Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dick tapped a nonsensical rhythm on the steering wheel as he waited for the light to turn. Gotham traffic was notoriously terrible to drive in, but New York was a different beast entirely. Usually, driving solo helped calm his nerves, give him a few minutes to himself before he had to put on a mask, either as Dick Grayson or Nightwing, but not today. Instead, all the silence did was intensify his spiraling thoughts.

Maybe I should have let Tim come with me, he thought for a moment, before shaking his head. No, that wouldn’t have helped with the goal of this particular trip, as nice as it might have been to have someone to commiserate with. Really, it shouldn’t have been him in the car at all. It should have been Bruce, but he’d been pulled into some vague last minute meeting that Dick was only about halfway convinced actually existed, and even less so that it actually required Bruce’s presence. In his experience, having a “meeting” was Bruce-speak for, “I don’t know how to emotionally handle this and I want you to soften the blow.” Which, fair, but it still didn’t make Dick any less annoyed when yet another car honked from somewhere behind him.

“It won’t make the light change.” he muttered to himself, before glancing over at the folder he’d hastily stuffed between his seat and the middle console earlier that morning. He’d memorized its contents, and plenty more that didn’t show up in the admittedly very sparse file of one Perseus Jackson. 

Age seventeen, with a birthday about six months out, in the middle of August. Biological child of Sally Estelle Jackson-Blofis, currently in a coma due to a suspiciously vague “accident”, and an unnamed father. By all rights, the kid should have been able to become emancipated or taken under the legal guardianship of Paul Blofis, his stepfather and Sally's current husband. 

Dick sighed again.

Perseus Jackson should be living with his family after such a tragedy, close to where his mom had been hospitalized. Instead, he was scheduled to be picked up by one Dick Grayson as he was now under the legal guardianship of one Bruce Wayne. It turned out that New York’s social services were just as screwed as Jersey's, because all it took was a few phone calls and the liberal use of the name Wayne for the kid to be placed in the care of a second cousin he hadn’t even known about. 

“Possible ties to the Court of Owls,” Bruce had explained, when he dropped the fact that he would be “taking in” the kid. “A globe-spanning threat centuries in the making.”

And sure, the circumstances surrounding Perseus’, well everything, were definitely suspicious. Went missing at age twelve, along with his mother, only to be found on the other side of the country with his best friend and another girl who had temporarily been a missing person’s case several years prior. Allegedly kidnapped, though, for all Bruce’s digging, they couldn’t find out who had taken them or how the hell Sally was recovered. Accused of blowing up the Saint Louis Arch, kicked out of over half a dozen schools for a variety violent behaviors, including blowing up a classroom. Then, to top it all off, reported missing again, this time by his mother, at age sixteen, for several months, before she reported him being “found”— despite the fact that he’d been allegedly sighted in Greece after she’d told police to call off the search. 

And that was just the boy in isolation. The more they’d dug into it, the more horrified Dick had become. A string of missing and quietly “resolved” missing persons cases involving children spanning back decades, possibly tied to an establishment called Delphi Strawberries (located in upstate New York) and a private college in California, New Rome University. Not only that, but the kids who passed through these locations, particularly the one on the East Coast, tended to never reappear. Some had death certificates quietly filed, with no record of any autopsy or funeral, others just…vanished.

So, when Bruce had discovered that he was not only related to one of the children involved in this…trafficking circle? cult? international threat? but that the boy’s only legal guardian had recently become unable to care for him, he’d swooped in. A few calls and some paperwork later, Dick was parking outside of the Jackson-Blofis’ apartment.

Dick trudged up the stairs like a man on death row. Part of him said he was doing the right thing. Perseus had clearly been caught up in something dangerous, the lack of any medical record after twelve was proof enough of that. He was saving him, removing him from a situation that was clearly not good for him. On the other hand, Paul Blofis had turned up squeaky clean. He’d never been involved in any of it, as far as the Bats could tell. And here Dick was about to be the one to tear them apart in the wake of one of the worst things imaginable. 

Well, technically, Bruce had been the one to do the tearing, Dick was just the one to carry out the order. 

He paused in front of the apartment door. He remembered what it had been like to be ripped away from Haly’s— the only home he’d even known after a tragedy. And it worked out, he told himself, Without Bruce… he didn’t let the thought continue. What’s done was done. Legally, Perseus couldn’t remain with his stepfather. He’d stalled long enough. With a steadying breath, Dick knocked on the door.

It swung open to reveal a frazzled and clearly distraught man. Blofis, Dick recognized him from his file. The one B had put together, obviously, not the pitiful folder CPS had put together, which Dick now held in his right hand. 

He mustered up a smile, despite how sick it made him feel. “Hi, I’m Dick Grayson, I’m here to pick up Perseus?” he let his voice tick up and the end just a smidge, in an attempt to soften the blow. Based on the way Paul’s expression tightened slightly, it hadn’t worked. 

“Yes-yes, please come in, he’s just,” the man cleared his throat, “getting his things.”

Dick stepped into the clearly well-loved apartment. Plants that looked like they had been robustly cared for until recently sat in multicolored pots around the kitchen and living room. Pictures hung from the walls and were haphazardly attached to the fridge with all manner of magnets, tape, and, in one case, a small metal spike.

Dick watched as Paul walked over the couch in the living room area. There was no real division between it and the kitchen, so he settled for leaning against the counter to give them some vague air of privacy. On the couch sat a toddler girl. Estelle, Paul’s biological child with Sally, if Dick recalled. On either side of her small frame sat two teenage boys. One so pale he could rival Tim’s complexion in winter, and the other with brown curls and a rasta cap. To the side of the couch stood a blonde girl, who’d immediately locked her gaze on Dick when he’d entered the apartment. 

“Gaze” was putting it nicely, it was more of a dagger-sharp glare that rocked him more than he’d care to admit. Her eyes were a steely grey and her thumb was rubbing circles into the final figure’s shoulder as he crouched in front of the couch. Perseus. 

He also looked like he might cry, but was putting up a valiant effort to hide it from his sister. He was passing over what looked to be a small horde of knick-knacks and trinkets— some of which Dick was pretty sure were too small for a toddler.

“—and be good, okay? Listen to Grover, and Annabeth, and Nico.”

The toddler—Estelle’s— face was flushed red and streaked with tears.

“Don’t go,” she sobbed, “don’t go.”

Dick felt something in his heart break as he watched Perseus’ facade crack slightly as he picked her up into a hug.

“I don’t want to, angel, I promise.”

Paul moved to hug them both from the side, holding them both the way Bruce sometimes held Dick and his siblings when they’d been seriously injured. The two boys, Nico and Grover, stood to join them, while the girl— Annabeth, he recalled— only shifted to put herself slightly between Dick and everyone else, continuing her icy glare.

Eventually, Perseus broke away, handing his sister to Paul, all while she wailed. 

“You have your meds?” Annabeth asked. His file hadn’t said anything about being on any kind of medication, but now wasn’t really the time. Nevertheless, Dick filed it away for a later date.

“Yeah,” rasped the teen.

“Phone?”

“Yep.”

“Deoderant?” the boy in the rasta cap cut in. Based on the waver of his voice and the way Perseus shot him a watery smile, it must have been some kind of inside joke.

“Yeah, G-man, I do.”

Annabeth pressed a kiss onto his cheek. A piece of information Dick also filed away for later, potential conversation starter maybe? Or would that be too touchy?

“Call me,” she ordered, “every day, I mean it.”

“I swear,” he said. There was an odd weight to his words.

“I’ll handle this,” she said, “we all will.” The non sequitur threw Dick slightly. Handle the care of Estelle, like Percy had mentioned? Was she talking about the Waynes having custody over him? Something else entirely? 

Before he could follow that train of thought, Perseus took a step forward towards Dick. It was the first time he’d gotten a good look at the boy’s eyes. They were sea green and the irises almost seemed to roil, like the ocean on the stormy day.

“Well?” Perseus spat.

“Are-are you ready?”

“No,” he replied with the same level of venom, “but it’s not like I have a choice.” 

If possible, the horrible curl of guilt in Dick’s stomach twisted even further as he led him out the door.

While Perseus hadn’t really offered any resistance to leaving, he certainly made a show of not going quietly. He stomped down the stairs to the street level, and the walls of the building seemed to hiss with his anger. 

When they reached the car, Dick paused. “Do you want to put anything in the back?”

“No.”

“Are you sure? There’s not a ton of space—”

Without a word Persesus slumped into the passenger seat, shoved his bulging duffle bag by his feet, and placed his backpack between his knees.

In a strange way, it almost reminded Dick of Jason, when he’d first come to stay at the manor. All anger, aggression, and fear. Except Perseus had a reason to be furious with Dick, specifically, not just as an extension of Bruce.

After about fifteen minutes of awkward silence, Dick turned to the kid.

“Perseus—”

“Percy. Nobody calls me Perseus.” he snapped.

Dick took a deep breath. “Percy, look, I know this isn’t ideal,”

He scoffed at that.

“And it isn’t how I wanted it to be either…but…”

“But this is how it is,” Percy finished sarcastically, “Yeah, I’ve heard that before.”

“I really am sorry,” Dick pushed on, “about your mom, obviously, but also because—”

“Because you're taking me away.” The venom in Percy’s voice had lessened slightly. He sounded miserable.

“Because I wish I didn’t have to. I- it was supposed to be Bruce.” It was a lame excuse and Dick knew it. 

“Yeah.” was all Percy said before letting his eyes drift to the window.

The rest of the trip was as silent as it was uneventful, with the exception of when they drove past the Hudson. Dick could have sworn Percy gave it a little wave as they drove, his eyes shining with unshed tears. 

It was only when they rolled to a stop in front of the manor and Percy climbed out of the car that Dick spoke again. 

“Look, I know this sucks, but you’re stuck here at least until you turn eighteen, so why not make the best of it?”

Percy shot him a look. “Sure.” he responded, dryly.

Dick had hardly lifted the door knocker when the front door swung open.

“Master Richard,” Alfred greeted, “Master Perseus.”

“Just Percy’s fine,” he mumbled.

Alfred nodded, “Very well, please do come in.” He led them inside towards the master staircase. “My name is Alfred Pennyworth, though you may call me ’just Alfred’, to borrow your turn of phrase, I am the butler and caretaker of the house, should you require anything, please alert me and I shall do my best to resolve it.”

Percy eyed Alfred with slight suspicion as he spoke. “Sure.” he said, “Hey, is there anywhere I can put my stuff?”

Alfred nodded again, “Right this way. Master Richard, if you would help young Master Percy with his bags?”

Percy’s grip on his duffel tightened. “It’s fine, really.”

Alfred shot Dick a glance. “If you’re sure.”

He followed as Alfred led Percy up the steps and through the hallways of the manor, pointing out important rooms. Percy seemed overwhelmed with the sheer amount of space, which Dick could sympathize with. Eventually, they reached the family hallway.

“If it is suitable, you may take up residence in the room across from Miss Cassandra’s.”

Percy shifted his weight uneasily. “Um, is it possible that I could have a room a little further away from everyone?”

Dick and Alfred exchanged another look. The implications of the request could be worrisome, or it could just be he wasn’t comfortable sleeping next to total strangers.

“I’m a really loud sleep talker.” he continued quickly.

Ah, Dick realized, Nightmares. 

Waking up screaming was not exactly an uncommon occurrence in Wayne Manor, but Percy had no way of knowing that. Even if he hadn't been tied up in whatever organization Bruce was investigating, he’d clearly been through a lot.

“Of course,” Alfred replied, and led Percy to a room a few doors down from any of the Wayne family’s.

“Dinner will be served at six, you are free to settle in, explore the manor or grounds, or seek out Master Richard until then.”

Percy nodded, and before Dick could open his mouth to add onto Alfred, he all but slammed the bedroom door shut.

Dick sighed for the umpteenth time.

Well that went well. 

Chapter Text

Percy was furious. No, Percy was enraged. Whatever Achilles had pulled at Troy had nothing on the horrible storm that roared inside his own chest.

Everything had been fine, great, even. He’d gotten all three of the required rec letters to attend New Rome with Annabeth in the fall. His nightmares were getting better, and he was able to sleep alone more nights than not. And to top it off, Paul had asked if he wanted to be adopted. Or, well, he’d phrased it as, “Will you let me be your dad?” Which was sappy, and so what if Percy had cried into his shoulder and they’d hugged it out until his mom called them both for dinner.

But, of course, because the universe hated him, it all came crashing down.

His mom had been making semi-regular trips to Hecate’s mansion in order to read from her library, because the Jackson-Blofis abode had pretty much become the unofficial “last stop” for all demigods en route to camp— she’d wanted to make sure she was able to fend off the monsters that were (sometimes literally) knocking down her front door. His mom wanted to protect the kids— old and new— in their final, and often most dangerous, leg of the journey. A selfless helper in the last struggle. And, as it always was, her selflessness was her downfall.

Whenever Percy closed his eyes, he saw it all in slow-motion. 

He walks into the library. He should have thrown away that stupid key when he had the chance, when did the gods’ “gifts” ever end well?

His mom looks up from a scroll and smiles. She always smiles at him. He’s put her through so much and she still loves him— why?

He walks over to the desk she’s sitting at. When will he learn that being close to people only gets them hurt?

She stands to greet him, pushing the scroll aside. How many times had she thrown herself in the way of danger for his sake?

A light begins to pour from the centuries-old linen. How many times in his life had others done the same?

Her eyes widen. She is afraid, but never for herself. Always for him, for his friends, for the people she loved.

He runs toward her, but he’s not fast enough. He’s never fast enough, not at twelve with the minotaur, not at fourteen to stop Annabeth falling off a cliff, or pushing Bianca out of the way, not even at fifteen when Charlie gives him a sad smile and mouths zero.

The room explodes with light, and he’s thrown against the wall. 

His mother’s body lies motionless on the floor. 

Percy screams.

Beyond that is a blur. Some well-meaning mortal jogger called 911 after hearing the commotion and his mom was rushed to Lenox Hill Hospital. He didn’t remember the ambulance ride, or entering the hospital, or any of the questions the doctors asked, only the overwhelming rush of relief when they told him she was still breathing.

“Not dead,” Nico had confirmed over the phone. “Just… missing. Like her soul is somewhere else.”

That relief was quickly dispelled when an honest-to-gods social worker showed up less than a week later and informed them that Percy was being placed under the care of Sally’s second cousin, who he’d never heard of in his life, due to “the circumstances”— whatever in Hades’ name that meant. Paul had protested, but the woman stiffly informed him that, since he wasn’t technically Percy’s legal guardian until the adoption went into effect, he didn’t really have a choice in the matter.

Now, as Percy stood in the room he’d been offered in his third cousin’s (second cousin once removed? In all his years at camp, he’d never really gotten the whole family tree thing, things like technicalities mattered less when one of your first cousins was a literal goatskin) house, he had a feeling that the “circumstances” the social worker had mentioned had less to do with the mysterious nature of his mom’s coma and more to do with the absolute monster-hoard level of money they had.

Not to mention how Dick— he still thought that was a weird ass name, even his birth certificate had Perseus on it— had mentioned he’d be staying here “at least until you turn eighteen,” not “once your mom recovers,” not “when your stepdad gets custody,” his eighteenth birthday. 

Percy had been around too long to believe in coincidences. Even if these people really were related to his mom, why reach out now? Why go after Percy specifically? They clearly had cash to burn, they had a freaking butler for crying out loud. So where had this benevolent and disgusting wealthy branch of the family been when his maternal grandparents died, leaving his mom an orphan? Or when they were barely scraping by when he was a kid? Or any of the other countless times he’d inadvertently made national news while questing?

But now that his mom— his protector for as long as he’d been alive— was out of commission, they swooped in to snatch him away from his actual family. Keeping him from his loved ones and from trying to find a cure for his mom.

His mood was not improved by the fact that Gotham must have had the most polluted water on the face of the planet, and Percy had swum in the Hudson River, willingly— hell, Percy had swum in more than his fair share of rivers in the Underworld— and none of them felt as disgusting as this. It felt like his pores were clogged with nothing but scum and gunk. A soft, but unwelcome pressure pushing in on him anytime he tried to send his senses out beyond himself.

Percy let out a soft groan and rubbed his face. Anger at the situation would get him nowhere, he needed to focus. Find out what these Waynes were planning and save his mom. 

With a little more force than was probably necessary, Percy tossed his bags to the floor and got to work.

He didn’t like to think of himself as a suspicious person by nature, but a quick toss of the room helped to settle his nerves. He started with the normal things, inspecting the locks on the windows and doors (all seemed to only lock from the inside), inspecting the bathroom mirror, and testing the sturdiness of the furniture. Percy knew how to handle himself, and he had no doubt that he could take on the— seemingly mortal— members of the household, but it didn’t hurt to know his options if he ever needed to barricade himself inside. 

He didn’t bother checking for any cameras or recording devices. While dealing with technology had gotten easier as he’d gotten older (mostly thanks to the Hephaestus Cabin’s efforts in Bunker Nine), he trusted his general demigod-ness to put any un-tinkered with tech on the fritz.

Once he was satisfied, Percy moved onto what Leo had once called, “the bullshit search”. Checking under the desk for any curses carved in, making sure there weren’t any invisible nets hiding in the bedsheets, and inspecting the bronze dog-shaped book ends for anything that might suggest they were more lively than they first appeared.

After about forty-five minutes, he completed his full search of the bedroom, its connected bathroom, and the closet. He wished for all the world that Annabeth were here. He was sure there must have been spaces he missed or things he forgot the check for, but he was just so tired. The same way he felt on the days he woke up with memories hanging off him like a dark fog.

Percy slumped to the floor next to his bags. He’d been running on empty since that day at the Manse. Racing between the hospital and camp and the apartment, trying to figure out what had happened to his mom and how to fix it. Comforting Estelle, who was old enough to know her mom was missing but not enough to really understand why, and generally running himself into the ground. 

That morning had been the final straw, when she’d begged him not to go as he passed over every blessing, major or minor, he’d ever received. Every token of protection, every holy symbol he’d collected over the years. Everything but his camp beads and Riptide. It did nothing to soften the blow of him leaving.

He blinked the memory away harshly. Do not float, he told himself sternly, Now is not the time to go away in your head, they are counting on you.

With that, he shuffled his stuff into the corner near one of the windows and began to sift through his backpack. Carefully, he began laying things on the ground. The photo of Annabeth at the Grand Canyon, slightly worn from its travels with him, but still carefully preserved. A little figure of Bessie that Tyson had forged him out of celestial bronze, homemade vegan granola bars from Juniper and Grover, a half a starting deck of Mythomagic cards Nico had lent him and never taken back, a scribbled crayon drawing from Estelle, and a candle he’d grabbed from his mom’s room before he’d left.

It was one of those three-wick Yankee candles. Beachside Bliss. He'd pointed it out to his mom as a joke while they were out on an errand and she’d bought it. Returning to his bag, he dug out a ziplock bag with a pack of matches in it that Annabeth had helpfully labeled KEEP DRY in her affectionate chicken-scratch. Percy had never gotten on well with matches, though whether it was true user error or a side effect of being the son of the sea god, he’d never been able to tell. 

It took a few strikes, but eventually, he managed to light the match and spread the flame to the candle. Carefully extinguishing the match (it would be just like him to set his suspicious second-cousin-or-whatever’s house on fire before he’d even gotten to the bottom of everything), he cleared his throat and glanced around at the assembled items.

“Hey,” he said. “Um, I know it isn’t a hearth, or even like, a proper fire, but I could really use a little bit of home right now.”

He sprinkled a piece of one of the granola bars over the flame. Percy rarely actually prayed to the gods anymore. Sometimes he sent a thought out for his dad, or occasionally to one of the smaller, kinder deities he’d come across in his travels, but when he did actually pray, it was almost always to Hestia.

Percy closed his eyes for a moment, drinking in the beachy scent of the candle. It wasn’t quite the same as being in Montauk or standing on the edge of the lake at camp, but it was as close as he was going to get.

His reverie was broken by a knock at the door. Biting back an audible groan, Percy pushed himself up and opened the door. 

Dick Grayson smiled back at him, and he resisted the urge to glare back. Was it technically this guy’s fault Percy was here? No, but that did stop him from wishing he could sock the guy in the jaw. His smile was way too bright. Like Apollo-kid-at–7am kind of bright.

“Hey Percy,” Clearly he’d given up on the faux-remorse act from earlier, at least for the time being. “Alfred wants you to know that dinner’s ready, and I thought I’d-” He paused. “Is something burning?”

“Oh,” Percy said, “I, uh, lit a candle. I hope that’s okay.” He hadn’t even thought to ask. Most mortals were fine with recreational candle-burning, right? Paul was, but then again, Paul wasn’t exactly the best example of an average mortal. Unless the Waynes actually were monsters. Monsters with some kind of aversion to fire. He searched his brain for any memory of Monster Studies at camp that didn’t involve him napping or goofing off in the back. 

Dick once again pulled him back to reality. “No, no, it’s all good! Damian— that’s my youngest brother, you’ll meet him at dinner— burns candles too, sometimes.”

Despite his relaxed tone, Dick was clearly trying to peak into the room behind Percy. Considering he hadn’t even bothered to start unpacking his actual, possibly-incriminating stuff, Percy shifted slightly to let him see into the room. No need to tip them off to his suspicions so early on.

“Is that a shrine?” Dick’s voice was slightly more strained than it had been a moment ago.

“Huh?” Oh right. Candle surrounded by pictures and sentimental objects. Great job Jackson, now they’re going to think you're a nutjob.

He gave a somewhat awkward laugh. “I mean, I guess? It’s a religious thing. My mom and I are— I guess you’d call it pagan— it’s supposed to like, invite home and comfort into a space.” Percy was actually pretty proud of the lie. It was better than his “loud sleep-talker” excuse from earlier, in any case. So, when Dick’s expression didn’t change for a long moment, he started to panic. He hadn’t given anything too revealing away, had he? It was mostly the truth anyways, so why…

It was only then that he realised he hadn’t considered the idea that the Waynes might just be run-of-the-mill assholes. 

“Is there a problem with that?” Percy asked as he crossed his arms, defensively. The part of his brain that sounded like Annabeth on a good day screamed at him to stop agitating this clearly very powerful family, but he didn’t particularly care. Who was this guy to rip him away from the only life he’d ever known and then tell him he couldn’t light a damn Yankee candle?

Dick’s expression shifted rapidly. “Oh, no!” he said hurriedly. “Sorry, I was just lost in thought. We’ve got a lot of different practices— religious or otherwise— going on in this house.” he joked. “Just don’t leave it unattended for too long. Fire hazard, but I guess you know that.”

Percy relaxed his stance ever so slightly. Dick seemed sincere, and this really wasn’t a fight he wanted to start less than a few hours into his stay, so Percy nodded and followed Dick as he led him through the mansion’s— sorry, manor’s— winding hallways, presumably towards the dining room.

Dick talked as he walked. He reminded Percy of Leo, in a way. Always seeking to fill the space, to entertain anyone in his vicinity.

“Usually it’s just Bruce, Damian, and Duke living here full time, but the rest of us come and go pretty frequently. Tonight it’s going to be them, me, Tim, and Jay. I’m sure you’ve read some wild stuff about Bruce in the tabloids, but he’s not-”

“Actually, I haven’t.” Well, technically he and Annabeth had skimmed some of the more recent headlines, but they hadn’t really had time for a deep dive.

Dick paused and gave him an odd look. “Not into that stuff?” It was an innocent enough question, but his tone was strangely careful. 

Percy shook his head. “I kinda live under a rock.” He meant it as a joke, but based on the flicker of something that passed over Dick’s face before that irritating smile reappeared, it hadn’t landed.

“Well then, so you're on somewhat equal footing, since… they already told us some about you,” Percy wanted to roll his eyes. He was nearly an adult, he could handle Dick mentioning the social worker. “I’m Dick Grayson, oldest adopted child of Bruce Wayne. My first younger sibling is Jason, or Jay, he’s twenty-two. Next is Cassandra Wayne—”

“Like the prophet?” Percy blurted out before he could think better of it.

“What?” 

“Like, from the Iliad? Cursed to— nevermind, you were saying?” Great, now Dick was definitely going to think he was a freak, but hopefully he would chalk it up to “teen with a weird interest” and not something closer to the truth.

Dick gave him a sideways glance, but otherwise didn’t comment on his outburst. “Like I said, Cass is also twenty-two, then Tim Drake-Wayne, he’s your age. Then Duke Thomas, he’s technically Bruce’s ward, but he’s basically our brother and he’s fifteen. Finally, my youngest brother, Damian, he’s thirteen. We have a couple of other members who come and go, but they aren't legally B’s kids.”

Percy noted that Dick hadn’t listed this Jay person’s last name like the rest, but more worrying, to him at least, was his brief description of Wayne’s other non-adopted “ward”. How long had this Thomas kid been with this family? Why had Wayne been allowed to take in more children? Well, aside from the fact that he definitely pulled some strings in Percy’s case. 

He needed to get out of here, somewhere where Wayne’s resources couldn’t get him, but he needed to do it in a way that wouldn’t implicate Paul or cause him any trouble if Wayne decided to retaliate. He needed a plan, he needed to call Annabeth, he needed to save his mom—

“Here we are!” Grayson smiled as he gestured to the archway that led into the dining room.

Percy bit back yet another sigh. He needed to do all that, yes, but first, he needed to get through dinner.

Chapter Text

Every time Percy opened his mouth, Dick added another thing to his rapidly growing list of concerning things about the kid’s life. 

The candle thing had been a little odd, but he wasn’t exactly in the habit of judging other people for doing what they needed to feel safe. The living under a rock comment had been strange too, but then again, how many teenage boys kept up with high society gossip from a city they weren’t even from? His comment about Cass’ name was weird, but that could just be a special interest of his. All those things could be written off in isolation, but Dick was a detective, and Batman had trained him to look for patterns.

And there was one more thing that didn’t sit quite right with Dick.

Percy’s footsteps were silent. 

Not quiet, not lightfooted, silent. He moved like the Bats did, footsteps so soft, Dick might not even know he was there if he wasn’t looking directly at him. That kind of thing only came out of extensive practice, and that kind of dedication was usually born out of necessity. The need to not be noticed, to not draw attention to yourself.

It made him sick to think what kind of things Percy must have been through to make silence second nature.

But he couldn’t let that show now. Whatever Percy had been caught up in, he’d been there for a long time. He was clearly already wary of the fact that Bruce had stepped in, and they couldn’t afford him tipping off anyone higher up in his organization, whatever it might be.

So instead of pressing further, or wrapping the kid up into a hug, Dick smiled and gestured to the entrance to the dining room.

Percy’s eyes swept the room. It was eerily familiar to the way his siblings or teammates did. Checking exits, cataloging people, assessing threats. It made something in Dick’s heart twist even further.

What did they do to this poor kid?

“Master Percy, Master Richard. Good of you to join us.” Alfred greeted.

Percy gave him a small smile and looked back over at the table. Tim and Damian had already taken up their places across from each other at the table. Tim was frantically typing something on his phone while Damian glared on. 

“So, is it assigned seating or..?”

Tim looked up, gala smile plastered on before Dick could even blink. “No, you can sit wherever. We’re not super formal.” Despite his words, Tim gestured to the seat next to him as he spoke.

Smart, Dick thought. Out of all of them, aside from himself, Tim was the best at social graces. Besides, it’s probably good to keep him out of Damian’s range until they both adjust. Dick didn’t actually think his youngest brother would try to attack Percy over the dinner table— he had too much respect for Alfred to do that— but he wouldn’t put it past him to accidentally-on-purpose give their newest addition some bruises under the table.

Percy lowered himself into the chair next to Tim while Dick took up a spot across from him, ruffling Damian's hair as he did so.

“I’m guessing you’re Tim then? And Damian?”

Tim nodded and Damian scowled. 

“Obviously. And you are Perseus Jackson, I presume?”

Percy snorted at that. Damian frown deepened.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m not laughing at you,” Percy said with a smile, “I just usually don’t get full-named unless something is really wrong.”

“Wrong” like how Alfred used their middle names when telling Dick and his siblings off for tracking mud into the house? Or “wrong” like before a physical punishment?

Before Dick could follow that thought down to its dark and disturbing conclusion, Duke and Jason burst into the room. Jay was gesticulating wildly while Duke looked on with a grin. Something about what he’d been assigned for English class? That sounded about right for getting Jason off on a tangent. 

Despite the dramatics, Dick couldn’t help but notice he was still favoring his right foot ever so slightly. Which, by the Jaybird-pain-scale metric, meant that it hurt like hell, but he was either too proud or too stubborn to say anything. 

Jason made it all the way into his seat before he realised there was an extra head at the table. He blinked a few times, then turned to Dick.

“What, was it not enough for the old man to pick up a new brat to do my job, now he’s gotta have one to steal my style too?” he asked, gesturing to himself and then to Percy’s hair.

Dick had had a similar moment of comparison when he’d first seen Percy’s photo. Green eyes combined with a streak of white was more than enough to send alarm bells ringing in his head. But, after closer inspection, they didn’t actually seem that similar. Jason’s hair had a shock of pure white in it. It had the same texture as the rest of his hair, but it lacked any pigment whatsoever. Percy’s, on the other hand, seemed to be actual strands of grey hair. Wirey, like the kind that could come from prolonged stress. 

Tim sighed at Jason’s theatrics, once again pulling Dick back to the present moment. “This is Percy. His mom is Bruce’s second cousin and he’s staying with us while she’s in the hospital.”

Jason’s expression immediately sobered at that. Duke nodded sympathetically. “My parents are in the hospital too. Toxin-induced comas.” he said.

Something flashed across Percy’s face too fast for Dick to catch, but he hummed at Duke’s words.

“Shit kid, sorry.” Jason said.

Percy shrugged. “It’s alright.” he replied in a false-light tone.

Alfred appeared in the doorway, as if he’d been waiting to ease the tension. “Since Master Bruce seems to be running behind, we shall have to begin dinner without him.” With that he pushed in a small cart laden with dishes (the sight of which Dick would never not find funny) and began placing them on the table. 

Vegetable stew, several bowls of cut fruit, brown rice, and rolls — all things Dick recognized from Alfred’s (unfortunately well-tested) repertoire of food-sensitive recipes. Percy didn’t look malnourished or underweight, but he also hadn’t taken off the blue hoodie he’d been wearing when Dick picked him up. He was pretty tall, about six foot by Dick’s estimate, which was a good sign, and he was pretty sure he’d seen some kind of granola or power bar wrapper on his floor when he’d peaked into his room, but looks could be deceiving.

Dick blinked and realized that he’d been too in his own head to notice Percy standing up to help Alfred. 

“—just let him, it’s not worth it, trust me.”

Alfred smiled slightly at that. “Indeed my good boy. As Master Tim said, I quite enjoy ensuring that all of the wards of this house are well-fed. Though, if you feel so inclined, some assistance with the dishes afterwards would not go unappreciated.”

Percy nodded and retook his seat. Dick blinked a few more times, trying to center himself. He needed to be on his A-game if he wanted a hope of helping Percy and the rest of the kids who’d been caught up in this conspiracy.

After Alfred finished laying out the food and told them to dig in, the conversation began to move again. Tim and Duke asking Percy basic questions, with Jason or Dick occasionally chiming in.

“Favorite color?” 

“Blue.”

“Favorite place?”

“The beach. I like any body of water, but I prefer salt.”

“Do you surf?” Dick asked, recalling a few ill-fated outings with him and the Titans when he was younger.

Percy gave a real smile at that. “Yeah, it’s not great here, obviously, but I’ve been in California a couple times, and it was pretty sick.”

“Do you have family out there? That's quite a trip.” Dick kept his tone conversational, but the quick look Tim had shot him meant he’d picked up on it too. New Rome University was in California.

Percy made a so-so gesture with his hand. “My girlfriend’s dad lives not too far from the coast.”

Dick nodded. Girlfriend, likely the blonde girl, Annabeth. He’d need to check if they had anything on her later, the father too.

It almost felt like Percy was opening up, until the sound of a throat being cleared came from the entrance.

“Sorry to keep you all waiting,” Bruce had the decency to look at least halfway apologetic, as he took his place at the head of the table. “It’s good to finally meet you, Perseus. I’m sorry I couldn’t pick you up myself. I had something come up at the office.”

Jason scoffed something that sounded a lot like “liar” and Dick resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Percy only stared at Bruce with a hard expression. It looked like he was studying him, sizing him up. It was then that Dick realised Tim’s second reason for offering Percy the seat next to him, it gave the kid a buffer between himself and Bruce.

“Just Percy’s fine.” he said after a moment, voice carefully neutral.

B nodded. “Of course, I-”

“How long will Jackson be residing with us?” Damian snapped suddenly. Dick shot his youngest brother a look. He’d gotten the same briefing as the rest of them a few days ago, but had been less than enthused that a “low-life criminal” would be staying with them.

“Just until my mom gets better.” Percy responded at the same time Bruce said, “For the duration.”

Percy made a point to not look at Bruce. “My dad’s probably already heard about everything too, so he might try and speed up the process.”

The table fell silent at that. Dick cleared his throat awkwardly. “Percy, I don’t think Paul will be able to get custody, considering…everything.” 

Percy gave him a weird look. “Huh? No, my bio-dad.”

Dick’s eyes widened at that. Based on the sharp inhale to his right, Jason’s had too.

“I wasn’t aware your biological father was…in the picture.” Bruce said after a moment, sending subtle glances around the table. 

Dick shook his head slightly. Percy hadn’t mentioned his father at all. Even more worryingly, they hadn’t been able to pin anything down about the identity of his other biological parent. Percy’s father hadn’t been listed on his birth certificate, there was no trace of a custody agreement with Sally, or even a phone number listed for an emergency contact in any of the countless schools Percy had attended.

Avoiding the law was one thing, but avoiding Batman? Now that was worrying, especially if he was involved enough in Percy’s life for his son to be considering the possibility of him “speeding up the process” of getting him out of the Waynes’ custody. 

Percy shrugged, not noticing the panic spreading across the table. “Yeah, he wasn’t really for the first like, twelve years of my life, but he tries.” He paused and began fiddling with a necklace that had been previously hidden by his hoodie.

Twelve. That was when Percy had been reported missing for the first time, right? By an unidentified man, who’d never been caught? Had that been Percy’s father’s first attempt at “trying” with his son?

“We’ve been getting better,” Percy continued, “or, I thought we were.” He glared into his bowl as he finished speaking.

Is he angry because his father didn’t fight for custody after Sally’s accident or something else? 

“Do you have a way of contacting him? I’m sure he must be worried about you.”

Percy shook his head, glare still fixed on his soup. “No, he just kind of shows up. I’ve tried to send him messages before, but he just…” He waved his hand vaguely in the air. “you know?”

Now that sent alarm bells ringing in Dick’s head. Domestic abuse was an unfortunate commonplace in their line of work, and Percy’s description of his dad, combined with some of his earlier behaviors, was checking way too many of the boxes for comfort. At the very least, Percy’s relationship with his father sounded emotionally neglectful.

“That sounds like it could be…disorenting.” Tim said slowly. Dick noticed how his eyes flicked over to Jason, who had gone uncharacteristically still, as he spoke. Jason’s gaze, however, was locked on Percy. 

“Percy, do you know where your father lives? Perhaps I could get in touch with him about your case?”

Percy looked up at that, a more thoughtful look on his face. “Um, somewhere in the Meditarianian, I think?”

Now that was interesting. It would certainly explain why he didn’t have a custody agreement with Sally if he lived full-time in another country and why he might not have intervened with Percy’s placement. If he was difficult to get a hold of, he likely would have found out about Sally’s hospitalization after the decision had been made.

But, Dick thought. It doesn’t explain any of Percy’s behavior.

Percy didn’t seem scared at the idea of Bruce contacting his father, despite his indication that their relationship had recently soured. Which meant either Percy felt he had no reason to be scared of his father or he didn’t think they had a chance of actually reaching him.

“Do you know his full name?” Bruce’s voice had the slightest edge of tension to it.

Dick wanted to snap at him for not even pretending like this wasn’t an interrogation, but he held his tongue. If Percy was in a sharing mood, Dick wasn’t going to say no to new information.

“Um…” A blank look passed over Percy’s face.

Dick’s brow knit in confusion. Did Percy not know his (supposedly somewhat active in his life) father’s name? Did he just not want to tell them?

“Glaukos.” Percy said suddenly.

“Glaukos?” Bruce repeated.

“Yep,” Percy said, “it’s Greek.”

Damian scoffed. “And his surname? You must know—”

He was cut off when Jason kicked him under the table with his good leg.

“I…I don’t know his last name.” Percy admitted, eyes returning to his half-finished meal.

“It’s alright, kid. They shouldn’t have mentioned it.” Jason sent vicious glares at Bruce and Damian as he spoke, but his voice was gentle. The same way he spoke to the Alley kids.

Dick’s head spun with questions and theories as he attempted to resuscitate the easy conversation from earlier. Duke tried valiantly to include the other members of the table, but it quickly devolved into the two of them talking at each other. 

After an excruciating few minutes, Alfred apparently deemed the dinner beyond saving and began to clear the table. At his silent permission, Tim and Bruce all but sprung from the table, mumbling excuses about W.E. and headed towards Bruce’s office. Jason followed soon after with Damien in tow. 

Duke looked around awkwardly. “I- uh…have homework?” he asked more than said as he scrambled out of the room, leaving Dick and Percy alone at the table. 

Percy made his way to help with the dishes and Dick moved to follow, but Alfred stopped him.

“Master Richard,” he said, “I believe Miss Gordan called earlier while you were out. Perhaps you ought to call her back and catch up? So much has happened since you last spoke.”

Dick sent a glance over the butler’s shoulder into the kitchen. He’d been hoping to ask Percy some more questions in private.

“I assure you, Master Percy and I will manage just fine by ourselves.”

Dick nodded. He didn’t need to endanger the shaky, almost non-exsistent trust he had with the kid just yet. Besides, Alfred had a way of making people want to open up.

And Babs will have my ass if I don’t give her an update, he thought.

With that, Dick made his way down the hallway, towards the entrance to the cave, sending one last glance over his shoulder as he did.