason a sword instead to cut down anyone who meant him harm.
Dick won't be coming to the funeral. He doesn't know that his brother is dead.
The sky was crying with Percy. He came back to Gotham with a storm brewing in his skin and above him but he couldn't care for storms or rage anymore when he saw his son's broken body.
Jason was dressed in a suit that he would have hated and he looked so still and cold in death. It didn't look like he was resting.
He's never been religious, he didn't need faith. He knew Gods, he knew that they didn't care for mortals, knew where you'd go when you died. At least in his world, he knew. He doesn't know where Jason is going. He should get Elysium. He was a hero. He died a hero, like all heroes do. He thinks he wants religion now, desperate to know his son will be happy in the afterlife.
He would be begging Hades to give Jason the peace he deserved, the peace he should have had in life if he knew the Gods existed. The peace that Percy failed to give him. Or maybe that's what he failed to understand about faith, that he can pray without knowing. For someone like him, it doesn't help, it gives him no comfort.
He knows the Gods won't care, won't listen.
He prays anyway.
He cries and begs for his son's afterlife.
He calls upon Lord Hades. He makes no threats, only begs him to grant his hero of a son the rest he deserves. To grant him Elysium.
He puts coins on top of his casket. He lets silver and gold fall from his hands along with soil into the ground where his boy lies. He begs Charon, begs Lady Styx, begs Lord Hades to grant his son passage across the river.
They all looked at him in morbid fascination. The priest looked ready to be upset but had enough sense to keep his tongue and let him grieve.
He invoked Lord Hades. “Lord Hades, Πλούτων”, he begged. “Πολυδέγμων, Ἀγήσανδρος, Ἀγεσίλαος. Let him cross the river. Let him pass. Grant him peace.”
There were plenty of people at the funeral. People who didn't know or care about Jason. His grief drenched everyone. He imagined his misery soaking their clothes, their hair, anything it could reach through every drop of the rain that fell upon them.
He didn't want to be alone in his misery, he let himself get wet in his own tears and the tears the sky poured for him. He made the wind knock out the umbrella in Alfred's hand so Bruce would feel his misery. So he wouldn't be spared.
No one would be spared.
Wind knocked into them, spraying rain at them with the force of it, urging them to leave. He didn't want them there, Jason wouldn't want them there.
Bruce stayed. So did Alfred.
That night, he let the storm rage. He let Gotham take the brunt of his grief. For its crimes against his son, Gotham's protector.
He comes by his heritage honestly, he supposed. Being absent when his son needed him and then raging with no care for anyone's comfort or safety in the name of grief.
He burned a shroud in the manor grounds in the rain with proper rites and more gold, silver, whatever he could find. He would have taken those pearls in the study just to be cruel if his own mother's memory didn't haunt him. The rain didn't touch the flames.
He didn't want his son stuck in the lobby of the underworld, because he didn't have enough money to pass. He wanted him to reach Elysium, have a big library and kitchen and obstacle course. Wait there peacefully until Percy makes his way over. Then he'll apologise, beg him to let Percy near him even though he failed his son.
If only he knew for sure it would happen. It has to, right? Diana was made by Zeus. Surely that means the Gods existed at one point. The underworld is not a place that just gets lost. It has to be there. It'll let Jason in, and he'll get to rest.
Robin's uniform remained broken in a glass case in the cave. Half of his domino mask was broken off. It judged Percy for not being enough, for not being a good father.
Didn't he used to be a hero? Didn't the divine beings that made up the dregs of the world call him a hero?
What use are his titles, his powers, if he can't even save his own son?
Did he think there was a possibility that he could live a peaceful life? That he could for once leave the responsibility to other people, just because they chose the role he detested? His own children?
Jason never should have been in that psychopath’s radar at all. Percy should have taken care of it a long time ago. He kills monsters, isn't that what he does? Isn't that what he's always done, what he was trained to do?
So why didn't he kill this one?
Robin's broken uniform mocked him. Hero, it spat at him.
He gave it the courtesy of destroying the bat suit. Anaklusmos passed through it like butter making him feel no better than he did before.
He stays away from the manor, not being able to stand the absence of his son. He asks Alfred to let him know when Dick comes back.
He heard Batman is putting people in a coma these days. Good. Percy hopes he'll kill someone.
The only good thing that he wants to remain of Batman's legacy is Robin and Nightwing. The only good thing about Percy is his children. Child, he corrected choking down a sob. Because he only has one child now.
Just a son, who came to the manor looking for his family and found nothing. Percy went back for him. Held him while he cried and told him it wasn't his fault.
It wasn't. It was Percy's responsibility to keep his son safe.
“I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…” He sobbed in Percy's arms.
“It's not your fault, sweetheart. I promise.” He didn't say that it was Percy's, that it was Bruce's. Dick is compassionate, he'll feel the need to comfort his father when it should be the other way around.
Dick is also a … vigilante. He can't use that word. The word he always avoided out of principle but now has to in the fear that it will cost his only remaining son's life.
“I should have been here. I should have been here for him. He wouldn't have gone alone if I was here, if we were closer. I should have been nicer to him.” He just held Dick closer.
“I wasn't here either, do you blame me?”
“No.” He sniffled.
“Then you shouldn't blame yourself either. Please, sweetheart. It's not your fault.” Percy was begging now. He couldn't –
No. He wouldn't let Dick blame himself.
“I'm sorry I was a bad brother.” He mumbled onto Percy's shoulders.
“You weren't. No one magically becomes close to their siblings. It's not your fault that you were robbed of the time you should have had with him.”
He kept the reassurance up until Dick stopped crying.
“And B?” Dick peered at him through his bangs. He looked young like that, like he used to look at him in the early days when he came to the manor. When he was an only child. Now, he's an only child again because Percy was careless with his son's safety.
“I don't know.” He honestly answered.
They just sat there in the sitting room with Dick curled up in Percy's arms like he used to when he was a kid with the light of the sunset spilling in through the windows, waiting for a son, a brother who won't come back.
Percy does what he really wants to do, without caring if it was the right time, or the right question.
“Sweetheart,” he begged looking into his kid's eyes. “Will you stop?” His voice broke even though it was a whisper.
Dick looked pained.
“No,” He sighed, world weary. “I know you think he'd have been safe if he wasn't Robin–”
“He would have.” Percy interrupted forcefully.
“You don't know that dad, and if it wasn't him, it would have been someone else. If I don't do my job, someone else's brother, someone’s son will be dead.”
His tone was pleading too, pleading Percy to understand.
“I don't want to hurt you dad, but you won't be able to keep me safe even if I stopped. A rogue could come for me and you know I'm a fan favourite for kidnappers. I want to help, especially now. I can't–” he swallowed forcefully like there's a lump in his throat and his lips quivered. “I can't let this happen again.” He looked determined, sad, and guilty. Righteous. He looked like a…a hero.
There was something around Percy's heart, holding it in a vice grip. He doesn't know how to prevent another funeral. He never pictured his children's death but now the nightmares haunt him even when he's awake.
Jason, cold and pale. Dead.
Sometimes it's Dick in the casket and Jason is the one mourning his brother.
Sometimes they're both dead. Only Bruce and Percy remain, ruined and broken and so so wrong. They're not good. Whatever Batman is, he's not good. Percy's not good. Not like Dick is, not like Jason was.
But they're the ones who remain while their kids die noble deaths.
He thinks he prefers Jason as a criminal and alive, rather than good and dead.
“I'm sorry.” Percy said into his hair. “I'm sorry I didn't protect your brother. I'm sorry I didn't protect you.”
He couldn't stop his tears and Dick's red rimmed eyes kept breaking his already broken heart.
“Please don't say that. It's not your fault either.” Dick hugged him. “I'm sorry dad. I'm so sorry.”
At least that wasn't guilt. That was condolences to him. For his dead child. No one really said that to him, not that he wanted that but they didn't because they didn't know Jason was his son. They don't know Dick is his either. The few who knew about him knew better than to talk to him during the funeral.
“Masters,” Alfred addressed them after a while. “I have brought you some tea. I thought perhaps refreshments were in order.”
He's grieving too, Percy knows. They all are.
“Please, sit with us Alfred.” He motioned to the sitting area.
Dick nodded from where he was laying on Percy's chest. Alfred gave them a sad smile and then they sat in silence, occasionally glancing at the corner of the couch where Jason used to lie down.
His books were all still scattered across the manor wherever he left them. His shoes were near the door of the patio and his room remained untouched.
A shrine.
He's hunting.
Back when he used to be a demigod, (he's still a demigod, but you know what he means) he wasn't the best tracker. Like the Apollo kids, or the hunters(comparing your tracking skills to the hunters is just asking to be made fun of yourself) but he did know some things. They teach you that sort of stuff in camp. It could save a demigod’s life.
Then he was kidnapped by that bitch of a goddess and was dropped off in a wolf pack. As much as he hated it, he will admit that everything Lupa taught him was useful. He's not hunting through the woods, but he still has a few tricks up his sleeve because by then Lupa’s methods were updated for your average modern demigod. He'll do better in the woods because wolves are wolves and most of their enemies as demigods were animal adjacent, so he knows how to fight them, trap them, eat them, you name it.
He was in Tartarus and actually used all of those to survive, so he's not bragging. If you can hunt monsters in their home ground, you can hunt animals in the wild.
But that's irrelevant. Because he's hunting a monster. In his home ground.
Except this monster is intelligent. Mad.
Saying that he's unpredictable is giving him too much credit. He's predictable, he just always weighs some random people's lives over his own incarceration and of course anyone with a conscience will care more about innocent people's lives over his capture.
It's terribly uninspiring. Uncreative. Boring.
He was caught by the Bat after Robin's murder and he went straight back to Arkham. Percy didn't bother to break in or break him out.
He'll do it himself eventually and Percy had a son to take care of, so he didn't rush. People who rush make mistakes and Percy's far wiser and older than the hopelessly optimistic and reckless kid he used to be in his youth.
It's not rocket science. If he wants to trap something, he needs bait. And he knows the best bait for this particular monster.
The bait can't know of course, he has a no killing policy even after his son was brutally murdered by the monster. Good thing he doesn't have to move a finger. Like he said, predictable.
He will go taunt the bait himself. All Percy has to do is wait.
How has no one killed this psycho yet? It's always the same plan. He's going to put a bomb, or Joker toxin or something unoriginal somewhere ( hospital, bus, orphanage, a rich people gala, stadium. Take your pick) and then tell the Bat to either save that or someone he's captured, or if he's feeling lazy, either save them or stay and capture him.
He knows the Joker’s out. Gotham has alarms for that, by the Gods, if he isn't an annoying pest. He's hoping this is a lazy night but even if it isn't, Percy's not going to save whomever it is that he's captured. That's why the bat exists. If he has any compassion left, if he remembers their son, he'd save them. He'd have a plan to save them.
Percy's job is, to paraphrase his son, to make sure this doesn't happen again.
Oh, he's been raging for months, waiting for this while he and the Bat ‘used excessive force’ over the criminals of Gotham. Not together, Gods no. He mostly remains in Crime Alley. As far as anyone is concerned, he's just another thug who makes sure the assholes trying to hurt the working girls are given an education on how to behave. Same for whoever is selling drugs to kids. If he could bear it, he'd have offered to feed the street kids. But he wasn't stable enough to be near kids, especially near kids who know better than to trust strangers.
His efforts on parenting remain exclusive to his only son. Dick is annoyed and touched in equal measure by the amount of times Percy's visited him, but he is still letting him fuss over him, so he'll take what he can get.
He refused to be anywhere near the manor unless he felt like punishing himself or punishing Bruce with his presence.
They haven't talked since that phone call but he knows Percy blames him, and that he told him so many times to not let their children be in danger. Their son was still dead, so nothing mattered he guessed. Except Dick.
It's just as much as Percy's fault as it is Bruce's but the guilt that passes through Bruce's eyes makes him feel a little better knowing that he's not the only one suffering. They should both suffer. They were careless, and Jason paid the price. He's drowning himself in whiskey, Percy knows. He saw it once and it made him want to take his anger out on him.
But he's still patrolling. Still brutal.
Percy's glad. He doesn't have to make a bait himself.
He's near one of the warehouses near the docks. It's a common destination for Arkham escapees. He's extended his senses through the horrible muck that is the water in the harbour. He's been cleaning it for a while now that he's familiar with the water and Tartarus gave him a control and familiarity over his powers that he didn't have before. He had to use them and experiment with them to keep himself alive, so he's much better with it now.
Good for him, because some idiot just tossed something into the water a little ways away from him. It could be nothing. Everyone throws waste in the water in Gotham but like he said, Joker's out and he's near the docks where anyone with common sense knows not be at this time of the night, so he gets in the water, goes under and investigates.
It was disappointing how easy it was, that's all it took. Seriously, world's greatest detective? Couldn't find this dumbass fast enough?
He makes his way through a side window where a guard was posted. Too easy. One guard? In the guard's defence, Percy isn't your average opponent. He's half god, and has been through too much for any mortals to pose a threat to him.
It's making him feel like the whole thing is a trap. Anything this easy has to be a trap.
He was wrong. It wasn't a trap.
Besides, why would Joker lay a trap for him? He probably doesn't even know that Percy exists. Even if he did, he definitely doesn't know what he's capable of, or that Jason was his son. Probably. The fact that he didn't know what Percy's capable of is enough of an underestimation.
Joker was taunting the Bat by the time he makes his way near them to hear what's happening.
“So, what's it going to be, Batsy? You gonna save them or you gonna let them die like you did your little Robin? Bye bye birdie!” He followed that with his psychotic laugh like it was the best joke in the world. He laughed.
Percy saw red.
That vile little cretin. He was talking about Percy's baby like he didn't matter. Like his death was a joke.
He's going to kill him. He's going to make sure nothing remains of him. There will be nothing remaining of Joker when he's done with him. And oh, he’s going to make it painful. The water in the harbour grew choppy and he made himself calm down. He could take down the entire warehouse into the water with Joker and all his goons inside, but that wouldn't be enough. And there's no need to give himself away.
Batman left before he killed Joker himself. Good, Percy doesn't want to let him have that honour.
He took a breath. Then another.
When he got sufficiently calm, he concentrated on the blood inside the warehouse. There's actually no way for him to differentiate which one is which without seeing them with his own eyes but that's risky. He can't let this opportunity go and he certainly can't let that clown know that he's coming for him.
Unfortunately for them, this is childsplay for Percy.
When he said he experimented in Tartarus, he meant that he umm… experimented.
It always made him feel some kind of way, especially with the promise Annabeth had him make. ‘Some things aren't meant to be controlled, Percy.’ she said. Well, easy for her to say. She didn't have to stay in the pit and even if she did, it'd still be his responsibility. So what, he should just have let them die?
He should just die because of a promise he made to a girl in the living world when he was in hell and lacked resources? There wasn't any water in Tartarus, what else was he supposed to do? All that promise did was make him feel guilty for surviving. For breaking a promise that made no sense. So he completely disregarded it after realising that she doesn't get to decide which substances are allowed to be controlled and which are not on a completely arbitrary basis. Neither does he, or anyone else.
What he did after that was surviving and he doesn't regret it one bit. Which means that he can basically control anything with water in it. Most things, he amended. He wasn't sure about ichor. He wasn't sure the immortals he manipulated did what he willed them to do because of the moisture in their body or the ichor. Does ichor even have water in it? He didn't get that many test subjects and the ones he got weren't very cooperative so he had to strike fast and stay alive rather than play mad scientist.
He found every single body in that warehouse, noting that all of them were on the ground level except two, who were probably on the catwalks. He made the blood flow to their heads non existent until he heard bodies hitting the floor and then released it from his control.
Hmm. They all still have heart beats as far as he could tell.
“You're welcome, assholes.” He said to no one as he made his way to the bodies. Oh excellent. Everyone alive, everyone down.
If he didn't want to make it painful, he'd have ended it right there. As it were, he needed somewhere to work uninterrupted.
He didn't just run into killing Joker without a plan though. It's easy and most of the hard work was already done.
Percy tied him up and got out the way he came. No one was following them, no one saw him. Is the bat really not gonna send the cops to arrest this clown?
Doesn't matter. All the better for him.
He went into the water with an air bubble around his quarry. Jesus, is this it? Did no other relatives of his victims want to kill him? Why is he the first to try?
They were far away from the docks and on the seabed by the time he woke up. His eyes widened in surprise but other than that didn't show any signs of distress. Not that he could see anything down there.
Percy wisely gagged him when he tied him up. The last thing he wants is to listen to his psychotic ramblings. And if he heard anything else about Robin from his mouth, Percy might actually lose it.
Percy took the creative liberty to make a crowbar our of water and had it frozen solid.
That's what he did to Jason, wasn't it? Beat his baby within an inch of his life with no care as to the fact he was just a child. If he wanted to hurt Batman, he should have done that without bringing children into it. Especially Percy's children.
“Your act is old,” Percy said, contempt dripping from his words “uncreative and boring.”
He narrowed his eyes in anger and started thrashing in his bonds.
Percy scoffed. What's he going to do after getting free? Go out of the air bubble and drown? He's completely fine with that.
“Your plans are not clever.” he said with disgust audible in his voice. Oh, he's spitting mad now. He's saying something through the gag that Percy couldn't be bothered to listen.
“Your outfit is as dull as your wit.” He made a disgusted face but he couldn't see it so he made sure he sounded like he thought that this clown was nothing but the dirt under his shoes.
Nothing but the dirt under Jason's shoes.
He gave himself one second to enjoy the pure unadulterated fury on his face before he started beating him with the crowbar thinking of how Jason must have felt. How much it must have hurt his son.
He killed Percy's son.
Jason, who was good and wanted to be a hero.
Jason, who was protecting Gotham, who wanted to go to college, who loved books and cooking and who was getting closer to his brother.
Jason, who Percy was going to take on a vacation after he left his son alone to deal with this psychopath.
He stopped. Couldn't have him dead that fast. He dissolved the crowbar lest he felt the need to beat him to death.
But the clown just laughed. He was laughing through the beating too, Percy belatedly realised.
Percy just waited for him to stop.
His laughter turned into wheezing and then he stopped. Oh, good. That was getting annoying.
“You are just one of the hundred other clowns in the city who no one cares about, who means nothing.” He made sure his voice had contempt in it. And then a mocking laughter. “Just another clown.”
Oh, if Percy thought he saw fury on his face before, he was wrong.
Like he said when he was quietly seething about the rogues when his son was still alive, this clown wouldn't last a single night in actual hell.
Percy concentrated and tried to focus on his blood which was actually quite hard with all the water around him but after a bit of effort, he finally took control of it. He actually doesn't have any experience with the human body. All his experiments were on monsters. Some of them were humanoid, sure. But that's about it. So he doesn't know the best way of hurting them, seeing as he didn't experiment even on monsters to hurt them. Sometimes yes, but the best way to torture? No, he didn't need it.
He only needed to control them to kill them effectively.
But he can learn. Besides, how hard could it be?
He willed the blood to flow in the opposite direction in that thing's arms.
The effect was immediate.
Well, that worked wonderfully. But does he really want to make it last? He doesn't want look at that thing's disgusting face any longer than he has to and torture really isn't his thing. He just wants it hurt like how the explosion hurt Jason.
He willed the blood to become needles from the inside, which from the reaction must have hurt really badly, and pierce his skin from the inside.
Percy could feel the pain from the guttural scream he let out through the gag and the way his body reacted. Okay, thank the Gods.
That seemed incredibly painful. He felt a little sick. Torture really isn't his thing.
He swallowed the bile rising in his throat and took solace in the fact that he's hurt him enough to not think that he's let that clown go easily from the whimpering sound he kept making.
How many people has he killed? Tortured? Children and innocent people? His own son who made the decision to not only be decent but to also help others at the risk of his own life.
Percy composed his sound once more.
“No one will find your body. There will be nothing to find. No one will know of your death. You'll fade into obscurity.” he said.
His voice was cold. Hard. He's stating facts. Not picking a fight.
“But my son's legacy will remain. Forever.”
Before the clown could even make a noise Percy drew his drakon bone sword and cut his head off in one clean motion.
Percy wished it made him feel better. He has the satisfaction of knowing that he killed the thing that dared to kill his baby but that's it. Of course that's it, what did he think, that Jason was going to magically come back to life because he killed that thing?
He won't ever feel better. He might feel less like killing himself or destroying everything in sight because the pain becomes a little too much sometimes but he's never going to feel better.
Jason's death broke something in him that none of the other deaths he witnessed didn't.
He didn't want to stay there anymore with the body of the thing that killed his son. He burned the body in the air bubble while staying outside of it in the filthy water and screamed himself hoarse.
His son was dead and he killed the thing that killed Jason. Now, what?
Who's going to take this ache from his chest? When will he finally be able to breathe without it hurting?Will he ever be able to look at Dick without remembering the pain of losing Jason?
He sobbed on the seabed until the body was burned. It was unnecessary, he could have just left it there with a weight on top and no one would have known anything. But he couldn't allow it. There will be no remains of his son's killer to be found. No body, no evidence.
He made the executive decision of emerging far away from the docks where they were last found.
No one will ever even find the ashes, for he buried it deep under the seabed. It was overkill, but he doesn't feel bad about that decision.
It was way past dawn when he made his way out. The day didn't feel any different. The city didn't feel any cleaner for the filth he removed the night before. It didn't hurt any less. His son was still dead.
Gods, Percy hopes his mom knows that he isn't dead. That he's still alive somewhere. He wouldn't want her to ever go through this horrible pain but he knows, realistically this is probably how she felt when his friends let her know that he was dead or lost, or whatever they said. They wouldn't have told her about the pit, would they?
He doesn't know, and he doesn't know which is worse.
He walked through the city that was his home, the city for which his son died and had the insane urge to sink it to the bottom of the ocean.
It was almost noon when he woke up underneath a tree in the manor grounds feeling worse than he ever did. Empty and aching.
He remembered the events of the previous night and only felt a strange detachment. It gave him no pleasure and it gave him no pain. Didn't make him happy or sad. Just like killing monsters, he mused.
Only the relief that the danger is over. Except this time the danger took everything from him before he got rid of it. He remembered killing the minotaur with his bare hands and the horn he broke off from it after he thought it killed his mother. It should still be in cabin three.
He went to the underworld to get her back. He can't go to the underworld to get his son back.
His mom would have loved Jason. He wondered if his mother thought about going to get him back. Nico should know that his soul isn't in the underworld, so they probably think he's alive. Or they'll think that demigods who die in Tartarus won't make it to the underworld. He's the first one as far as he knows.
None of the thoughts swirling around in his head help him. They only serve to hurt him in new ways. The pain of his son's absence, the guilt of his death, the guilt of his mother's hurt because he's the reason she would hurt just like he's hurting.
'Moral wounds have this peculiarity - they may be hidden, but they never close; always painful, always ready to bleed when touched, they remain fresh and open in the heart.' Jason once read that to him, and he explained it so very well for someone who didn't have much life experiences. He'll never have those experiences now and Percy's heart is ready to bleed where every memory of Jason is a touch that opens the wound. He does not begrudge the wound it's freshness. It will remain fresh until Percy's dead, maybe even beyond.
It's all too much. But he's still so empty.
He's craving something, anything. Is that why Bruce took up drinking?
He sat in the shower as long as he could and when the water failed to give him what he wanted, he searched the manor. Maybe the pain of Jason's absence will sate the craving.
It doesn't.
His feet take him to Bruce's room. He was sleeping but wakes up when Percy invites himself in, and doesn't ask him to leave. Only stared at him with tired, devastated eyes. He doesn't wake up, doesn't greet him or ask him why he's there.
He doesn't ask him if he killed their son's murderer. He doesn't ask if he had something to do with his vanishing.
He doesn't ask if Dick is doing okay, if Percy's okay. Maybe he asked Dick himself or maybe he had more sense than to ask him if he's okay after his brother's death.
He's still so very empty. The craving in him gets to the point where he can't differentiate it from whatever the rest of him is made of, if there is anything left of him that's not pain or emptiness.
His teeth hurt with it and he gives in to the urge to crawl over Bruce and bite his throat and draw blood. Bruce bares his throat as if it would save him from the pain. Percy waits for it to do anything, lets his lips feel his pulse and remain there until he can no longer feel the ache in him, but it doesn't stop whatever he's feeling.
Percy stares into grey- blue eyes with desperation and feels the craving like a missing limb. The craving that seemed to be reflected in those clever eyes looking right back at him with hopes of… of what?
He can't sate it anymore than Bruce can, whatever hunger they are feeling can't be sated, it cannot be done. Not by each other, but it doesn't stop Percy from wanting to have his beating heart between his teeth.
He settles for lying next to Bruce and staring at the ceiling hoping for a dead son to come back.
Maybe being Robin gave him magic.