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Chapter Text

Percy's last thought before the explosion was that his mom was going to kill him if he survived this.

His next coherent thought as he took in his situation was that he really should have listened to Annabeth about the whole "don't antagonize the telekhines" thing. But in his defense, how was he supposed to know that sea demon dogs could make weapons of mass destruction?

Getting blasted off a mountain by an explosion of your own making wasn't exactly on his bucket list, but here he was, hurtling through the air at speeds that would make Zeus twitchy. 

This was one of those moments where he really wished the ancient prophecies had mentioned something about "and by the way, you might get blasted across the country by an angry volcano god." It would've been nice to have some warning. The Oracle could be frustratingly vague, but "avoid mountains that might explode" seemed like a pretty basic courtesy to include.

The last thing he remembered was Mount Saint Helens erupting around him, the heat so intense it felt like his skin was melting off. He'd made the split-second decision to create a massive explosion of water to counter Typhon's prison breaking open. Not his smartest move, but hey—when had any of his plans ever qualified as "smart"?

Now, he was doing his best impression of a demigod missile - falling through darkness, the wind whipping past his ears at a speed that suggested the ground was going to be very unhappy to meet him. His whole body felt like it had been used as a punching bag by the Minotaur, then thrown into a blender for good measure. His clothes were more ash than fabric at this point, and he was pretty sure his eyebrows had been completely singed off.

The air rushed past him with a roar that drowned out everything else, including his own extremely dignified screaming. Time seemed to stretch and compress all at once, reality bending around him like taffy in a cosmic taffy-pulling machine (and wow, maybe the lack of oxygen was getting to his brain).

Then, just as he was starting to wonder if this was going to be his extremely embarrassing end – "Here lies Percy Jackson, died doing an unexpected skydiving routine without a parachute" – the darkness around him... shifted. It was like someone had grabbed the fabric of space and given it a good twist, sending him tumbling through what felt like ice-cold jello.

When he finally burst through whatever that was, the first thing he noticed was that the air smelled wrong. Not the clean, mountain air he'd been breathing moments ago, but something thick with pollution and what might have been fear. If fear had a smell. Which, given his life experiences, it probably did.

The second thing he noticed was that he was still falling.

"Oh, come on!" he managed to yell before gravity reasserted its opinion on where demigods should be – namely, not in the air.

The sky above was a strange orange-purple color, pollution and light pollution creating a haze that seemed to trap the city beneath it like a dome.

Water. He needed water. Preferably a lot of it, and preferably right now.

"Any time now, Dad," he muttered through gritted teeth, hoping Poseidon might decide to step in before his son became a demigod pancake. But the gods had been suspiciously quiet lately, and apparently, that trend was continuing.

The darkness below him started to take shape—buildings, lots of them, stretching out like a concrete jungle. But these weren't the familiar skyscrapers of Manhattan. These buildings were older, more Gothic, with gargoyles that seemed to leer at him as he plummeted past. The whole city had an aura of decay about it, like something rotting from the inside out.

"Please be water, please be water, please be water," Percy chanted as he spotted something glinting below. His prayers were answered—sort of. It was water, but it was also the most disgusting-looking harbor he'd ever seen. And considering he'd been in the East River, that was saying something.

He reached out with his powers, feeling the familiar tug in his gut as he tried to control the water below. It responded, but sluggishly, as if the water itself was too polluted to properly listen. The connection felt dirty, like trying to manipulate sewage instead of seawater. Still, it was enough to slow his descent from "definitely fatal" to "only mostly fatal."

Percy hit the water like a cannonball, and immediately regretted every life choice that had led him to this moment. The harbor water was thick with pollution, tasting like a mixture of motor oil, sewage, and things he really didn't want to identify. Even with his natural water resistance, he could feel how wrong it was.

He kicked to the surface, gasping for air and trying not to think about what he'd just swallowed. The shore wasn't far, thank the gods, but as he swam toward it, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching him. Multiple somethings, actually, with the kind of hungry gazes that suggested they weren't just admiring his swimming form.

Dragging himself onto the grimy dock, Percy took stock of his situation. His clothes were somehow even more destroyed than before, now featuring an exciting new layer of harbor scum. Riptide was still in his pocket, which was something. But his backpack with all his supplies was gone, probably scattered somewhere between Mount Saint Helens and... wherever this was.

The dock creaked beneath him, the wood rotting and splintered. Nearby warehouses loomed like ancient ruins, their windows broken and dark. Graffiti covered every surface, but not the usual tags and territory markers—these were more like warnings. "BEWARE," "STAY OUT," and other messages written in what Percy really hoped was red paint.

"Okay, Jackson," he muttered to himself, wringing out his shirt. "First step: figure out where you are. Second step: find a way back to Annabeth before she kills you for disappearing. Third step: maybe find a shower. Or ten."

A harsh laugh echoed from somewhere in the shadows, followed by the unmistakable sound of a knife being drawn.

"Well, well," a gravelly voice called out. "Look what the tide dragged in, boys."

Percy turned slowly, already reaching for Riptide. Three men emerged from the shadows between the warehouses, all sporting the kind of smiles that suggested they weren't part of the local welcoming committee. Their clothes were ragged but their knives looked well-maintained, which really said something about their priorities.

"I don't suppose you guys could point me to the nearest bus station?" Percy asked, pulling Riptide from his pocket but not uncapping it yet. "I'm kind of lost."

"Oh, you're lost alright," the leader grinned, showing several gold teeth. "This is Gotham, kid. And you just washed up in the wrong part of town."

Gotham. Great. Of all the places to land, he had to end up in the one city that made the Fields of Punishment look like a summer resort.

"Listen," Percy tried, backing up slightly. "I've had a really long day. Got blown up, fell through the sky, nearly died, swam in what I'm pretty sure was toxic waste... I'm not really in the mood for this."

The men spread out, moving to surround him. "That's funny," the leader said. "Because we're in exactly the mood for this."

Percy uncapped Riptide, the celestial bronze blade springing to life with its familiar glow.

The thugs exchanged glances, then burst out laughing. Which, rude.

"Kid's got a fancy letter opener," one of them laughed. "This'll be fun."

Percy looked down at Riptide, then back at the thugs. Right. Mortals. They couldn't see the sword for what it was. Which meant he couldn't actually use it on them anyway.

Percy sighed. He really didn't want to hurt mortals, but he also didn't want to get stabbed. Maybe he could just disarm them without—

A new sound cut through the night: sirens, lots of them, getting closer. The thugs hesitated, looking over their shoulders.

"Police?" one of them asked nervously.

"Worse," the leader growled. "The Bat's probably doing his rounds. We need to move."

The Bat? Percy didn't have time to wonder what that meant because the men were already advancing, clearly wanting to finish this quickly.

The first one lunged with his knife. Percy sidestepped, using the flat of his blade to knock the weapon away. The second came from behind, but Percy had been training for years—he dropped and swept the man's legs out from under him.

The leader proved smarter, keeping his distance and evaluating. "You've had training," he observed. "Military brat?"

"Summer camp, actually," Percy replied, then immediately regretted engaging in conversation because the first guy was back up and coming at him again.

The sirens were getting closer, casting occasional flashes of red and blue across the warehouse walls. Percy knew he needed to end this fast—the last thing he needed was to try explaining to the police why he was having a sword fight by the docks.

He reached out with his powers, feeling the polluted harbor water respond. It was like trying to control sludge instead of water, but it worked. A wave rose up behind him, and he sent it crashing over the dock. The thugs went down, sputtering and cursing as they were soaked with the foul water. Percy felt a little bad about that—nobody deserved to be doused with whatever was in that harbor.

Percy took advantage of their distraction to run. His body protested every movement—the explosion and fall had taken more out of him than he'd realized. But adrenaline was a wonderful thing, and he managed to put some distance between himself and the docks before ducking into an alley.

He leaned against the grimy wall, trying to catch his breath. His clothes were smoking slightly—residual heat from the explosion, probably—and every muscle felt like it was on fire. He needed to find somewhere safe to rest, to figure out his next move.

A shadow passed overhead, too large to be a bird. Percy looked up just in time to see a dark figure swinging between buildings, cape billowing behind it like wings.

"Right," Percy muttered, sliding down to sit on the dirty ground. "Gotham. City of criminals, corruption, and apparently people who dress like bats. This is fine. Everything's fine."

He closed his eyes, trying to think. He needed to contact Camp Half-Blood, let them know he was alive. But he had no drachmas for an Iris message, no mortal money for a phone call (not that using a phone would be smart anyway), and no idea where the nearest safe house or demigod-friendly location might be. For all he knew, he was the first demigod to ever end up in Gotham. Given the city's reputation, that wouldn't surprise him.

A newspaper blew past, and Percy grabbed it, hoping to at least confirm what day it was. The headline made him groan:

GOTHAM GAZETTE June 15th, 2008

He'd been unconscious for three days. Annabeth was definitely going to kill him.

The sound of footsteps made him tense, but these were different from the thugs—lighter, more purposeful. Percy got to his feet, Riptide ready, as a figure appeared at the entrance to the alley.

It was a girl, a few years older than him, with short red hair and sharp eyes that evaluated him quickly. She wore a leather jacket and carried herself like someone who knew how to handle trouble.

"You look lost," she said, her voice neutral but not hostile.

"What gave it away?" Percy asked. "The destroyed clothes or the general air of confusion?"

Her lips twitched slightly. "Both. Plus the fact that you're sitting in Crime Alley looking like you just went ten rounds with an explosion. That's usually a sign someone's not from around here."

"Crime Alley?" Percy repeated. "Please tell me that's just a nickname."

"Used to be Park Row," she shrugged. "But Gotham has a way of living up to its reputation." She studied him for another moment. "You need help."

It wasn't a question.

Percy considered his options. On one hand, trusting strangers in a city like this seemed like a bad idea. On the other hand, he was exhausted, injured, and completely out of his depth. And something about this girl reminded him of Thalia—that same aura of someone who'd seen too much but hadn't let it break them.

"I could use some directions," he admitted. "And maybe some information about where exactly I shouldn't go in this city. Also, possibly a change of clothes that doesn't smell like toxic waste."

She smiled slightly. "That's a long list. But lucky for you, I know a place where you can rest and get your bearings. I'm Barbara."

Percy hesitated only a moment longer before capping Riptide. "Percy. And... thanks. It's been a weird day."

"In Gotham," Barbara said, gesturing for him to follow her, "weird is just another word for Tuesday."

As they walked, Percy couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched again. But this time, when he looked up at the rooftops, he saw nothing but shadows and gargoyles.

He had a feeling things were going to get a lot more complicated.

———

Barbara's idea of a safe place turned out to be a small diner wedged between a pawn shop and what looked suspiciously like a front for something illegal. The neon sign flickered weakly, spelling out "Ma's Place" in buzzing red letters. Through the grimy windows, Percy could see a handful of customers hunched over their coffee cups, all carefully not looking at each other.

"Don't let appearances fool you," Barbara said, catching his skeptical look. "Ma Gunn's neutral territory. Even the worst of Gotham's criminals respect that. Plus, she makes the best pancakes in the city."

Percy's stomach growled at the mention of food, reminding him that he hadn't eaten since before the Mount Saint Helens incident. "Sold," he said. "Though I should probably mention I don't have any money."

Barbara waved off his concern. "I've got it covered. Consider it my good deed for the day."

The bell above the door chimed as they entered, though the sound was more wheeze than ring. A few heads turned to evaluate them before quickly returning to their meals. The whole place smelled like coffee, grease, and something else—something older, like history itself had seeped into the walls.

An elderly woman appeared behind the counter, her silver hair pulled back in a severe bun. Despite her age, she moved with the kind of precision that suggested she could probably handle herself in a fight. Her eyes, sharp and alert, fixed on Barbara with recognition before sliding to Percy with considerably more suspicion.

"This one's with me, Ma," Barbara said before the woman could speak. "He needs food and a minute to catch his breath."

Ma Gunn's eyes narrowed slightly, but she nodded. "Booth in the back. The usual?"

"Times two," Barbara confirmed, leading Percy to a booth that had a clear view of both the door and the kitchen.

Percy slid into the seat, trying not to wince as his battered muscles protested. Now that the immediate danger had passed, he was really starting to feel the effects of his impromptu volcano diving. His skin felt too tight, like he'd gotten a really bad sunburn, and there was a worrying tremor in his hands that he really hoped wasn't permanent.

"So," Barbara said once they were settled, "want to tell me what really happened to you?"

Percy looked up sharply. "What do you mean?"

She leaned back, crossing her arms. "Well, let's see. You show up in Crime Alley looking like you went through a war zone, carrying a sword of all things, and your clothes are still smoking slightly. Either you're running from something, or you're here to cause trouble. I'd like to know which before I invest too much in helping you."

Before Percy could answer, Ma Gunn appeared with two plates piled high with pancakes, bacon, and eggs. She set them down with surprising gentleness, then fixed Percy with a stern look.

"You're too skinny," she declared. "Eat."

Percy didn't need to be told twice. He dug in, trying to remember his manners even as his demigod metabolism screamed for calories. The food was exactly what he needed—simple, filling, and blessedly normal after everything that had happened.

"Thanks," he managed between bites. "This is amazing."

Ma Gunn's expression softened slightly. "At least you have manners. Unlike some who come through here." She shot a pointed look at a group of rough-looking men in the corner, who suddenly became very interested in their coffee.

Once she'd moved away, Percy turned back to Barbara, who was watching him with a mixture of amusement and calculation.

"I'm not here to cause trouble," he said carefully. "I'm just... lost. There was an accident, and I ended up here. I need to contact my friends, let them know I'm okay, but it's complicated."

"Complicated how?"

Percy pushed his empty plate aside, trying to figure out how much he could safely say. The Mist usually helped with mortals, but he had a feeling Barbara wasn't the type to accept vague explanations.

"Let's just say I'm involved in something bigger than myself," he said finally. "Something dangerous. And using phones or the internet would be like sending up a flare to everyone looking for me."

Barbara's expression didn't change, but something in her posture shifted slightly. "You're running from someone specific?"

"More like multiple someones. And some... things." Percy ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "Look, I know how this sounds. But I swear I'm not a criminal or anything. I'm just trying to get back to my friends before they do something stupid like try to rescue me."

Barbara studied him for a long moment. Percy had the uncomfortable feeling she was seeing more than he wanted her to.

"Okay," she said finally. "I believe you're not here to cause trouble. But you're definitely in it." She pulled out a napkin and wrote something on it. "This is the address of a shelter a few blocks from here. Tell them Barbara Gordon sent you. They'll give you a place to crash for the night, no questions asked."

Percy took the napkin, relief washing over him. "Thank you. Really."

"Don't thank me yet," Barbara warned. "Gotham's not kind to strays, Percy. Whatever you're running from, whatever you're involved in... be careful. This city has enough shadows without adding more."

Something about the way she said "shadows" made Percy's skin prickle. Before he could ask what she meant, the diner's door flew open with a bang.

A man stumbled in, his clothes torn and bloody. "He's coming!" he gasped, collapsing against the counter. "The plant lady—she's angry—the whole street's going crazy—"

The other customers were already moving, gathering their things with practiced efficiency. Ma Gunn appeared with a shotgun that definitely wasn't legal.

"Out the back," she ordered. "Now."

Barbara was on her feet instantly, pulling Percy up. "We need to move."

"What's happening?"

"Poison Ivy," Barbara said grimly. "One of Gotham's... special residents. And if she's angry enough to send her plants this far into the city..."

A deep rumbling cut her off. The diner's windows rattled ominously. Outside, something massive and green slithered past, blocking out the streetlights.

Percy uncapped Riptide, the celestial bronze casting a faint glow in the darkening diner. "Please tell me that's not what I think it is."

The window exploded inward as a massive vine, thick as a tree trunk, smashed through. Customers scattered, diving for cover as glass rained down. The vine writhed like a living thing, searching, probing.

Percy's battle instincts took over. He leaped forward, Riptide slicing through the air. The celestial bronze shouldn't have affected a normal plant, but something about these vines was different—more magical than mundane. The blade cut through with surprising ease, drawing a screech that definitely didn't sound plant-like.

"Interesting sword," Barbara commented, and Percy realized she'd produced some kind of metal baton from somewhere. She moved with the kind of grace that spoke of serious training, using the baton to deflect a smaller vine that tried to grab her.

"Family heirloom," Percy grunted, ducking another strike. "You seem pretty calm about all this."

"Welcome to Gotham," she replied, a hint of a smile playing at her lips. "This is actually pretty tame for a Tuesday."

More vines were pouring in now, and Percy could see strange flowers blooming along them—flowers that seemed to be releasing some kind of purple mist.

"Don't breathe the pollen!" Barbara warned, pulling what looked like a gas mask from her jacket. She tossed another to Percy. "It's probably hallucinogenic."

Percy caught the mask, impressed despite himself. "You just carry these around?"

"In this city? Always."

The vines were herding them toward the back of the diner now, cutting off escape routes. Percy could hear sirens in the distance, but they sounded far away. Through the broken windows, he caught glimpses of chaos—more vines wrapping around buildings, people running, and what looked like actual trees walking down the street.

"Okay," Percy muttered, "this is new."

He reached out with his powers, trying to feel for any water pipes in the walls. There—old iron pipes, probably rusty but still functional. With a grunt of effort, he made them explode, sending pressurized water spraying into the diner.

Barbara's eyes widened slightly as the water responded to Percy's gestures, forming barriers against the vines. "That's... also interesting."

"Would you believe me if I said it was a party trick?"

"I've seen stranger."

The water gave them some breathing room, but Percy could feel his control slipping. Whatever had happened at Mount Saint Helens had drained him more than he'd realized, and even this small use of his powers was making his vision blur at the edges.

A new sound cut through the chaos—something whistling through the air. Suddenly, the vines nearest the windows froze, covered in a rapidly spreading layer of ice. A dark figure dropped through the broken window, cape spreading like wings.

Percy was going to guess this guy was the "Bat" everyone seemed so terrified of.

"Oracle," 'Bat' growled, and Percy was surprised to see Barbara straighten slightly. "Report."

"Ivy's plants are spreading through the district," Barbara replied crisply, all traces of the casual young adult gone. "Pattern suggests she's looking for something specific. Or someone."

'Bat's cowled gaze turned to Percy, who fought the urge to step back. He'd faced gods and monsters, but something about this man's presence was different—darker, more primal.

"And who," Bat asked, his voice like gravel, "are you?"

Before Percy could answer, the frozen vines exploded outward, sending deadly shards of ice flying. Percy reacted instinctively, using the water to form a shield around them. But the effort sent him staggering, black spots dancing in his vision.

The last thing he saw before passing out was Barbara lunging to catch him, and the bat guy's cape sweeping forward like a shield of shadows.

Then darkness took him, and Percy Jackson's day went from bad to worse.

Chapter Text

Percy woke to the sterile smell of antiseptic and the steady beep of medical equipment.

His first thought was that he'd somehow made it back to the Apollo cabin's infirmary. His second thought, as his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, was that he definitely hadn't.

The room was high-tech, with equipment he'd never seen before in any mortal or demigod hospital. The walls were curved, hewn from what looked like natural rock, and the air had the cool, damp feel of being underground. A cave, then. A very expensive, medical-equipment-filled cave.

Either someone very rich had become interested in him, or he'd somehow ended up in the one decent medical facility in Gotham. Knowing his luck, it was likely the former.

"Great," he muttered, pushing himself up. His muscles protested, but the bone-deep exhaustion from earlier had faded to a manageable ache. Someone had changed him into clean clothes—gray sweatpants and a black t-shirt that was definitely not his style. "This isn't creepy at all."

His belongings were nowhere in sight, but he felt Riptide's familiar weight in his pocket. At least that hadn't changed. The magic that returned the pen to his pocket was probably the only reason he still had it.

The medical bay was empty, but Percy could hear voices echoing from somewhere deeper in the cave. He carefully detached the monitoring equipment, wincing as the machines started beeping in protest. So much for a quiet escape.

"—vital signs are stable, but his core temperature is far above normal," a young voice was saying. Barbara? No, Barbara was definitely not a man. Someone else. "And his blood work... Bruce, I've never seen anything like it."

"The way he controlled the water," a gravelly voice responded—definitely the Bat guy. "Meta-human?"

"Readings don't match known meta-human patterns. And did you see his sword? It gave off energy signatures similar to Wonder Woman's weapons, but different."

Percy didn't wait to hear more. He needed to get out of there before they started asking questions he couldn't answer.

The last thing he needed was to explain Greek mythology to a bunch of people who dressed like bats.

The exit was obvious—too obvious. A clear path led toward what looked like an elevator. They'd probably expect him to go that way.

Instead, Percy closed his eyes and reached out with his powers, feeling for water. There—an underground river, flowing through the cave system. If he could reach it...

Footsteps approached the medical bay. Percy dove behind an equipment cart just as two figures entered—Barbara and a young man who radiated the same kind of competent authority as Annabeth.

"...should be waking up soon," the man was saying. "The sedative we administered metabolized faster than expected. His system processes chemicals at nearly twice the normal human rate, which suggests—" He stopped, staring at the empty bed. "Or he's already awake. Wonderful."

Barbara moved immediately to check the corners, her movements precise and practiced. Percy recognized the calculated efficiency of someone who had trained extensively. Not a good sign.

"He couldn't have gone far," Barbara said, checking behind a medical cabinet. "The elevator's locked down, and the security system's active."

"Unless he's not heading for the elevator," the man mused, walking to a computer console. His fingers flew across the keyboard. "The river... Barbara, check the—"

Percy didn't wait to hear the rest.

He sprinted from his hiding spot, ignoring Barbara's shout of "Wait!" Behind him, alarms began to blare, bathing the cave in pulsing red light.

The underground river was closer than he'd thought, just past a series of platforms holding what looked like cars, planes, and... was that a giant mechanical dinosaur? Focus, Jackson.

He vaulted over a railing, falling twenty feet toward the dark water below. As he fell, he caught glimpses of the cave's true scale—massive, filled with technology and trophies and things that would have made the Hephaestus cabin drool. One section appeared to house a complete forensics lab, another what looked like a weapons testing area. Whoever this Bat guy was, he didn't shop at Walmart.

The water rushed up to meet him, welcoming him like an old friend. Even polluted with whatever Gotham pumped into its water system, it responded to his will, surging up to catch him and pull him into its flow. A familiar strength flowed through his limbs—not complete healing, but enough to give him a fighting chance.

Above, he heard the Bat's voice: "Oracle, track him through the outflow systems. Robin, cut him off at the harbor exit. No engagement unless necessary."

Percy pushed himself faster, letting the current aid his swimming. The river seemed to know the way out, and he followed its course through the darkness. The tunnel twisted and turned, occasionally branching into smaller passages. Percy let his instincts guide him, following the strongest flow. After what felt like hours but was probably only minutes, he saw light ahead—moonlight reflecting off the harbor's surface.

He burst out into open water, grateful to be out of the confined space. Now he just needed to—

Something small hit the water near him with a splash, releasing a cloud of chemicals that made the water around him start to freeze. Percy pushed through it, manipulating the currents to clear a path. More projectiles followed, forcing him to change course.

A figure stood on the dock ahead—smaller than the Bat. His outfit was predominantly red and black, with a distinctive yellow cape and an 'R' emblazoned on his chest. The one they'd called Robin, probably. His stance suggested trained combat experience, balanced and ready. Great. More fighters.

Percy needed a distraction. The harbor water was still disgusting, but he'd recovered enough strength to work with it. He reached out, feeling the currents and tides, and pulled.

A wave rose up, carrying with it all the garbage and pollution it had collected. Percy sent it crashing over the dock, giving himself cover to swim past. He heard Robin's startled yelp and felt a little bad—that water was nasty.

"Sorry!" he called back, though they probably couldn't hear him. "Nothing personal! Believe me, I'd rather be in the Long Island Sound right now too!"

He swam for several more minutes, taking random turns through Gotham's waterways until he was reasonably sure he wasn't being followed. Finally, he pulled himself out onto a quiet section of shoreline, well away from the docks where he'd first arrived.

The city was quieter now, though sirens still wailed in the distance. The plant attack seemed to be over, at least. Small mercies.

Percy took stock of his situation. He was alone in a strange city, wearing borrowed clothes, with no money and no way to contact camp. But he was alive, which was more than he thought he'd say after Mount Saint Helens.

"Okay," he said to himself, starting to walk. "Step one: find somewhere to rest that isn't a creepy cave hospital. Step two: figure out how to contact Annabeth. Step three..." He paused, looking back at the city skyline. In the distance, a searchlight cut through the smog, projecting what looked like a bat symbol onto the clouds.

"Step three: avoid everyone in this entire city, because they're all clearly insane."

A warm breeze carried the scent of the sea, reminding Percy that somewhere out there, past the pollution and chaos of Gotham, the ocean was waiting. Maybe once he got clear of the city, he could try praying to his father for help.

But first, he needed to get far away from any bats, birds, or plant ladies who might be looking for him.

Just another Tuesday in Percy Jackson's life.

———

Percy had learned a few things in his years as a demigod. First, if something could go wrong, it would. Second, monsters had the worst timing imaginable. And third, the Fates had a twisted sense of humor.

All three of these lessons came crashing back as he heard the telltale sound of claws scraping against concrete.

He was trying to navigate through what appeared to be Gotham's fashion district—though "abandoned mannequin graveyard" might have been a better description. The storefronts were either boarded up or displaying clothes that had gone out of style sometime during the Carter administration. The only signs of life were the rats scurrying between trash bins and the occasional flicker of movement in upper windows that Percy really hoped was just his imagination.

The scraping sound got closer.

"Really?" Percy muttered, pulling Riptide from his pocket. "I couldn't get like, five minutes to figure out where I am?"

A low growl answered him—deeper than a hellhound's, but with that same otherworldly quality that screamed 'monster.' Great.

Percy uncapped Riptide, the celestial bronze casting a faint glow over the empty street. The smell hit him next—like wet dog mixed with sulfur and something else, something almost mechanical.

"Okay," he called out, because apparently he still hadn't learned when to keep his mouth shut. "Whatever you are, can we maybe reschedule? I've already been blown up, fallen across the country, and escaped from a cave full of bat-themed vigilantes today. My schedule's pretty full."

The monster stepped into the light.

Percy had seen a lot of strange things in his life, but this was new. It looked like someone had tried to build a mechanical hellhound but had only seen dogs in badly drawn cartoons. Its body was a patchwork of bronze and steel, with glowing red eyes and teeth that looked sharp enough to chew through titanium. Steam hissed from vents along its sides, and its claws left deep scratches in the concrete where it walked.

"Let me guess," Percy said, backing up slowly. "You're not here to give me directions to the bus station?"

The creature's only response was to lunge forward with impossible speed. Percy rolled to the side, feeling the wind of its passage as massive jaws snapped shut where his head had been.

Riptide slashed out, catching the monster across its flank. Instead of dissolving into dust like a normal monster, it sparked and whirred, mechanical components grinding. The wound leaked a mixture of golden ichor and what looked like motor oil.

"What the—" Percy didn't have time to finish the thought because the thing was coming at him again, learning from its previous attack. This time it feinted left before striking right, nearly catching Percy's arm in its teeth.

He needed space to think.

The monster was blocking the way forward, and behind him... Percy risked a glance over his shoulder. The street ended in a T-intersection, with what looked like a department store on one side and some kind of theater on the other.

The monster charged again. Percy waited until the last second before diving into a roll beneath it, using Riptide to slash at its underbelly as he went. More ichor-oil mixture splattered the ground, but the creature barely seemed to notice.

Percy sprinted for the department store. The doors were chained shut, but the windows were already broken. He jumped through, glass crunching under his borrowed shoes as he landed.

The interior was a maze of toppled display racks and mannequins that looked creepier than some of the monsters he'd faced. Emergency lights cast weird shadows everywhere, making it hard to tell what was debris and what might be moving.

The mechanical monster crashed through what remained of the window, its red eyes illuminating the darkness like evil searchlights. It moved more carefully now, stalking between the aisles, steam hissing from its vents. Its claws clicked against the tile floor, sending echoes bouncing through the empty space.

"Nice doggy," Percy muttered, moving backwards. "Good robot demon spawn thing."

His back hit something solid—a wall. No, a door. He fumbled for the handle while keeping his eyes on the approaching monster. The door opened with a groan that seemed impossibly loud in the quiet store.

A stairwell. Up or down?

The monster's head snapped toward him, mechanical joints whirring. It lowered itself, preparing to pounce.

Up it was.

Percy took the stairs two at a time, the monster crashing up behind him. Its weight made the whole stairwell shake, metal groaning in protest. Third floor, fourth floor...

He burst out onto the roof, cool night air hitting his face. The roof was flat, covered in gravel and old air conditioning units. The edge was maybe fifteen feet away, with another building close enough to jump to if he really had to. 

The door exploded off its hinges as the monster followed him out. Wood and metal shrapnel flew past Percy's head as he ducked. The hellhound moved more cautiously now, like it knew it had him cornered. Steam billowed around it, and its red eyes seemed to glow brighter.

"Okay," Percy said, gripping Riptide tighter. "You want to dance? Let's dance."

The monster tensed, preparing to spring. Percy gathered his strength, ready to dodge. His muscles ached from the day's exertions, but adrenaline kept him alert. He'd faced worse odds before.

A new sound cut through the night—a sharp whistle followed by a metallic thunk. Something small and black had embedded itself in the monster's shoulder.

"What—" Percy started to say, then dove for cover as the thing exploded.

The blast wasn't huge, but it was enough to stagger the monster, sending it stumbling sideways. More projectiles followed, each one detonating on impact. The monster roared—a sound like grinding gears mixed with thunder.

A shadow detached itself from behind an air conditioning unit, resolving into a familiar figure in red and black.

"You know," Robin said conversationally, as if they weren't facing down a mechanical monster from Greek mythology, "when Batman said to track you, I don't think he expected me to find... whatever this is." His voice was surprisingly young, though confident. He held what looked like more explosive projectiles between his fingers, ready to throw.

"Would you believe me if I said it wasn't mine?" Percy asked, rolling to his feet. "Because I definitely don't take responsibility for mechanical hell-dogs that try to eat me."

"I've heard stranger claims." Robin pulled what looked like a metal staff from his belt, extending it with a flick of his wrist. "Any idea what it is?"

"Some kind of mechanical hellhound, I think. Though I've never seen one quite like this." Percy studied the creature more carefully now. The mixture of technology and monster was wrong, like someone had tried to improve on a design that was already terrifying enough. 

Robin shot him a look that suggested he was going to have a lot of questions later, assuming they survived. "Mechanical means it can be broken. You take left, I'll take right?"

Percy wanted to argue—this wasn't Robin's fight, and he had no idea if the vigilante's weapons would even work on a monster. But the hellhound was already recovering, shaking off the effects of the explosions.

"Just... try not to get eaten," Percy advised, then charged left.

The monster's head tracked him, but Robin was already moving, his staff striking at exposed joints with surgical precision. The hellhound's attention split between them, unable to focus on a single target.

Percy slashed with Riptide, aiming for the gaps in the monster's armor where ichor leaked out. Robin's staff found weak points, sending sparks flying. They fell into a rhythm—Percy would draw the monster's attention, then Robin would strike at vulnerable spots, then they'd switch.

"Not bad," Robin called out as they circled the beast. "You've done this before." He moved with practiced efficiency, each strike calculated for maximum effect. Not just a kid in a costume, then.

"More times than I'd like," Percy admitted, ducking under a swipe of metallic claws. "Though usually with less robots involved."

The monster was slowing now, its movements becoming jerky and uncoordinated. Steam poured from its vents, and the mixture of ichor and oil leaving its wounds had turned black and thick.

"We need to end this," Robin said. "The explosives barely dented it, but it's leaking something. If we can—"

The hellhound suddenly reared up, its whole body shuddering. The vents along its sides began to glow red-hot.

Percy's instincts screamed danger. "Get down!"

He tackled Robin behind an air conditioning unit just as the monster exploded. Heat washed over them, followed by the clatter of mechanical parts raining down. When Percy looked up, there was nothing left of the hellhound but scattered pieces and a rapidly evaporating pool of ichor.

"Well," Robin said after a moment, pushing Percy off him. "That was different." He didn't seem rattled by nearly being blown up, which said something about what counted as normal in Gotham.

Percy got to his feet, checking to make sure he still had Riptide. The pen had returned to his pocket, as always. "Thanks for the help. Though I'm guessing this means you're going to try to bring me in now?"

Robin stood as well, his staff ready but not threatening. His mask made it difficult to read his expression, but his posture wasn't aggressive. "That depends. Are you going to tell me what that thing was? And why it was chasing you? And maybe what you were doing in the harbor earlier? And how you can control water? And what that sword of yours is made of? And—"

"Would you believe me if I said no idea to all of the above?"

"Worth a shot." Robin's stance shifted slightly. "But I can't just let you walk away. Not after everything that's happened."

Percy sighed. He really didn't want to fight Robin—the guy had just helped save his life, after all. But he also couldn't afford to be detained again. Not when he needed to find a way back to camp.

"I'm sorry about this," Percy said.

Robin tensed, probably expecting an attack. Instead, Percy reached out with his powers, feeling for the water pipes in the building below. They were old, corroded, but they responded to his call.

Water exploded up through the roof, creating a wall between them. Percy didn't wait to see Robin's reaction—he turned and ran for the edge of the building.

The next roof wasn't too far. Percy had made worse jumps during capture the flag at camp. He hit the gravel running, not slowing down as he heard Robin pursuing behind him.

"You know this is only going to make things worse!" Robin called after him.

"Story of my life!" Percy shouted back.

He needed to lose his pursuit and find somewhere to rest. Then maybe, just maybe, he could figure out how to contact camp without attracting more monsters.

Or more bats.

At this point, he wasn't sure which would be worse.

Chapter Text

Percy wondered if the gods ever pulled up a flat-screen TV to watch his adventures and laugh at his misfortune.

It was really starting to feel like it.

First, he'd been blown halfway across the country by an erupting volcano. Then, he'd landed in possibly the most dangerous city in America. And now, he was being chased across rooftops by a teenager in a cape who moved like he'd been doing parkour since birth.

"You know," Robin called from behind him, "most people don't run from the good guys!"

Percy vaulted over an air conditioning unit, nearly losing his footing on the loose gravel. "In my experience," he shouted back, "the definition of 'good guys' is pretty flexible!"

He'd managed to put some distance between them, but Robin was relentless. The guy moved like he knew every rooftop in Gotham by heart, taking shortcuts Percy hadn't even noticed. More than once, Percy had changed direction only to find Robin already ahead of him, forcing him to double back.

What he needed was water—a lot of it. The river wasn't far, he could feel it calling to him, but getting there meant crossing several more blocks of densely packed buildings.

Percy skidded to a halt at the edge of the current roof. The next building was significantly taller, with no obvious way up. To his right, the gap between buildings was at least twelve feet—probably manageable for Robin with whatever grappling tech he had, but Percy wasn't feeling lucky enough to attempt it.

That left one option: down. The fire escape looked ancient and rusted, but it was better than nothing.

"Look," Robin said, landing lightly on the roof behind him. "We can keep doing this all night, but I'm not the one who got blown up today. How about we talk instead?"

Percy weighed his options. Robin didn't seem like he was going to attack, and he had a point about Percy's energy reserves. The day's events were catching up with him, his muscles protesting each movement. But staying put meant letting himself be brought back to the Bat-cave or wherever, and Percy wasn't eager for another interrogation session.

"Rain check?" Percy suggested, then leapt for the fire escape.

The metal groaned ominously under his weight, but held. Barely. Percy scrambled down as quickly as he dared, aware of Robin following with much more grace. The ladder ended about ten feet above the alley, forcing Percy to drop the rest of the way. He landed with practiced ease—thank you, years of combat training—and took off running.

The alley opened onto a wider street, surprisingly busy despite the late hour. Cars honked at each other, pedestrians hurried along with their heads down, and the occasional police siren wailed in the distance. Normal city chaos, but something felt off. The few pedestrians who noticed Percy emerging from the alley gave him a wide berth, their eyes sliding away as if afraid to make contact.

Perfect. A crowd to disappear into.

Percy slowed to a walk, trying to blend in. Running would only attract attention, and right now, he needed to disappear. He pulled up the hood of his borrowed sweatshirt and joined the flow of foot traffic, keeping his head down.

Behind him, Robin dropped into the alley.

Percy risked a glance back, expecting to see the costumed vigilante closing in. Instead, Robin had vanished, the alley empty save for overflowing dumpsters and graffitied walls.

That... probably wasn't a good sign.

Percy kept moving, alert for any sign of pursuit. The street widened into a main thoroughfare, neon signs casting multicolored reflections on rain-slick pavement. PAWN SHOP. LIQUOR. BAIL BONDS. The usual urban landscape, though somehow grimier than even the worst parts of New York.

A digital billboard flashed the time: 2:17 AM. Percy had been in Gotham for less than twelve hours, and already he'd been attacked by thugs, plant monsters, a mechanical hellhound, and vigilantes. At this rate, he wouldn't survive till morning.

He needed a plan. Somewhere safe to regroup, preferably with access to water. Barbara had mentioned a shelter, but Percy had lost the address during his impromptu swim. Besides, that was probably the first place Robin would check.

A police car cruised by, its occupants scanning the street with bored vigilance. Percy turned his face away, ducking into the first open doorway he saw.

It turned out to be a 24-hour laundromat, the harsh fluorescent lighting a shock after the dim street. The place was nearly empty, save for an elderly woman dozing in a plastic chair and a man in a stained security uniform folding clothes.

Percy headed for the back, where a row of vending machines stood against the wall. His stomach growled at the sight of food, reminding him that the pancakes at Ma Gunn's felt like days ago. But without money...

He checked his pockets on instinct, not expecting to find anything. To his surprise, his fingers closed around a few crumpled bills—must have been in the sweatpants when they were given to him. Not much, but enough for a candy bar and maybe a bottle of water.

The water was overpriced and probably came from the same polluted source as the harbor, but Percy wasn't picky. He took his meager purchases to a plastic bench in the corner, positioning himself to watch both the door and the small TV mounted on the wall.

The news was playing, the headline "BOTANICAL TERROR: IVY STRIKES AGAIN" scrolling across the bottom of the screen. Footage showed the aftermath of the plant attack—vines still wrapped around buildings, emergency crews clearing debris, and what looked like giant flowers being carefully contained in special tanks.

"...fifteenth incident this month," the reporter was saying. "Authorities are still unclear on Poison Ivy's motives, though some sources suggest she may be searching for something specific. The Batman was spotted at several locations, but has yet to apprehend—"

The feed cut to commercial, advertising some kind of fast-acting weed killer. "GOTHAM STRONG: PROTECT YOUR HOME FROM UNWANTED GROWTH."

Percy snorted. Only in Gotham would they market gardening products based on supervillain attacks.

He took a long drink of water, focusing on that slight tingle of energy it always gave him. Not much, but better than nothing. The candy bar followed, disappearing in three bites.

Now what?

He couldn't keep running indefinitely. Sooner or later, he'd either collapse from exhaustion or get caught. He needed to contact Camp Half-Blood, but without drachmas for an Iris message...

Percy's gaze drifted back to the TV, where the news had resumed. The camera showed police leading a handcuffed man into a patrol car, his face obscured by wild green hair.

"...Joker henchman apprehended at the scene. Police are investigating possible connections between the recent plant attacks and the Joker's escape from Arkham last month. Commissioner Gordon urges citizens to remain vigilant and report any suspicious—"

Gordon. As in Barbara Gordon?

Percy sat up straighter. Barbara had seemed to know Robin and the Bat, had even used some kind of code name—Oracle? If she was connected to the police commissioner, that might explain a few things. But it also raised more questions.

A shadow passed by the laundromat's window, there and gone so quickly Percy might have imagined it. Except his instincts were screaming danger.

Time to move.

Percy slipped out the door and hurried down the street, muscles tensed for a quick sprint if needed. The street led into what looked like a commercial district, more populated but somehow even seedier. Through gaps between buildings, he caught glimpses of a massive structure in the distance—some kind of amusement park, its abandoned ferris wheel a skeletal silhouette against the polluted sky.

A hand clamped down on his shoulder.

Percy spun, Riptide half-drawn, only to find himself facing a scruffy-looking man with bloodshot eyes.

"You got any spare change, kid?" the man asked, his voice hoarse. "Just need enough for the subway."

Percy relaxed slightly, letting Riptide slide back into his pocket. "Sorry, I don't have anything."

The man's gaze sharpened, taking in Percy's disheveled appearance. "You running from something, ain't ya? I know that look." His eyes narrowed slightly, a calculating expression taking over as he gave a hum of acknowledgment. "Ah. The Bat's kid. You in trouble with the capes, huh?"

Well. Apparently everyone knew everything here.

"It's... complicated."

The man chuckled. "Ain't it always?" He jerked his head toward a narrow gap between buildings. "Service tunnel through there. Comes out near The Bowery. Used to be a smuggling route, back in the day. Bats don't know about it. Or pretend not to."

Percy hesitated. Taking advice from strangers in Gotham seemed risky. Last time it ended with him in a cave surrounded by vigilantes out to interrogate him.

The man smiled, showing missing teeth. "I owe the Bat. He saved my daughter once. But doesn't mean I always agree with his methods. Go on, kid."

"Thanks," Percy said, surprised. He darted toward the gap the man had indicated.

"Hey," the man called after him. "Whatever you did... hope it was worth it."

The tunnel was exactly where the man had said it would be—a rusted metal door set into the brick, partially hidden behind a dumpster. It opened with a groan, revealing a dark passage that smelled of mildew and something Percy didn't want to identify.

He uncapped Riptide, using its faint glow to illuminate his way. The tunnel was narrow, lined with pipes that occasionally released bursts of steam. Rats scattered at his approach, and what might have been bats (the normal kind, thankfully) fluttered overhead.

After what felt like an eternity of walking through darkness, Percy saw light ahead. The tunnel opened into what looked like an abandoned subway station, old advertisements still clinging to the walls, their colors faded to ghosts of their former selves.

He capped Riptide and climbed up onto the platform. The station had clearly been out of service for years, but didn't have the complete decay he might have expected. Someone had been maintaining it, at least minimally. Old benches had been arranged to form makeshift living spaces, and empty food containers suggested recent habitation.

"Hello?" Percy called, his voice echoing in the empty space. "Anyone home?"

No answer.

He moved deeper into the station, looking for signs of an exit or at least somewhere to rest. A staircase led up toward what had once been the street entrance, now sealed with a heavy metal grate.

Great. Trapped in an abandoned subway station. Still, it was better than being caught by Robin, or running into more mechanical monsters.

Percy found a relatively clean spot against one wall and slid down to sit, finally allowing his legs to rest. His whole body ached, the aftermath of Mount Saint Helens still lingering in his muscles. He hadn't exactly been taking it easy since then, either.

"What I wouldn't give for some ambrosia right now," he muttered, leaning his head back against the cool tile. Just a little would help him recover enough to figure out his next move.

His stomach growled, reminding him that pancakes at Ma Gunn's diner felt like a lifetime ago. His candy bar was not cutting it. He needed food, real food, and then he needed to find a way to contact Camp Half-Blood.

And he needed to do it all while avoiding Batman, Robin, and anyone else who might be looking for him.

Simple. Just another day.

Percy closed his eyes, just for a moment. He'd rest for a few minutes, then figure out his next move.

Just a few minutes...

------

Percy woke to the sensation of being watched.

It wasn't a monster—his demigod instincts were good at distinguishing between different types of threats, and whatever was watching him didn't trigger his "about to be eaten" reflexes. But something was definitely there, observing him with careful interest.

He kept his eyes closed, feigning sleep while his hand inched toward his pocket where Riptide waited. The ambient sounds of the subway station continued—dripping water, distant rumbling of active lines, the occasional scurry of rats.

Then, a whisper, so faint he almost missed it: "Is he dead?"

Another voice, slightly older: "Nah, he's breathing. Just sleeping."

"Should we poke him?"

"Are you crazy? Look at him. He's not one of the usual homeless guys. What if he's dangerous?"

Percy cracked one eye open. Two faces pulled back in surprise—kids, maybe ten and twelve years old, with the lean, hungry look of those who'd been on the streets a while. The younger one clutched a rusty pipe, while the older had positioned himself protectively in front.

"I'm not dangerous," Percy said, opening both eyes but making no move to stand. "Not to you, anyway."

The older boy snorted. "That's what dangerous people say."

Fair point. "I'm Percy. I'm just looking for a place to rest."

"This is our spot," the younger boy said, trying to sound tough despite the tremor in his voice. "We found it first."

Percy raised his hands in a peaceful gesture. "I'm not trying to take your spot. Just passing through." He looked around, noting more signs of habitation now—a stack of blankets in one corner, a small collection of canned foods, a bucket catching dripping water from the ceiling. "Nice place you've got."

The older boy's eyes narrowed. "You running from someone?"

Percy sighed. Was it that obvious? "Is everyone in this city on the run from something?"

"Pretty much," the older boy said with a shrug. "I'm Mike. This is Joey. He's my brother."

Joey lowered his pipe slightly. "You don't look like you're from around here."

"I'm not," Percy admitted. "I'm from New York. Definitely not Gotham."

Mike's expression relaxed marginally. "What'd you do to end up here? Nobody comes to Gotham by choice."

"Let's just say I had an accident. I need to contact my friends, let them know I'm okay, but it's... complicated."

The brothers exchanged looks. "You in trouble with the Bat?"

Percy wondered if everyone in Gotham organized their lives around whether or not they were on Batman's radar. "Kind of. I think he wants to help, but..."

"But you don't trust him," Mike finished. "Smart. The Bat does things his way. Doesn't always line up with what's best for folks like us."

"You guys live down here?" Percy asked, changing the subject.

Mike nodded. "Since Mom got sick. The shelters split us up, so we came here instead. It's not so bad. The trains that run through here are on the old line, just maintenance cars mostly. And nobody bothers us."

"Except the rats," Joey added. "And sometimes Dirty Dan, but he's harmless."

"Dirty Dan?"

"Old guy who thinks he's the station manager," Mike explained. "Talks to imaginary passengers. He sleeps on the northbound platform."

Percy's heart twisted. These kids were surviving on their own in one of the most dangerous cities he'd ever seen. And he thought being a demigod was tough.

"When's the last time you ate?" he asked.

Mike's defenses instantly went back up. "We're fine. We don't need charity."

"Not offering charity," Percy said. "But I could use some food too. And maybe some local knowledge. Information exchange."

The boys considered this, having a silent conversation with just their eyes in a way that reminded Percy painfully of himself and Annabeth.

"There's a diner six blocks east," Mike finally said. "Owner lets us wash dishes sometimes for food. She might let you do the same."

Percy stood slowly, careful not to make any sudden movements. "Lead the way. I'll try not to scare her with my sparkling personality."

Joey giggled, a sound that seemed out of place in the gloomy station. "You're funny. For a grown-up."

"I'm barely fifteen," Percy protested.

"Ancient," Joey confirmed solemnly.

Mike rolled his eyes. "Come on. But if you try anything sketchy..."

"I won't," Percy promised. "Demigod's honor."

"What's a demigod?"

"Long story. I'll tell you over dinner."

------

The diner was a tiny establishment wedged between a hardware store and what appeared to be the world's most depressing floral shop. Neon signs in the window advertised "Hot Food" and "Cold Beer," both presumably accurate but not particularly inspiring.

The owner, Maggie, was a woman in her fifties with steel-gray hair pulled back in a tight bun and an expression that suggested she'd seen it all and hadn't been impressed. She took one look at Percy and sighed.

"Another stray, boys?" she asked, but there was no real annoyance in her voice.

"He's from New York," Joey said, as if this explained everything.

Maggie raised an eyebrow, her gaze traveling over Percy's disheveled appearance, lingering on what must be visible bruises and the tear in his borrowed hoodie. "Well, he's got two arms and looks like he can work. Dinner rush starts in twenty. Think you can handle dishes, New York?"

Percy nodded,relief washing through him. "Yes, ma'am."

"Don't 'ma'am' me. Makes me feel old. It's Maggie." She gestured toward the kitchen. "Wash up first. You look like you've been swimming in the harbor."

Percy winced. "Actually..."

"Don't tell me. I don't want to know." She handed him an apron that had seen better days, the fabric worn thin in places and sporting several stains of indeterminate origin.. "Kitchen's through there. And no funny business."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Percy assured her, tying the apron around his waist. It smelled of grease and detergent, an oddly comforting combination.

For the next three hours, Percy washed dishes, bused tables, and even helped with some basic food prep. The work was mindless but satisfying, giving him something to focus on besides his increasingly complicated situation. Mike and Joey helped too, clearly familiar with the routine.

The dinner rush at Maggie's consisted of mostly working-class folks grabbing a hot meal before or after shifts. They were a diverse bunch—dockworkers, office cleaners, security guards, and others who formed the backbone of Gotham's economy. They left decent tips and didn't cause trouble, and Percy found himself actually enjoying the normalcy of it all.

"You're not bad at this," Maggie commented during a brief lull, watching as Percy efficiently stacked clean plates. "Done this before?"

"My mom works at a candy shop," Percy explained. "I help out sometimes."

"Good boy," Maggie said approvingly. "Don't see much of that these days. Kids thinking work is beneath them."

A man at the counter snorted. "Can't blame 'em. What's the point of honest work in this city? My brother worked forty years at Ace Chemicals, never missed a day. One accident—not even his fault—and Wayne Enterprises restructures, cuts his pension to nothing."

Maggie's expression hardened. "Bill, we are not doing this tonight."

"I'm just saying—"

"No politics in my diner. House rule."

The man—Bill—muttered something under his breath but turned his attention back to his coffee.

"Wayne Enterprises?" Percy asked quietly when Maggie passed by with a tray of clean mugs.

"Biggest company in Gotham," she explained in a low voice. "Owned by Bruce Wayne. Old money, lots of charity work, but still a billionaire. People have opinions."

Percy filed that information away, wondering if it was relevant to his situation. The name "Wayne" seemed familiar, though he couldn't place why. Maybe Barbara had mentioned it?

When the rush finally died down, Maggie brought out three plates piled high with meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and green beans. "Eat," she ordered, setting them down at an empty booth. "You worked for it."

Percy didn't need to be told twice. He fell on the food like he hadn't eaten in days, which wasn't far from the truth. Mike and Joey did the same.

"So," Maggie said, sliding into the booth across from them with a cup of coffee. "What's your story, New York? And don't tell me you're just passing through. Nobody just 'passes through' Gotham."

Percy chewed thoughtfully, considering how much to share. "I'm trying to get back home. Had a... transportation mishap."

"Hmm." Maggie's eyes narrowed. "That why you've got Bat trouble?"

Percy nearly choked on his potatoes. "How did you—"

"The boys aren't the only ones with eyes and ears. Word travels fast when someone new is running from the Bat." She sipped her coffee. "What I can't figure is why. You don't look like the usual criminal element."

"I'm not," Percy insisted. "It's complicated. I got mixed up in something I didn't understand, and now I just want to get home before my friends do something stupid trying to rescue me."

Maggie studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "Fair enough. Need a phone?"

Percy hesitated. "It's not that simple. Using phones is... dangerous for me."

"Man, you really are in trouble," Mike said with newfound respect.

"Not like that," Percy sighed. "It's hard to explain."

Joey leaned forward eagerly. "You were gonna tell us about demigods."

Maggie raised an eyebrow. "Demigods? Like in the old myths?"

Percy stared at her. "You know about that stuff?"

"I read, kid. Greek, Roman, Norse—all that old mythology. Used to teach it before I opened this place." She gave him a calculating look. "Don't tell me you're mixed up in some kind of cult."

"No! No cults. Just... look, you wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Try me." Maggie folded her arms. "I live in Gotham. We've got a man dressed as a bat fighting a clown. My belief threshold is pretty high."

Percy looked at the three expectant faces watching him and made a decision.

Maybe it was the exhaustion, or maybe it was just the need to tell someone the truth. Whatever the reason, he found himself talking.

He told them about the Greek gods being real, about camp, about being a son of Poseidon. He told them about Mount Saint Helens and waking up in Gotham (though he left out the parts about the Batman's cave and the mechanical hellhound).

When he finished, silence reigned at the table. Mike and Joey stared at him with wide eyes. Maggie's expression was unreadable.

"So," Percy said finally, "that's why I can't use phones. Attracts monsters."

Joey broke the silence first. "That is so cool! Can you show us your water powers?"

Percy glanced at Maggie, who nodded slightly. He concentrated, and the water in Maggie's coffee cup rose up in a tiny spiral before settling back down.

"Well," Maggie said after a moment, "I've seen weirder things in this city."

Mike snorted. "Last month we had that plant lady cover half of downtown in man-eating flowers."

"And don't forget the time the clown made all the fish at the aquarium laugh," Joey added.

Percy blinked. "Is this city always like this?"

"Pretty much," they all confirmed in unison.

Maggie drained her coffee. "So you need to contact your friends without using modern technology. That's a challenge."

"I usually use something called an Iris message," Percy explained. "But I need a rainbow and a gold drachma for that."

"A rainbow and ancient Greek currency." Maggie nodded as if this made perfect sense. "The rainbow I can help with—there's a garden center in Robinson Park that has those misters running all day. But the coin..."

"I might know someone," Mike said suddenly. "There's this weird old shop in The Bowery. Guy collects all sorts of ancient stuff. Has coins and things."

Percy perked up. "Really?"

"Yeah, but..." Mike hesitated. "It's in Red Hood's territory."

Maggie's expression darkened. "Absolutely not. That's too dangerous."

"Who's Red Hood?" Percy asked.

"Crime lord," Maggie explained. "Controls most of The Bowery and parts of Crime Alley. Violent, unpredictable, but..."

"But what?"

"He's not like the others," Mike said quietly. "He doesn't hurt kids. And he keeps the really bad stuff—the human trafficking, the hard drugs—out of his territory."

"Still dangerous," Maggie insisted.

Percy considered his options. He needed to contact camp before they sent a search party—or worse, before Annabeth decided to come looking for him herself. The thought of Annabeth loose in Gotham made his blood run cold.

"How far is this shop?" he asked.

Mike met his gaze. "About an hour from here. But we'd have to go through some rough areas."

Maggie rubbed her temples. "This is a terrible idea."

"Most of my ideas are," Percy admitted. "But I need to try."

The diner's door opened with a jingle, admitting a late customer. Maggie stood with a sigh. "Think about it overnight at least. You can crash in the storage room. There's a cot there I use for naps."

"Thank you," Percy said sincerely.

As Maggie went to tend to her customer, Joey leaned across the table. "If you're really going to that shop tomorrow, we're coming with you."

"No way," Percy said immediately. "Too dangerous."

Mike's eyes narrowed. "We know the streets better than you do. You'd get lost in five minutes without us."

"Besides," Joey added, "we want to see more water tricks."

Percy opened his mouth to argue, then closed it. They had a point about knowing the streets. But if anything happened to them...

"We'll discuss it in the morning," he said finally. "Deal?"

The brothers nodded, though the glint in their eyes suggested the discussion was already over in their minds.

Percy followed Maggie to the storage room, his mind racing with plans and contingencies. Tomorrow, with any luck, he'd contact camp and figure out a way home.

But luck had never been a demigod's strong suit. And Gotham, he was beginning to realize, had a way of complicating even the simplest plans.

As he settled onto the cot, Percy couldn't shake the feeling that his Gotham adventure was only just beginning—and that the Fates weren't done with him yet.

Not by a long shot.

Chapter Text

Percy woke before dawn, the unfamiliar sounds of Gotham's early morning filtering through the thin walls of Maggie's storage room.

For a moment, he lay still, listening to the distant rumble of delivery trucks and the occasional police siren—a city waking up to another day of barely contained chaos.

He sat up, wincing as his muscles protested. The cot had been better than nothing, but it hadn't exactly been designed for someone his height. Still, he felt more rested than he had since Mount Saint Helens, and the food from last night had restored some of his strength.

As quietly as possible, Percy folded the blanket Maggie had provided and made his way into the diner's main area. To his surprise, Maggie was already there, brewing coffee and prepping for the breakfast rush.

"Morning," she said without looking up. "There's coffee if you want some."

"Thanks." Percy poured himself a cup, grimacing at the bitter taste but appreciating the warmth and caffeine. "I didn't expect you to be up so early."

Maggie shrugged. "Diner life. You get used to it." She slid a plate of eggs and toast across the counter to him. "Eat. You'll need your strength if you're really going through with this foolish plan."

Percy didn't argue with either the assessment or the food. He dug in, watching as Maggie moved with practiced efficiency around her kitchen.

"The boys were here at five," she said casually. "Very excited about their big adventure to The Bowery."

Percy nearly choked on his toast. "They can't come with me."

"I told them that. They didn't listen." Maggie turned to face him, spatula in hand. "Those two are survivors, Percy. They've been on Gotham's streets for nearly two years. They know things about this city that people who've lived here their whole lives don't."

"It's too dangerous," Percy insisted. "If something happens—"

"Something's always happening in Gotham," Maggie interrupted. "That's the point. They navigate it every day." She sighed, her expression softening slightly. "I'm not saying take them into the heart of danger. But they can at least get you to the borders of Red Hood's territory safely."

Percy pushed his empty plate away, considering. "Where are they now?"

"Waiting in the alley behind the diner. Stubborn little monsters." There was fondness in her voice despite the exasperation.

"Fine," Percy conceded. "They can guide me to the edge of this Red Hood's territory. But that's where they stop. Deal?"

Maggie nodded. "Deal." She reached under the counter and pulled out a small paper bag. "Sandwiches. For the road."

"You don't have to—"

"Kid, in my experience, hungry heroes make stupid decisions. Take the food."

Percy accepted the bag with a grateful smile. "Thank you. For everything."

"Just try not to die in my city," Maggie replied. "I'm fond of those boys, and they seem to like you for some reason."

"I'll do my best."

"And Percy?" Maggie called as he headed for the back door. "If you run into trouble with Red Hood... remember he's not like the other criminals in Gotham. There's a code there, twisted as it might be. Respect it, and you might just survive."

With that cryptic advice echoing in his mind, Percy stepped into the alley where Mike and Joey were waiting, practically vibrating with excitement.

"You're late," Mike said, trying to sound cool and collected despite the gleam in his eyes.

Joey was less restrained. "Are we really going to The Bowery? Can you show us more water tricks? Do you think we'll see Red Hood?"

"Slow down," Percy said, holding up his hands. "First, we need to be clear about something. You guys are only guiding me to the edge of Red Hood's territory. You're not coming with me into The Bowery."

The brothers exchanged glances, and Percy recognized the look of two people silently communicating a plan B that he wouldn't approve of.

"I'm serious," he insisted. "If something happened to you because of me..." He let the sentence hang, memories of friends he'd failed to protect flashing through his mind.

Something in his expression must have conveyed the weight of those memories, because Mike's defiant posture softened slightly. "Fine. We'll get you to the border. But if you're not back by tomorrow, we're coming after you."

"Fair enough," Percy agreed, reaching down to ruffle the boy’s hair. "Lead the way."

The brothers set off through Gotham's winding streets with the confidence of those who'd mapped every alley and shortcut through necessity. They moved with a natural vigilance, eyes constantly scanning for threats, voices dropping to whispers whenever they spotted someone who didn't fit their mental catalog of "safe."

Percy followed their lead, impressed despite himself. These kids had survival instincts that would have served them well at Camp Half-Blood. They reminded him of some of the unclaimed campers who'd arrived alone, having fought their way across the country with nothing but instinct and determination.

"So," Joey piped up during a rare quiet stretch, "can you talk to horses?"

Percy blinked in surprise. "How did you know that?"

"You said your dad is Poseidon. He created horses in the myths."

"You know your mythology," Percy said, impressed.

Joey shrugged. "Maggie gives us books sometimes. I like the stories."

"Yeah, he's a regular nerd," Mike said, ruffling his brother's hair affectionately. "So? Can you?"

"Yeah, I can," Percy admitted. "Though I wouldn't call it talking exactly. More like... understanding their thoughts. They can be pretty opinionated."

Joey's eyes widened. "That is so cool! Can you talk to other animals too?"

"Sea creatures, mostly. And some birds that have connections to the sea, like seagulls."

"No seagulls in Gotham," Mike noted. "Too polluted, probably. But there are horses at the GCPD mounted unit. And at the racetrack in Bristol."

"I'll keep that in mind if I need equine backup," Percy said with a smile. "Though I'm hoping to get home before I have to start recruiting a horse army."

They continued through the city, the landscape gradually changing around them. The buildings grew shabbier, the streets narrower and less maintained. Graffiti covered nearly every surface, some of it elaborate artwork, some simple territorial markings. Percy noticed a recurring symbol appearing with increasing frequency—a red helmet, stylized and menacing.

"Red Hood's tag," Mike explained, catching Percy's gaze. "We're getting close to his territory."

The foot traffic changed too. Fewer ordinary citizens, more individuals with the hard, watchful look of those who lived outside the law. Some openly carried weapons, others moved with the subtle bulges of concealed ones. No one bothered the three of them, though—perhaps assuming that children moving with such purpose were running errands for someone best not crossed.

After about an hour of walking, Mike led them into a narrow side street and stopped beside a crumbling brick wall covered in spray paint. A massive red helmet dominated the concrete, surrounded by smaller tags and symbols.

"This is it," Mike said, his voice quieter now. "The official border of Red Hood's territory. Cross that invisible line, and you're in his world."

Percy studied the graffiti, trying to get a read on this mysterious crime lord. The helmet was intimidating, sure, but there was something about it that didn't scream "psychotic villain" the way he'd expect from someone controlling a chunk of Gotham.

"The shop you mentioned," Percy said. "Where exactly is it?"

Mike pointed down the street that continued past the wall. "About ten blocks that way. Called 'Antiquities and Oddities.' Old guy named Stavros runs it. Has all kinds of weird stuff, including coins."

"You've been there before?"

Mike nodded. "A couple times. Stavros lets street kids browse as long as we don't touch anything expensive. Says it's good for us to learn about history."

Percy shouldered the small backpack Maggie had loaned him, containing the sandwiches and a bottle of water. "Okay. This is where you turn back."

The brothers didn't move.

"Guys," Percy said firmly. "We had a deal."

"Just..." Joey hesitated, looking uncharacteristically serious. "Be careful, okay? Red Hood might be better than the other bad guys, but he's still dangerous. And there are other gangs that try to push into his territory sometimes."

"I'll be careful," Percy promised. "I'm just going to find the shop, see if they have what I need, and come straight back. I've got until tomorrow, right?"

Mike nodded reluctantly. "If you're not back by then—"

"You'll come looking for me, I know." Percy smiled. "But I will be. Demigod's honor."

After another moment of hesitation, the brothers turned and started back the way they'd come, Joey glancing back several times until they disappeared around a corner.

Percy took a deep breath and turned to face Red Hood's territory. 

Just a quick trip to find a gold drachma, maybe create a rainbow if the garden center was on the way, contact camp, and get back before sunset. Simple.

And if his luck as a demigod had taught him anything, it was that nothing was ever that simple.

With one hand in his pocket, fingers curled around Riptide, Percy stepped across the invisible boundary and into The Bowery.

The change was subtle but unmistakable. Where the previous neighborhoods had felt dangerous in a chaotic, unpredictable way, The Bowery had a different energy—still dangerous, but more... organized. People moved with purpose. The homeless huddled in specific areas, not scattered everywhere as they'd been in other parts of Gotham. Street vendors operated from regular spots. Even the criminals seemed to follow some kind of structure, nodding to each other in recognition, sometimes exchanging small packages or information with practiced efficiency.

It was like entering a kingdom with its own laws and customs, separate from the city around it. Percy felt oddly out of place, but then again, he was pretty sure being out of place was a constant state of his.

Percy kept his head down and moved with confidence, trying to blend in. The ten blocks to the antique shop stretched before him, each one a potential minefield of complications. But he'd faced monsters, gods, and titans. How bad could one neighborhood in Gotham really be?

He was about to find out.

Three blocks in, Percy noticed he was being followed. Two men, maybe in their twenties, wearing jackets despite the warm weather—likely concealing weapons. They maintained a consistent distance, not trying to catch up to him but definitely tracking his movements.

Percy quickened his pace slightly, adjusting his route to pass through more populated areas. The men adjusted accordingly, splitting up so one took a parallel street while the other stayed behind him.

So much for blending in. Something about him had obviously marked him as an outsider.

As Percy approached an intersection, a black SUV with tinted windows pulled up alongside him, keeping pace with his walk. The window rolled down partway, not enough to see the occupants clearly, but enough for him to hear a voice from inside.

"You lost, kid?"

Percy kept walking, not making eye contact. "Nope. Just heading to a shop."

"What shop would that be?"

"Antiquities and Oddities."

There was a pause, then: "Stavros doesn't get many visitors your age. What's your business there?"

Percy's instincts were screaming at him to run, but he forced himself to keep his pace steady. Running would only confirm he was up to something suspicious. "Looking for something specific. A coin."

Another pause, longer this time. Then the SUV accelerated slightly, pulling ahead of him and stopping at the next corner, effectively blocking his path. The back door opened.

"Get in."

Percy's hand tightened around Riptide in his pocket. "I'd rather walk, thanks."

A man stepped out of the SUV—tall, muscular, with a face that had clearly seen its share of fights. No visible weapons, but Percy didn't doubt they were there. "It wasn't a request. The boss wants to talk to you."

Percy tensed, ready to draw Riptide and make a run for it, when the man added: "Red Hood doesn't like unescorted strangers in his territory. Especially ones being tailed by Penguin's men."

Percy glanced back. The two men who'd been following him had closed the distance, their hands now visibly reaching inside their jackets.

"Penguin?" Percy repeated, confused.

The man from the SUV sighed as if dealing with a particularly slow child. "Another crime boss. Rival territory. Those two work for him. Now are you getting in, or would you prefer to deal with them?"

Percy hesitated only a moment longer before making his decision. He slipped into the back of the SUV, figuring he had a better chance against one potential enemy than two definite ones.

The door closed behind him with a solid thunk that sounded distressingly final.

Inside, the SUV was surprisingly clean and professional-looking. The man who'd invited him in sat next to him, while another stayed in the front passenger seat, half-turned to keep an eye on Percy.

"Search him," said the driver without turning around.

The man beside Percy held out his hand. "Weapons."

Percy weighed his options. Riptide would return to his pocket even if he surrendered it, but he didn't particularly want to explain a pen that transformed into a celestial bronze sword. On the other hand, lying to armed criminals didn't seem wise.

"I have a pen," he said finally, pulling Riptide out but keeping it capped. "It's... important to me."

The man took it, examined it with confusion, then handed it to his colleague in the front seat, who pocketed it after a brief inspection.

"That's it? No gun? Knife?"

Percy shook his head. "Just the pen."

The men exchanged glances that clearly communicated their doubts about his intelligence.

"A pen," the driver repeated flatly. "You're wandering around The Bowery with just a pen for protection?"

"It's a really good pen," Percy defended. "Excellent...ink flow."

The man beside him snorted. "You hear that, Eddie? Kid's got a pen with excellent ink flow. Penguin's guys don't stand a chance."

"Maybe he was planning to write them a strongly worded letter," Eddie replied from the front seat, and both men chuckled.

Percy sighed. "Look, I'm just trying to find a shop. I wasn't planning on getting into any fights."

"Nobody plans on it," the driver said. "But in Gotham, it tends to find you anyway."

"Where are we going?" Percy asked as the SUV pulled away from the curb.

"To see the boss," was the only answer he received.

Percy tried to keep track of their route, but after a series of turns down increasingly narrow streets, he had to admit he was thoroughly lost. If he managed to escape, finding his way back to Mike and Joey's meeting point would be a challenge.

After about ten minutes of driving, they pulled into an alley behind what looked like an abandoned theater, its marquee long dark, posters faded to ghostly rectangles. The driver cut the engine.

"Get out. No sudden movements."

Percy complied, emerging into the alley with his hands slightly raised to show he wasn't a threat. The theater's back door stood open, a sliver of light spilling out into the dim alley.

"Inside," the first man directed, giving Percy a light push between the shoulder blades.

The theater's backstage area had been converted into what looked like a command center. Monitors displayed security feeds from various locations throughout The Bowery. Maps covered one wall, marked with territories, safe houses, and what Percy guessed were rival gang locations. A large table dominated the center of the room, covered with papers, weapons, and what looked distressingly like blueprints for several Gotham landmarks.

No one sat at the table, though. The room was empty except for them.

"Wait here," the driver ordered, then left through a door on the far side.

Percy stood awkwardly between the two remaining men, trying to look casual while scanning for escape routes. There were several doors and what appeared to be a ladder leading up to a catwalk above the stage, but getting to any of them before being caught seemed unlikely.

"So," Percy said, trying to break the uncomfortable silence, "does Red Hood offer dental with this gig, or is it more of a freelance situation?"

The man to his left snorted despite himself, then quickly schooled his features back to impassivity. The other guard just glared.

A minute passed. Then another. Percy was considering whether it was worth asking for Riptide back when the door the driver had used swung open again.

The figure that entered wasn't what Percy had expected. From everyone's nervousness, he'd anticipated someone older, perhaps a traditional crime boss type. Instead, the person who walked in couldn't have been more than a few years older than Percy himself—early twenties at most.

He wore cargo pants and a brown leather jacket over a fitted black shirt, but what immediately drew Percy's attention was the red helmet covering his entire head. Not a motorcycle helmet exactly, but something more stylized, with white lenses where the eyes would be. The effect was unsettling, rendering the wearer's expression completely unreadable.

Red Hood. Obviously.

He moved with the easy confidence of someone who knew exactly how dangerous he was, stopping a few feet from Percy and tilting his head slightly in assessment.

"So," Red Hood's voice came through the helmet with an electronic distortion that somehow made it even more menacing, "you're the kid causing all the commotion."

Percy blinked. "Commotion?"

"Penguin's men following you. Batman looking for you. Word travels fast in Gotham." Red Hood circled Percy slowly. "What I can't figure out is why. You don't look like much."

"Thanks," Percy said dryly before he could stop himself.

Red Hood paused, and though Percy couldn't see his face, he got the distinct impression the crime lord was smiling.

"Attitude," Red Hood said, the electronic distortion of his voice carrying an undercurrent of amusement. "I like that. Most people who get brought in here are either begging or threatening by now."

Percy shrugged, trying to appear more at ease than he felt. "I've met scarier things than a guy in a helmet."

A short bark of laughter escaped the helmet's voice modulator. Red Hood gestured to his men, who immediately backed up several paces, giving them space but remaining close enough to intervene if necessary.

"Let's cut to it," Red Hood said, leaning forward. He moved to the table, picking up what looked like a police report. "Perseus Jackson. Fifteen years old. Multiple counts of destruction of property across the country. Suspected involvement in terrorist activities. Disappeared from a military school field trip when you were twelve." He tossed the file back onto the table. "Either you're incredibly unlucky, or there's a lot more to your story."

Percy tensed. "How do you have that?"

"I have access to certain databases. The question is—" Red Hood leaned forward slightly, the white lenses of his helmet fixed on Percy's face, "—why would Batman be looking for a teenage fugitive? He typically chases more... colorful characters."

As Red Hood circled him, the crime lord suddenly paused, his helmet tilting slightly as he focused on Percy's head.

"You're too young for gray hair," Red Hood said, his electronic voice unreadable "And that's definitely not dye."

Percy's hand automatically went to the gray streak that ran through his black hair—a not-so-lovely permanent reminder of the time he'd held up the sky to save Artemis and Annabeth. "No. It's not."

Red Hood stepped closer, and Percy could feel the intense scrutiny even through the helmet's expressionless facade. After a moment, the crime lord reached up and removed his helmet with a soft hiss of released pressure.

Percy tried not to show his surprise at the face revealed: a young man, maybe twenty-one or twenty-two, with sharp features, intense blue-green eyes, and—most notably—a shock of white hair at the front of his otherwise dark head.

"Interesting," Red Hood said, his natural voice younger and less mechanical but no less dangerous. "We match." He ran a hand through his own white streak. "Question is, what put yours there? Because I'm pretty sure you haven't died and come back yet."

Percy blinked, thrown by both the casual mention of resurrection and the unexpected connection. "I... held something very heavy for a while. Something I shouldn't have been able to hold at all."

Red Hood nodded slowly, as if this made perfect sense in the context of Gotham's weirdness. "Heavy like the weight of the world?"

Percy stared at him, unable to hide his shock. "How could you possibly—"

"Just a turn of phrase that seemed to fit," Red Hood replied with a small smirk. He replaced the helmet with another soft hiss as it sealed. "I have no idea who or what you really are."

"I have no idea who or what you really are," Percy retorted, unsettled by how easily this crime lord had gotten under his skin.

"I'm just a guy who died," Red Hood replied casually through the helmet's modulator. "No big deal in this city."

Percy wasn't sure if he was joking or not, which made the whole situation even more unsettling.

"I just need a special kind of coin to... make a call."

Red Hood was silent for a long moment, as if trying to determine whether Percy was lying or just insane. Finally, he straightened up.

"Nobody risks crossing into this part of Gotham for pocket change."

Percy weighed his options. The truth was too complicated and unbelievable, but he needed something convincing enough to get his pen back and continue his quest.

"It's not just any coin," he said finally. "It's a gold drachma. Ancient Greek. I need it to... contact someone."

Red Hood's helmet tilted slightly. "Contact someone? What, is it a collector's item you're planning to pawn?"

"No, it's—" Percy hesitated, then decided a partial truth might be his best bet. "It's for a message. Where I come from, they're used to send important communications."

"Where you come from," Red Hood repeated slowly. "And where exactly is that? Because your accent says New York, but your story says crazy town."

"Long Island," Percy answered truthfully. "And yeah, I know how it sounds. But the coin is important, and I just want to get it and leave Gotham as soon as possible. No trouble for you or your... operation."

"No trouble, he says," Red Hood muttered, the voice modulator somehow conveying dry amusement. "As he leads Penguin's men right into my territory and gets Batman's attention while he's at it."

"In my defense," Percy said, "attracting trouble is kind of my superpower. I don't try to do it. It just happens."

"Kid, you and I might have more in common than just weird hair," Red Hood replied with what sounded like genuine amusement.

Red Hood was silent for a long moment, the white lenses of his helmet fixed on Percy's face as if searching for deception.

"You know," he said finally, "the interesting thing about my operation, as you call it, is that I've put a lot of effort into knowing everything that happens in my territory. Every deal, every movement, every new face. It keeps things orderly." He pushed off from the table and took a step closer to Percy. "So when Penguin's men start following someone I don't know, heading toward a shop that deals in rare artifacts, I get curious."

"I'm not working for Penguin," Percy said quickly. "I didn't even know who he was until your guys mentioned him."

"I believe you," Red Hood said, surprising Percy. "Which makes this even more interesting. Why would Penguin's men be tailing someone who claims to just be looking for an old coin?" He tapped the side of his helmet thoughtfully. "Unless they think this coin is worth something special."

Percy tried to keep his expression neutral, but something must have shown on his face.

"That's it, isn't it?" Red Hood continued. "This drachma—it's valuable in ways that aren't obvious. Magical, perhaps?"

Percy stiffened. "What makes you say magical?"

"Kid, this is Gotham. I've seen aliens, meta-humans, and things that defy explanation. A magic coin barely registers on the weird scale." Red Hood crossed his arms. "Plus, Stavros doesn't just deal in antiques. The 'Oddities' part of his shop's name isn't for show."

For a moment, Percy considered whether this revelation made his quest easier or more complicated. If Red Hood knew about the supernatural, maybe he wouldn't need to hide as much.

"Look," Percy said, deciding to take a risk, "I just need to make a call, and I need the drachma to do it. It's how people like me communicate when we're... away from home."

"People like you," Red Hood echoed. "And what exactly are you?"

"Someone with really bad cell phone reception?" Percy tried with a half-smile.

Red Hood snorted. "Try again, kid."

Before Percy could answer, the door behind Red Hood burst open. One of his men rushed in, breathing hard.

"Boss! Batman's been spotted three blocks east. Moving this way fast."

Red Hood's posture changed instantly, tension radiating from every line of his body. "How many with him?"

"Just one, but—"

"Which one?" Red Hood cut in sharply.

"The small, smart one."

Red Hood muttered something that sounded like a curse. "Time to relocate. We're not having that conversation today." He turned back to Percy. "Seems like your day just got more complicated, kid."

"Story of my life," Percy muttered. "I just want my pen back," he added firmly. "Then I'll be out of your way."

Red Hood made a sound that might have been a snort. "Your pen? That's your priority right now?"

"It's important to me."

Red Hood stared at him for a moment, then held out his hand to the man who'd taken Riptide. "Give it back to him."

The man looked uncertain but complied, handing the pen to Red Hood, who examined it briefly before tossing it to Percy.

"Must be some pen," he commented.

Percy caught Riptide and immediately felt more secure with it back in his possession. "Thanks."

"Don't thank me yet," Red Hood said, his tone shifting to something harder. "You've got two options. One: you leave with my men right now, go back the way you came, and forget about your magic coin. Or two: you tell me exactly what you are, what the coin really does, and why Batman is suddenly so interested in the same part of town you showed up in."

Before Percy could respond, the room's lights flickered, and a distant crash echoed from somewhere in the building.

"Time's up," Red Hood said. "Choose now."

Percy gripped Riptide tighter, weighing his increasingly limited options. He needed that drachma, but facing both Red Hood and Batman seemed like a complication he couldn't afford.

"There's a third option," Percy said, his eyes darting to a water pipe running along the ceiling above them. He concentrated, feeling the familiar tug in his gut. "I find the shop on my own."

The pipe burst with explosive force, water spraying down into the room. The men shouted in surprise, momentarily blinded and distracted. Percy used the confusion to dash toward the door they'd brought him in through, riptide springing forward to slice through the latch.

"Son of a—!" Red Hood shouted, half-impressed and half-furious as he wiped water from his helmet's lenses. "So much for 'just a pen'!"

Behind him, Percy heard Red Hood shouting, "Get after him!" followed by a crash that suggested Batman might have just found them.

Percy burst into the alley, water still responding to his will and pushing him forward faster than any normal human could run. He sprinted away from the theater, turning randomly at intersections, trying to put as much distance as possible between himself and the chaos he'd left behind.

After several minutes of full-speed running, Percy ducked into a narrow space between two buildings, trying to catch his breath and get his bearings. His impromptu water show had definitely blown his cover—not just with Red Hood, but potentially with Batman too. The last thing he needed was more people deciding he was a meta-human threat.

He tried to recall Mike's directions to the shop. Ten blocks from the border, but in which direction? East, he thought. Or was it northeast? The confused route Red Hood's men had taken had completely disoriented him.

Percy leaned against the wall, closing his eyes for a moment. He'd faced the Titan Lord Kronos, battled countless monsters, and held up the sky. He wasn't going to be defeated by Gotham's confusing street layout.

"Poseidon, god of the sea, if you're listening," Percy muttered, "now would be a really great time for some divine GPS guidance. I promise I'll sacrifice extra blue cookies when I get home."

No divine answer came, of course. Percy wasn't really expecting one. The gods were never that helpful, especially in another's domain.

Opening his eyes with renewed determination, Percy peered around the corner. The street looked momentarily clear, though he could hear sirens in the distance—likely heading toward the theater he'd escaped from.

"First things first," he muttered to himself. "Find water. Find high ground. Get oriented."

With Riptide still clutched in his hand, ready to be uncapped at a moment's notice, Percy stepped back into Gotham's streets, more determined than ever to complete his mission and get home—before either crime lords or caped crusaders made that impossible.

———

Back at the flooded command center, Red Hood wiped water from the screen of a tracking device, its signal pinging steadily as it followed Percy's movement through The Bowery.

"Amateur," he muttered, a hint of amusement in his voice as he traced the small dot that represented the GPS tracker he'd slipped into Percy's backpack while examining his pen. "Matching hair streaks or not, kid, you've got a lot to learn about Gotham."

He glanced at the gray streak in Percy's police file photo again, then touched his own white streak thoughtfully. Somewhere in the building, he could hear Batman and Robin getting closer.

"Well," Red Hood said to himself as he prepared to make his exit, "this is definitely going to be interesting."

Chapter Text

Percy had never been particularly good with directions, but Gotham seemed determined to make his navigational challenges even worse. The streets twisted and turned without logic, sometimes doubling back on themselves, sometimes ending abruptly in brick walls or chain-link fences. It was as if the city itself was a living labyrinth, constantly shifting to confuse outsiders.

After twenty minutes of what felt like running in circles, Percy ducked into an abandoned storefront with boarded-up windows. He needed to catch his breath and regroup. The sounds of distant sirens had faded, but he couldn't shake the feeling of being watched.

"Get it together, Jackson," he muttered to himself, running a hand through his damp hair. "You've navigated the Labyrinth for real. This is just a city."

A very confusing, very hostile city with at least one crime lord, a vigilante in a bat costume, and a sidekick with scarily good parkour skills after him, but still—just a city.

Percy dug into his backpack, hoping to find something useful. Maggie's sandwiches were still there, along with the water bottle. He took a long drink, feeling strength flow back into his limbs as the water revitalized him. As he replaced the bottle, his fingers brushed against something unfamiliar—a small, round object he definitely hadn't packed.

He pulled it out, squinting in the dim light. A small disc, about the size of a penny, with a blinking red light.

"A tracker," Percy realized with a groan. Red Hood must have planted it on him during their chat. So much for stealth. Annabeth would’ve slapped him over the head. 

For a moment, Percy considered crushing it, but then a better idea formed. He stepped back outside, looked around until he spotted a stray dog sniffing through garbage down the alley, and whistled softly.

The dog—a scrappy mutt with patches of fur missing—looked up warily.

Percy loved him immediately.

"Hey buddy," Percy said gently, pulling one of Maggie's sandwiches from his bag. The scent of fresh bread and cold cuts filled the alley, a stark contrast to the pervasive stench of garbage and decay. "Hungry?"

The dog—Percy was gonna call him Blue—approached cautiously, nose twitching at the scent of food. His ribs were visible beneath his patchy fur, and a jagged scar ran along his flank. Gotham had clearly not been kind to either of them.

Percy unwrapped the sandwich, broke off an extra large piece, and placed it on the ground with the tracker nestled inside the meat. Then he backed away, giving the animal space.

Blue hesitated only briefly before gulping down the offering, barely chewing before the food disappeared down his throat. Percy smiled as the animal trotted off happily, hopefully leading Red Hood's men on a wild goose chase through the bowels of Gotham. He felt a twinge of guilt for using the hungry animal, but it was better than the alternative.

"Sorry about that," Percy called after the dog. "But I'll make it up to you later if I see you again. Maybe a steak dinner, buddy."

Now he just needed to find Antiquities and Oddities without a guide. 

"Think, Percy," he muttered to himself, ducking into a narrow alley to catch his breath. "What would Annabeth do?"

The answer came immediately: Annabeth would have researched Gotham thoroughly before arriving, memorized maps, and created contingency plans. Unfortunately, Percy could not have, and probably would not have, done any of those things. 

A distant siren wailed, reminding him that standing still wasn't an option. Red Hood's men were undoubtedly searching for him, and if Batman was truly in the area...

Percy shuddered. That guy still freaked him out.

He closed his eyes, trying to remember any landmarks Mike had mentioned. Nothing useful came to mind, but when he focused, he could sense something—a pull toward water. Significant water, not just a pipe or puddle. Following his instincts, he moved deeper into the alley, which opened onto a small, forgotten courtyard.

In the center stood a neglected fountain, dry and cracked with age. But Percy could sense water still flowing beneath it, in pipes that had long been redirected but never fully closed.

Concentrating, Percy reached out with his power. The fountain groaned, ancient plumbing protesting as he commanded the water to return to its original path. For a moment, nothing happened. Then a trickle of water spurted from the fountain's mouth, quickly growing into a steady stream.

Percy approached the fountain, watching as the basin slowly filled with murky water. It wasn't ideal for creating a rainbow, but it might be enough to orient himself.

Placing his hand over the surface, Percy concentrated, willing the water to clear. The murk separated, sinking to the bottom as the water above it became surprisingly transparent.

"Show me Antiquities and Oddities," Percy commanded, focusing on the shop Mike had mentioned.

The water rippled, then stilled to form a reflective surface. For a moment, Percy thought it might actually work—that his father's power might extend to scrying in this strange city. Instead, the water simply reflected his own tired face.

"Worth a shot," he sighed.

As Percy stood to leave, the reflection in the water suddenly shifted, showing not his face but a street sign: "Mccoin Street & 43rd."

Percy blinked in surprise. Had that been his father's help after all? Or something about Gotham itself responding to his power?

He committed the intersection to memory just as the fountain's water began to darken again. Before he could contemplate this strange occurrence further, a noise from the alley entrance caught his attention.

Two of Red Hood's men appeared, weapons drawn.

"There he is!" one shouted. "The boss wants him alive!"

Percy uncapped Riptide, the pen expanding into his familiar three-foot celestial bronze sword. The men faltered, clearly not expecting this transformation or whatever they could see, but quickly recovered.

"Kid's got some kind of funky, trick weapon," the first man called to his partner. "Watch yourself."

Percy backed toward the far side of the courtyard, keeping the fountain between himself and his pursuers. He didn't want to hurt mortals if he could avoid it, but he also couldn't afford to be captured again.

"Look," Percy tried, "I just need to find a shop. I'm not looking for trouble."

"Too late for that," the second man replied, circling around the fountain. "You flooded the boss's command center and sliced through a reinforced door. That's the definition of trouble."

Percy had to concede the point. His attempts at staying under the radar hadn't exactly been successful so far.

As the men closed in, Percy made a split-second decision. He thrust his hand toward the fountain, and the newly restored water erupted upward in a massive geyser. Percy directed it toward his pursuers, knocking them off their feet and sending them sliding back into the alley.

Not waiting to see if they would recover, Percy bolted for the opposite exit, sword still in hand.

The narrow passage eventually opened onto a wider street. Percy glanced at the street signs—he was on 38th, which meant he needed to head east to find Mccoin. Five blocks east, then north until he hit 43rd. It wasn't much of a plan, but it was all he had.

Percy ran, keeping to side streets and alleys when possible. He passed homeless encampments, street vendors packing up for the day, and more than a few drug deals that paused momentarily as he rushed by with a glowing bronze sword. No one tried to stop him, though, perhaps a testament to how weird Gotham truly was that a teenager booking it with a sword—or whatever the mist made it—barely registered as unusual.

After what felt like an eternity of running, doubling back, and avoiding visible search parties, Percy finally spotted the intersection the water had shown him: Mccoin Street & 43rd.

And there, nestled between a pawn shop and a boarded-up laundromat, was a narrow storefront with a faded sign reading "Antiquities & Oddities" in peeling gold letters.

Percy approached cautiously, Riptide still drawn. The shop windows were dusty but displayed an eclectic array of items: ancient-looking pottery, strange masks from various cultures, weapons that appeared ceremonial rather than practical, and glass cases containing coins and medallions from different eras.

A bell jingled as Percy pushed open the door, the sound incongruously cheerful in the otherwise silent space. The interior was dimly lit and cluttered, shelves and display cases crammed with artifacts from floor to ceiling. The air smelled of old books, incense, and something Percy couldn't quite identify—something ancient and vaguely magical.

"We're closed," called a voice from the back, accented and irritable.

"Sorry," Percy replied, not lowering his sword. "I just need one thing, then I'll leave."

A curtain at the rear of the shop parted, revealing an elderly man with a deeply lined face and steel-gray hair pulled back in a short ponytail. He wore small round spectacles and a waistcoat that looked nearly as antique as the items he sold.

The old man—Stavros, Percy presumed—froze when he saw the glowing sword in Percy's hand. But instead of fear, his expression showed recognition, then resignation.

"Of course," he muttered, shaking his head. "First Batman, then Red Hood's men asking questions, and now a demigod with a celestial bronze sword. Why not? It's been that kind of day."

Percy stared at him in shock. "You know what I am?"

"Young man, I've been in this business for over sixty years. I know the marks of Olympus when I see them." Stavros gestured to Riptide. "Though I admit, it's been decades since one of your kind darkened my doorstep."

Percy didn't lower his sword, but his stance relaxed slightly. "So you know why I'm here?"

"I can guess. Communication or transportation, most likely. Those seem to be the usual needs of demigods far from home." Stavros moved behind a glass counter, unlocking it with a key from the chain at his waist. "Which means you're looking for these."

The old man carefully removed a small velvet pouch and placed it on the counter.

"Drachmas," Percy breathed, relief washing over him.

"Indeed. Pure gold, minted in ancient Athens." Stavros opened the pouch, revealing a dozen gleaming coins, each stamped with Athena's profile on one side and an owl on the other. "I've maintained a small collection for emergencies. It seems today qualifies."

Percy finally capped Riptide, returning it to pen form. "How much?"

Stavros raised an eyebrow. "You have money?"

"Some," Percy admitted, thinking of the meager cash he'd had in his pocket when he arrived in Gotham.

The old man studied him for a moment, then sighed. "Consider them a professional courtesy. One servant of the old ways to another."

"I'm not—" Percy began, then stopped. There was no point denying what Stavros clearly already knew. "Thank you." 

As Stavros wrapped up the pouch, he cast a glance toward the window, his expression darkening. "You've stirred up trouble, boy. Red Hood's men have been sniffing around since this morning. And Batman himself came asking questions."

"Batman?" Percy asked sharply.

"Yes. Big fellow, cape, brooding—hard to miss." Stavros tapped a finger against the counter. "He was asking about a teenager who caused some unique incidents—something about water behaving unnaturally."

Percy groaned, resisting the urge to slam his head onto the counter repeatedly. "And what did you tell him?"

"The truth—that I didn't know anything useful." Stavros studied him. "Son of Poseidon, I presume?"

Percy nodded reluctantly. "Yeah."

"Thought as much. The sea doesn't fare well in Gotham—too polluted, too corrupt. Your father's influence is weak here." Stavros handed Percy the pouch of drachmas. "Take these and leave my city, demigod. Gotham has its own protectors and its own monsters. We don't need Olympus's wars spilling onto our streets."

"I'm not looking for a war," Percy protested. "I just want to contact my friends and get home."

"Intentions matter little in Gotham," Stavros replied grimly. "Results are what count, and your results so far have drawn far too much attention."

Before Percy could respond, the shop's lights flickered, then went out entirely, plunging them into darkness broken only by the faint glow from street lamps outside.

Percy tensed. "That normal?"

Stavros exhaled slowly. "No."

A shadow passed in front of the window—silent, impossibly large, shaped like a bat. Then it was gone.

Percy swallowed. "That’s him, isn’t it?"

"Go," Stavros said, his voice firm but not unkind. He gestured toward a door behind the counter. "Storeroom leads to the alley."

"What about you?"

Stavros gave a small chuckle. "I've survived in Gotham for decades, boy. I know how to handle its… inhabitants. Now move."

Percy hesitated only a moment longer before slipping through the door into the storeroom, clutching the drachmas and compass tightly. Behind him, he heard the shop's front door open, followed by Stavros's dry, almost amused greeting:

"Ah, Batman. Twice in one day? To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Percy didn't wait to hear the response. He navigated through the cluttered storeroom, past crates of artifacts and shelves of books too old to be on display, until he found the back door. It opened into a narrow alley, thankfully empty.

He needed to find water—enough to create a rainbow for an Iris message. With the drachmas secured, that was his final task before he could contact Camp Half-Blood and, hopefully, find a way home.

At the far end, he could see a large pipe with a wheel valve—the water main.

Percy ran toward it, hearing shouting from inside the shop behind him. He winced, it seemed Batman wasn't the only one to stop by the small store. He just had to trust Stavros' word on being able to handle things.

He reached the pipe and turned the valve with all his strength. Water burst forth, creating a powerful spray that caught the afternoon sunlight streaming between buildings.

A perfect rainbow.

Percy pulled out the drachma, feeling its weight—solid and reassuring in his palm.

"O Iris, goddess of the rainbow," he intoned, "accept my offering."

He tossed one of the three coins into the mist where it disappeared with a familiar golden shimmer.

"Show me Chiron at Camp Half-Blood."

The rainbow shimmered, but instead of clearing to show the centaur's face, it wavered unstably, the colors swirling chaotically.

"Come on," Percy muttered, willing the connection to stabilize.

The image flickered, and for a brief moment, Percy caught a glimpse of the Big House porch, but it was distorted, as if seen through rippling water. He could just make out a figure that might be Chiron, looking troubled.

"Chiron!" Percy called. "It's Percy! I'm stuck in Gotham and—"

The connection sputtered, the rainbow colors fracturing. Percy heard a fragmented response—"—cy? Can't—connection—something interfering—"

"I'm in Gotham City!" Percy shouted, hoping at least part of his message was getting through. "I need extraction! The gods—"

The rainbow collapsed entirely, the mist dissipating as if blown away by an unseen wind. The drachma didn't return—the offering had been accepted, but the message had failed.

"No!" Percy slammed his fist against the pipe in frustration. Whatever was in Gotham seemed to be interfering with his connection to the Greek pantheon.

He was still stuck, with only two coins left and an increasingly higher number of people ready to turn him into chopped-demigod.

A crash from inside the shop spurred Percy into action. He couldn't go back the way he'd come, and he couldn't stay here in the open. His only option was forward, deeper into the alley.

Percy capped Riptide and sprinted away from the shop, rounding a corner just as the back door burst open behind him. He heard shouts as Red Hood's men discovered the rainbow setup, but he didn't slow down to listen.

The alley opened onto another street, narrower than the main road but busy with what appeared to be a black market in full swing. Vendors hawked goods from makeshift stalls while lookouts kept watch for police or unwelcome visitors.

Percy ducked his head and pushed through the crowd, trying to blend in despite his obvious outsider status. He needed to get back to the border of Red Hood's territory, back to where Mike and Joey would be waiting—assuming they'd kept their word about not following him in.

Percy glanced around, weighing his options. 

The alley behind him led further into The Bowery—deeper into Red Hood's territory. The direction Percy had been heading led toward Robin, who was undoubtedly still tracking from above. Neither option appealed.

Then Percy noticed something: a manhole cover just a few feet to his left. Sewers. Water. His domain. Even if it was the filthiest water imaginable, it was still water, and that meant it would respond to his command.

With a disgusted sigh, he headed for the manhole, using Riptide to pry open the heavy metal cover. The stench that wafted up was enough to make his eyes water, but he'd faced worse. Much worse. He slid into the opening feet first, using the water below to cushion his landing as he plunged into the darkness of Gotham's sewers. The splash echoed in the tunnel, but Percy remained dry, his clothes repelling the filthy water by instinct.

The last place Percy wanted to be was in the fetid waters of Gotham's underbelly, but desperate times called for desperate measures. At least down here, he'd be harder to track, and he'd have the advantage of his powers.

He let the current carry him away from his over-ground pursuers as he created a bubble of clean air around his head. The water was polluted and disgusting, but it responded to his will nonetheless, propelling him through the labyrinthine tunnel system.

As he navigated the darkness, guided by his innate sense of water flow, Percy couldn't help but wonder if he'd just jumped from the frying pan into something much, much worse.

———

Deep in the tunnels beneath The Bowery, Percy pushed through the disgusting waters, trying to ignore the occasional floating debris that bumped against him. Thanks to his powers, he remained dry despite being submerged to his chest, but that didn't make the journey pleasant.

His mind raced as he considered his options. The Iris message had failed—whether due to Gotham's unique darkness or simply because of the distance and interference, he couldn't be sure. But it meant no extraction team was coming from camp. He'd have to get home on his own.

That meant transportation. Money for transportation. And a way out of the city without being apprehended by either Red Hood or Batman.

As Percy rounded a bend in the tunnel, following his internal compass toward what he hoped was the edge of The Bowery, a splash ahead made him freeze. Something moved in the shadows—something large.

Percy raised Riptide, its bronze glow illuminating the tunnel in a warm light that somehow made the shadows beyond its reach seem even darker.

"Hello?" he called, immediately regretting breaking the silence.

A low, rumbling hiss answered him, followed by the sound of something heavy dragging through water.

"Of course," Percy muttered to himself. "Because it wouldn't be a proper quest without some kind of sewer monster."

The shape moved closer, into the edge of Riptide's glow, revealing scales, teeth, and eyes that reflected the sword's light with a predatory gleam.

An alligator. A very, very large alligator.

"Just a local," Percy said aloud, relieved it wasn't a mythological creature. "Hey there, big guy. I'm just passing through."

The alligator hissed again, louder this time, its powerful tail swishing beneath the water's surface. It was at least twelve feet long, far larger than any normal alligator should be, with an oddly misshapen head and what appeared to be... extra limbs?

As it moved fully into the light, Percy's momentary relief evaporated. This was no ordinary alligator. Its back was ridged with bony protrusions that looked almost like crude armor, and from its sides sprouted smaller, malformed limbs that twitched and grasped at the water. Its eyes were too intelligent, too aware, and its teeth—those definitely weren't standard issue for the American alligator.

"Okay," Percy said slowly, raising Riptide higher. "So Gotham has mutant alligators in the sewers. Why am I not surprised?"

The creature lunged with shocking speed, jaws snapping where Percy had been standing a split second before. He sidestepped, using the water to propel himself against the tunnel wall, then pushed off to slash at the creature's flank.

Riptide connected, but instead of the clean cut Percy expected, the blade scraped against the bony plates, drawing a shower of sparks and a roar of pain and rage from the alligator.

Not a monster in the mythological sense, then—Riptide didn't pass through it harmlessly as it would with a mortal creature, but it didn't dissolve into dust as a true monster would. Something in between, then. A Gotham special.

The mutant alligator thrashed, its tail whipping toward Percy with enough force to break bones. Percy ducked underwater, using his powers to create a current that shot him past the creature. But as he emerged on the other side, ready to sprint down the tunnel, he found himself facing not empty passage, but a wall of scales and teeth.

Another one. Bigger. And behind it, the splashing sounds of more approaching.

"You've got to be kidding me," Percy growled, backing up until he felt the first alligator's presence behind him. Trapped between two mutant predators in a sewer beneath a city where both criminals and vigilantes wanted to capture him.

This day just kept getting better.

Percy summoned his power, feeling the familiar tug in his gut as he called to the water around him. It responded eagerly, swirling into a vortex that lifted him above the creatures' snapping jaws. With a thrust of his hand, he sent a high-pressure jet of water at the larger alligator, aiming for its eyes.

The blast connected, and the creature roared in pain, thrashing wildly. Percy used the distraction to propel himself over its back, surfing on a wave of his own creation down the tunnel beyond.

Behind him, the alligators gave chase, their powerful tails propelling them through the water with alarming speed. Percy pushed harder, forcing more power into his improvised wave, shooting through the tunnels like a missile.

Ahead, the tunnel branched. Percy's internal sense told him the left fork led toward the edge of The Bowery—possibly to safety. But the right fork led deeper, toward a larger concentration of water. A pumping station, perhaps, or a treatment facility. Somewhere with more water, more power for him to use.

Percy chose right, banking hard into the turn as the alligators crashed into the wall behind him, momentarily disoriented by his sudden change in direction.

The tunnel widened, opening into a large circular chamber with multiple outlets and a central column rising from the water. Some kind of junction in Gotham's sewer system. The water level was higher here, nearly to the ceiling in places, with only narrow walkways offering dry refuge.

Perfect for Percy. Terrible for anyone trying to follow him who couldn't breathe underwater.

As the sounds of the pursuing alligators grew closer again, Percy swam to the central column and began to climb, pulling himself up onto a metal platform that encircled the structure. From here, he could see all the tunnel entrances and exits, including one high above that appeared to lead to a maintenance access.

Escape route identified, Percy turned to face the incoming threat, Riptide ready. The alligators burst into the chamber one after another, their mutated bodies somehow even more terrifying in the larger space where Percy could see them clearly. There were four in total, each with its own unique and disturbing mutations—extra limbs, bony growths, one even had what appeared to be a second, smaller head growing from its shoulder.

"Seriously, Gotham," Percy muttered, "what is wrong with you?"

The creatures circled below, their eyes fixed on him with predatory focus. They seemed to be coordinating, spreading out to cut off potential escape routes—behavior far too intelligent for normal alligators, mutated or not.

Percy considered his options. He could try for the maintenance access, but the alligators were watching too carefully. He could use his powers to create a distraction, but he was already tired from the day's exertions, and he needed to conserve energy.

Or he could try something else entirely.

Percy closed his eyes, concentrating on the water around him—not to control it this time, but to sense through it. To connect with the creatures moving within it.

Alligators weren't sea creatures exactly, but they were reptiles with strong ties to water habitats. Maybe, just maybe...

Hey, Percy projected his thoughts into the water, focusing on the alligators. I'm not your enemy. Just passing through.

The largest alligator, the one with the secondary head, paused in its circling, reptilian eyes blinking in confusion.

Man-smell different, came a primitive response, more impression than words. Not prey. Not predator. Water-kin?

Percy almost lost his concentration in surprise. It had worked! The connection was faint, the thoughts far more brutal and simple than the complex communication he shared with horses or sea creatures, but it was there.

Yes, Percy projected back. Water-kin. Just passing through your territory. No threat.

The alligators conferred in a series of hisses and rumbles, their primitive thoughts leaking through the water to Percy in fragments:

Strange... Not like others... Smells of salt and power... Water bends to him...

Finally, the largest one approached the column directly, raising its massive head from the water to regard Percy with both sets of eyes.

Water-kin may pass, it communicated. No hunt today. But quick. Others come. Metal-men and shadow-hunters.

Percy blinked, trying to parse the creature's meaning. "Metal-men? You mean Red Hood's guys? And shadow-hunters—Batman and Robin?"

The alligator didn't respond in words, but an impression flashed through the water—men with guns, fear-smell, serving the one with the red head-shell. And darker impressions: shapes moving on rooftops, silent hunters, bringers of pain and captivity.

"Got it," Percy said aloud. "Red Hood's men and the Bats are both closing in. Which way is clearest? Which way out?"

The creature swung its massive head toward one of the tunnel entrances—not the maintenance access Percy had been eyeing, but a smaller passage almost hidden behind a flow regulator.

That way. To river. Freedom.

"Thank you," Percy said, genuinely grateful despite the creatures' nightmarish appearance. "I owe you one."

The alligator's response was simple: Remember. Water-kin welcome in deep places. Metal-men and shadow-hunters not welcome.

With that, the creatures sank beneath the surface, disappearing into different tunnels with barely a ripple to mark their passing.

Percy slid down from his perch and waded toward the hidden passage, wrinkling his nose at the stench. As he approached, he heard distant sounds echoing through the sewer system—voices, footsteps on metal, the splash of people moving through water who, unlike him, couldn't stay dry while doing so.

The hunt was closing in. But thanks to his unexpected allies, Percy had a head start.

He ducked into the narrow passage, letting the water carry him forward as he created a small current to speed his journey. If the alligator's directions were accurate, this tunnel would lead him to the river—to a larger body of water where his powers would be at their strongest.

From there, maybe, he could finally find his way home.

But as Percy moved through the darkness, guided by his connection to the water, he couldn't shake the feeling that escaping Gotham wouldn't be as simple as reaching the river. Nothing in his life ever was.

Chapter Text

The tunnel narrowed as Percy pushed forward, the water growing shallow enough that he had to crouch. The mutant alligators' directions had been clear—this passage led to the river—but they hadn't mentioned how uncomfortable the journey would be.

"Next time I get blasted to a strange city I'm aiming for somewhere with clean water," Percy muttered to himself as he navigated around a particularly disgusting mass of unidentifiable debris. "Maybe a nice beach in Montauk. No sewers, no crime lords, no bat people jumping off rooftops."

The distant sounds of pursuit had faded, but Percy didn't slow his pace. He'd learned the hard way that both Red Hood's men and the Bat-vigilantes were persistent. The fact that he couldn't hear them anymore probably meant they were being stealthier, not that they'd given up.

The tunnel seemed endless, a winding intestine through Gotham's putrid underbelly. Percy sloshed forward, grateful for his ability to stay dry even as the rancid water swirled around his waist. The stench, however, was another matter entirely—no demigod power could filter that out. It assaulted his nostrils with a nauseating mixture of decay, chemicals, and things he couldn't (and didn't want to) identify.

Percy groaned, wrinkling his nose as a particularly foul bubble burst nearby, "If I ever see Apollo again I'm asking for the gift of smell immunity. Or at least a divine nose plug."

He swatted at something that might have once been a fast-food wrapper but had mutated into an unidentifiable mass of soggy paper and grease.

The tunnel curved sharply, and Percy felt a shift in the water's current—stronger, more purposeful. The river was close. 

A distant splash echoed from behind, followed by muffled cursing. Percy tensed. Someone was following, and judging by the colorful language, it wasn't Batman or Robin.

"Motherfu—who puts a pipe there?" came an angry voice, followed by more splashing.

That was his cue to leave. Percy had dealt with enough angry people with weapons for one day.

He quickened his pace, ignoring the burning in his muscles. His body protested with each step—how long had it been since he'd gotten real rest? Or eaten something more than a single meal a day? The lines between hours had blurred in Gotham's eternal night.

As he rounded another bend, the passage widened abruptly into a large outflow chamber. Ahead, a massive grate separated the sewer system from what Percy could sense was the open river beyond. Moonlight filtered through the bars, casting silvery reflections on the churning water.

Freedom was just yards away, but the grate looked solid—heavy-duty steel bars designed to prevent exactly the kind of exit Percy had in mind.

"Of course," he sighed, flicking something unmentionable off his shoulder. "That would've been too easy.”

Percy waded closer, examining the barrier. Each bar was as thick as his wrist, spaced just narrowly enough that even his slim frame couldn't squeeze through. The metal was corroded from years of exposure to water and pollutants, but still stubbornly intact.

He considered his options. Riptide could probably cut through the bars, but it would take time—time he didn't have with Red Hood's men and possibly Batman closing in. He could try to find another way out, but his instincts told him this was his best shot at reaching open water.

Percy closed his eyes, focusing on the water around him. He reached out with his senses, trying to find weak points in the grate's structure. There—near the bottom, where the current was strongest, the concrete anchoring the bars had begun to crumble.

Taking a deep breath, Percy directed all his remaining energy into the water surrounding the grate's base. He willed it to compress, then expand with explosive force, again and again, mimicking the natural erosion process but accelerated a thousandfold.

The water responded, pounding against the weakened concrete like a hydraulic hammer. Percy gritted his teeth, sweat mingling with the dirty water on his face as he maintained his concentration.

With a low rumble, a section of the grate shifted, concrete cracking as the metal bars tilted outward. Not a complete break, but enough to create a gap that might be just wide enough—

Voices echoed from the tunnel behind him.

"Heat signature ahead! The sewage flow is acting weird—he's gotta be there!"

Percy abandoned subtlety. With a final, desperate push, he sent a massive surge of water crashing against the damaged section of the grate. The weakened concrete gave way, and three of the bars bent outward with a screech of protesting metal.

Not waiting to see if the gap was big enough, Percy dove into the current and let it sweep him toward the opening. He twisted his body sideways, feeling the jagged edges of broken concrete scrape against his shoulder as he squeezed through the narrow space.

For one terrifying moment, he thought he was stuck—his backpack caught on one of the bent bars. Then the fabric tore, and Percy shot through the gap like a cork from a bottle, tumbling into the dark waters of Gotham River.

The sudden transition from confines to open water hit Percy like a shot of adrenaline. His exhaustion faded as the river's energy flowed into him, strengthening his limbs and clearing his mind. Even polluted as it was, this was his father's domain.

Percy oriented himself, looking back at the shoreline. The sewer outflow was a dark mouth in a concrete embankment, flanked by abandoned warehouses and loading docks. In the distance, Gotham's skyline rose like a jagged shadow against the night sky, lights glittering like earthbound stars.

Red Hood's men would emerge from the outflow any minute. Percy needed to move.

He reached out to the river's current, urging it to carry him downstream, away from the search. As he did, he became aware of something unusual—the water here felt wrong somehow. Not just polluted, but... resistant. As if it didn't want to be controlled.

Percy pushed harder, and the current reluctantly responded, bearing him away from the outflow just as flashlight beams cut through the darkness where he'd been moments before.

"Spread out!" a voice commanded from the shore, the sound carrying clearly over the water. "Check both directions! He can't have gone far!"

"Should we call Red Hood?"

"Not until we have something concrete. You want to tell him we lost the kid again?"

Percy dove deeper, using the murky water as cover. The Gotham River was a toxic soup of industrial waste, sewage, and who-knew-what-else, but at least it provided concealment. He continued downstream, staying submerged and using his powers to create a clean pocket of water around himself.

After several minutes of rapid travel, Percy allowed himself to surface, keeping just his eyes above water as he assessed his surroundings. He'd left the warehouse district behind and was now passing under one of Gotham's many bridges. Traffic rumbled overhead, headlights tracing paths through the night.

No sign of pursuit on the water, but Percy didn't let himself relax. Batman had been described as having resources and technology beyond normal humans. For all Percy knew, the vigilante could track him through the water somehow.

Percy needed a plan. The river would eventually lead to the ocean—his ultimate domain—but that might take too long. He needed to contact Camp Half-Blood again, and for that, he needed a rainbow.

He scanned the shoreline, looking for options. Ahead, the riverbank shifted from industrial wasteland to what appeared to be a small park—little more than a strip of neglected green space with a few benches and lampposts. But more importantly, Percy could make out the silhouette of a footbridge crossing a narrow inlet, with decorative water features on either side.

Fountains. Water catching light. Potential rainbows.

Percy altered his course, swimming toward the park. As he neared the shore, a deep rumble resonated through the water, vibrating in Percy's bones. He froze, treading water as he tried to identify the source.

Not above—below. Something was moving beneath him, something massive.

Percy barely had time to react before the water erupted around him, a mountainous shape rising from the depths. He was thrown backward by the displacement, tumbling through the air before splashing down several yards away.

Gasping, Percy righted himself and stared in disbelief at the creature that had emerged.

It resembled a crocodile, but twisted and grotesque, like the sewer alligators but on a much larger scale. Its hide was a patchwork of scales, tumor-like growths, and what looked disturbingly like metal plates fused to flesh. Multiple limbs—more than any natural reptile should have—thrashed at the water, creating a maelstrom around its massive body. But most horrifying was its head—or rather, heads. Three separate necks rose from its shoulders, each supporting a differently mutated crocodilian skull.

"You have got to be kidding me," Percy breathed, drawing Riptide from his pocket. The pen expanded into his sword, the celestial bronze gleaming in the moonlight.

The creature's central head swiveled toward the light, six eyes fixing on Percy with predatory intent. A sound escaped its triple mouths—not a hiss or roar, but something almost like words:

"WATER-KIN... TRESPASSING... KILLER'S TERRITORY..."

Percy blinked in shock. The creature could speak? And it knew the term the sewer alligators had used?

"I'm just passing through," Percy called, treading water cautiously. "I mean no harm."

All three heads laughed—a terrible, grating sound like metal dragging across concrete. The water rippled with the force of it, creating concentric circles that spread outward.

"ALL SAY THAT... BEFORE THEY DIE... KILLER PROTECTS THE DARK WATERS..."

Percy realized with a chill that this must be the apex predator of Gotham's waterways—what the sewer alligators had referred to when warning him. Some horrifically mutated crocodile that had grown to monstrous proportions in the toxic soup of Gotham's water system.

"Look," Percy tried again, backing away slowly, "I'm not looking for trouble. Just let me reach the shore, and I'll be gone."

"NO ONE... LEAVES... KILLER'S DOMAIN..."

The creature—Killer—lunged forward with shocking speed for something so large. Percy dove beneath the surface, using the water to propel himself aside as massive jaws snapped shut where he'd been moments before.

Underwater, Percy had the advantage of speed and maneuverability. He circled the creature, assessing its weaknesses. Despite its bulk, Killer moved with surprising grace, its multiple limbs working in concert to propel its enormous body through the water.

Percy shot upward, breaking the surface behind one of the creature's secondary heads. He slashed with Riptide, aiming for the junction between neck and shoulder. The blade connected, but instead of cutting clean through, it grated against something hard beneath the scales—metal or bone reinforcement. Still, the strike drew a roar of pain and a gush of dark fluid that Percy hoped was blood.

Killer thrashed, one of its many limbs catching Percy in the chest and sending him flying. He hit the water hard, momentarily stunned. By the time he regained his senses, the creature was bearing down on him, all three mouths open wide, rows of jagged teeth gleaming.

Percy thrust his hand forward, summoning as much power as he could muster. The river responded, a massive column of water erupting between him and Killer, temporarily halting the creature's advance. Percy used the distraction to swim toward the shore, calling to the currents to speed his passage.

Behind him, Killer recovered quickly, diving beneath the surface to give chase. Percy could feel the creature's massive form displacing water as it closed the distance between them.

The shore was too far. He wouldn't make it in time.

Percy spun to face the oncoming threat, Riptide at the ready. If he couldn't escape, he'd have to fight—and win.

As Killer's enormous form surged toward him, Percy had a sudden inspiration. He reached out not to the water, but to the creature itself—to the blood flowing through its veins, the fluid in its many eyes. It felt awful, and Percy immediately regretted it. But this was his one chance.

Percy felt resistance immediately—this wasn't a normal creature, and something in its mutated physiology fought his control. Still, he managed to slow its charge, just enough to dart aside as its central head lunged for him.

Using the momentum of his dodge, Percy drove Riptide down with all his strength into the creature's central eye. This time, the celestial bronze found no armored plate to stop it. The blade sank deep, and Killer reared back in agony, all three heads shrieking in union.

Percy wrenched his sword free and swam for his life, not looking back as the creature's thrashing created waves that pushed him toward shore. He could feel Killer's rage and pain through the water, but also confusion—perhaps no prey had ever wounded it before.

Percy's feet found purchase on the muddy riverbed, and he staggered onto the shore, collapsing onto the patchy grass of the small park. Behind him, Killer's thrashing gradually subsided, the creature sinking back into the depths with final bubbling threats Percy couldn't quite make out.

For several minutes, Percy simply lay there, catching his breath, his entire body aching from the fight and the day's exertions. Finally, he forced himself to his feet. He wasn't safe yet—if Killer recovered, it might return, and there was still the matter of Batman and Red Hood searching for him.

That was a problem for the future, for now he just needed to make it…

To make it…

Percy stumbled a few steps, staring down at his hands that were rapidly fading in and out of his vision. Black spots danced at the edges of his sight, and the ground seemed to tilt beneath him.

He made it a step. A single half-effort step.

And then suddenly the ground was getting closer and closer to a far too personal meeting with his face. Percy tried to catch himself, but his arms refused to respond, as limp as overcooked pasta.

His last thought before his vision went black was that maybe Maggie had been right. He should've eaten those sandwiches.

———

Percy groaned, consciousness returning like an unwelcome houseguest. His eyelids felt welded shut, and his first attempt to open them resulted in nothing but a pathetic flutter. The second attempt yielded a sliver of moonlight that sent daggers of pain straight to the center of his brain.

"Gods," he mumbled, his voice a rasp that barely escaped his throat. His tongue felt swollen, coated in something that tasted like a mixture of sewage and defeat.

Every muscle in his body seemed to be staging its own private rebellion. His legs throbbed with the dull ache of overexertion. His shoulders burned from the swim through Gotham's toxic waterways. His ribs protested each shallow breath, a reminder of Killer's brutal impact.

With monumental effort, Percy managed to roll onto his side and leverage himself up on one elbow. The world tilted violently, forcing him to close his eyes again until the nauseating carousel of his vision slowed.

Seriously, Percy. This is not the place for power naps, he thought to himself, wincing at the growing realization of just how vulnerable he'd been—unconscious and exposed in a city that seemed determined to kill him.

When he finally managed to sit upright, Percy took stock of his surroundings through bleary eyes. The small park was eerily deserted, the silence broken only by the distant sounds of Gotham's perpetual urban symphony—sirens, car horns, and the occasional shout. Shadows stretched long and menacing across the patchy grass, cast by streetlights that flickered like dying stars.

How long had he been unconscious? Minutes? Hours? The moon had shifted position, but not drastically. Perhaps thirty minutes at most. Long enough for anything to have happened to him. Long enough that he should probably be grateful he still had all his organs.

A chill that had nothing to do with the night air crept up Percy's spine. In Camp Half-Blood, passing out from exhaustion meant waking up in the infirmary with Chiron's concerned face hovering nearby. In Gotham, it should have meant not waking up at all.

His stomach clenched painfully, reminding him that it had been running on fumes even before his battle with the three-headed monstrosity. The half-sandwich in his pocket was looking more and more like a gourmet meal by the second.

Water. He needed water first.

Percy's gaze drifted toward the decorative fountains he'd spotted earlier. If he could just get a little water, he might be able to restore enough strength to make it through the night. He reached out with his senses, trying to feel for the familiar pull of his element, but found only emptiness. The fountains were dry.

"Of course," he muttered, a bitter laugh escaping his cracked lips. "This city can afford nineteen varieties of costumed vigilantes, but gods forbid they keep the public fountains running."

That left only one option. With a grimace, Percy turned toward the river he'd barely escaped from. The same river where Killer might still be lurking, nursing wounded pride and an eyeful of celestial bronze.

"Bad idea," he told himself even as he began stumbling toward the steep riverbank. "Terrible idea."

His body seemed to be operating on autopilot, survival instinct overriding common sense. Each step was an exercise in determination as gravity did most of the work, pulling him forward in a controlled fall that was more stumble than walk. The world swam in and out of focus, colors bleeding into one another like a watercolor painting left in the rain.

The riverbank was steeper than he remembered, a treacherous slope of mud and debris. Percy's foot slipped halfway down, and he barely caught himself, fingernails digging into the soft earth as he lowered himself the rest of the way, half-sliding on his backside.

By the time he reached the water's edge, Percy was breathing in shallow gasps, sweat beading on his forehead despite the cool night air. The river lapped at the shore, murky and uninviting, carrying with it the scent of industrial waste and centuries of urban runoff.

Percy hesitated, scanning the dark water for any sign of Killer's return. The surface remained still, broken only by the occasional piece of floating debris drifting past. Either the creature had retreated to lick its wounds, or it was waiting in deeper water, beyond the reach of Percy's senses.

"Please don't eat me," Percy whispered to the river as he slowly extended his hand toward the water. "I probably taste terrible anyway. All gristle and attitude, according to my stepfather."

The moment his fingertips broke the surface, Percy felt a weak tug in his gut—pale shadow of his usual connection to water. Something about Gotham's pollution muted the power, diluted it like watered-down nectar. Still, it was better than nothing.

Relief washed over him as the water responded, flowing up his arm in defiance of gravity, seeping into his skin. The cuts from the grate began to close, the bruises from Killer's strike faded from angry purple to sickly yellow. Even the throbbing in his head receded to a dull, manageable ache.

It wasn't the instant healing he was used to—more like trying to recharge a phone with a faulty charger. The battery indicator moved up, but slowly, reluctantly. Percy could almost feel the water struggling against the contamination as it worked its magic.

"Something's wrong with you," he told the river, not unkindly. "You're sick."

For a moment, he thought he felt something respond—not Killer, but the river itself, a faint impression of weariness and resignation that had built up over decades of abuse. Then it was gone, leaving Percy wondering if he'd imagined it.

He pulled his hand back, watching as the last drops of water sank into his skin. It wasn't enough—not nearly enough—but it would have to do. At least now he could stand without the world trying to pirouette around him.

With renewed determination, Percy pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the way his muscles still groaned in protest. He could relax when he wasn't in the middle of crime-lord territory being hunted by who knows how many at this point. When he was back at Camp Half-Blood, safe in Cabin Three, then he could sleep for a week. Chiron would understand. Probably.

The climb back up the riverbank proved more challenging than the descent. Percy's fingers scrabbled for purchase in the loose soil, finding roots and embedded debris to pull himself upward. By the time he reached the top, his hands were caked with mud and his already-ruined clothes had acquired several new stains.

He found himself on a narrow service road that ran parallel to the river—little more than a strip of cracked asphalt that nature was slowly reclaiming. To his left, the small park stretched like a half-hearted attempt at civic beautification abandoned years ago. To his right, the road curved around a bend, disappearing into the jumble of warehouses and tenement buildings that made up this section of The Bowery.

Signs of urban decay were everywhere—graffiti-covered walls told stories of gang territories and personal vendettas in violent sprays of color. Trash piled in corners, bottles and cans glinting in the moonlight like malevolent eyes watching his every move. The occasional flash of movement in the shadows suggested he wasn't as alone as he'd first thought.

A rat the size of a small cat scurried across his path, pausing to give him what seemed like a judgmental look before disappearing into a storm drain. Even the vermin in this city had attitude.

The distant wail of a siren provided an appropriately ominous soundtrack as Percy tried to orient himself, recalling the mental map he'd formed during his unwanted tour of Gotham. If he headed east along the river, he should eventually hit the main bridge that would take him out of The Bowery and toward Gotham proper. From there, maybe he could find a bus station or something—anywhere that might get him closer to New York.

Before setting off, Percy conducted a quick inventory of his remaining resources. His hands patted down pockets, grimacing when he realized most of his remaining mortal money had been in his backpack—the backpack that was now a tattered remnant hanging off his shoulders, with more holes than fabric.

The assessment wasn't encouraging: $7.83 in crumpled bills and loose change, two golden drachmas (useless unless he could find a rainbow), half a sandwich that had seen better days, and Riptide. Not exactly the resources needed for an epic journey home.

"One problem at a time," he muttered to himself, setting off down the service road. "First, get out of The Bowery. Then worry about the next three hundred miles."

The half-sandwich didn't survive the first block. Percy devoured it in three desperate bites, barely tasting what might have once been turkey and cheese but now resembled soggy cardboard. His stomach rumbled in protest, demanding more, but there was nothing else to give it.

As he walked, Percy became increasingly aware of how exposed he was. The service road offered little cover, and the sporadic streetlights created pools of harsh illumination that made him feel like he was walking on a stage. He'd spent enough time in dangerous places to know when solitude was an illusion. The prickling sensation between his shoulder blades—that familiar feeling of being watched—had returned with a vengeance.

Percy turned slowly, scanning the rooftops and alleyways, but saw nothing in the pools of darkness between the sparse streetlights. Still, the feeling persisted, a subtle weight pressing down on him from all sides.

"You didn't need that sixth sense to know someone's following me in this city," he muttered to himself, picking up his pace. A hysterical laugh threatened to bubble up in his throat. "Monsters I get. Even gods I get. But what is it with this place and people in costumes?"

After about ten minutes of walking, the service road intersected with a wider street lined with abandoned storefronts, their windows boarded up or shattered. Most of the buildings looked like they hadn't seen occupants in years, their facades crumbling like ancient ruins. Graffiti covered nearly every vertical surface, layers upon layers of tags and murals competing for space in a chaotic urban tapestry.

Percy paused at the intersection, weighing his options. The wider street would be faster but more exposed. Continuing along the service road meant staying closer to the river where Killer lurked. Neither choice seemed particularly appealing.

A sudden movement in his peripheral vision made the decision for him. Just down the wider street, a group of figures had emerged from one of the supposedly abandoned buildings. Even from a distance, Percy could see the telltale red bandanas that marked them as members of one of the local gangs he'd been warned about.

Without hesitation, Percy ducked into the nearest alley, pressing himself against the wall as the voices of the gang members carried on the night air. The narrow passage smelled of urine and rotting garbage, forcing him to breathe through his mouth as he navigated around toppled trash cans and abandoned shopping carts.

Something scuttled over his foot in the darkness—too large to be a cockroach, too small to be another sewer alligator. Percy decided he was better off not knowing what it was.

The alley curved sharply to the right before opening onto another street, this one showing more signs of life. A few cars were parked along the curb, lights glowed in apartment windows above street level, and the distant thump of bass suggested a bar or club somewhere nearby.

Percy emerged cautiously from the alley, surveying the new street. It seemed less desolate than the previous one, with a convenience store still open about a block down, its fluorescent lights casting a sickly glow across the sidewalk. A neon sign advertising "Liquor & Lotto" flickered erratically, bathing the surroundings in alternating red and blue.

His stomach growled at the sight of the store, reminding him that half a sandwich wasn't nearly enough after the day he'd had. Maybe he could stretch his meager funds to buy something calorie-dense—a protein bar or some cheap snacks to keep him going until morning.

Percy made it exactly two steps out of the alley before his journey was interrupted yet again.

"You're hard to track, I'll give you that."

The voice—electronically modified but unmistakable—came from behind him. Percy closed his eyes briefly, allowing himself one moment of pure frustration before turning to face Red Hood, who stood at the edge of the alley Percy had just exited.

"How did you find me?" Percy asked, though he was pretty sure he knew the answer. He shifted his weight to the balls of his feet—ready to move in any direction. 

Red Hood stood silhouetted against the dim light of the alley, his crimson helmet gleaming dully. Despite the full-face mask, Percy could feel the man's scrutiny.

"Followed the signal from my tracker until it started moving in very un-human patterns," Red Hood replied, tapping the side of his helmet. Even through the electronic filter, Percy caught a note of grudging respect. "Realized you must have found it and planted it on something. Smart move."

The crime lord took a step forward, the leather of his jacket creaking slightly. Street light caught on his holstered guns—a reminder that despite the almost conversational tone, this was a dangerous man with lethal capabilities.

"So I switched to more traditional methods," Red Hood continued, gesturing broadly with one gloved hand. "Followed the trail of confused reports from my men about burst pipes, flooded tunnels, and—" he paused, his helmet tilting in what Percy could only assume was amusement, "—this is my favorite part—mutant alligators suddenly behaving like trained pets."

Percy's eyebrows shot up defensively. "They're not pets," he corrected automatically, feeling an odd need to defend the reptiles' dignity. "More like distant cousins. Very, very distant cousins with questionable hygiene habits."

A short, electronically distorted sound that might have been a chuckle escaped Red Hood's helmet. His posture shifted, becoming almost casual as he leaned against the brick wall of the alley entrance. The relaxed stance didn't fool Percy for a second.

"Right," Red Hood drawled. "Just like that sword is just a pen with 'excellent ink flow.'" The sarcasm in his voice was thick enough to cut with said sword.

Percy's hand instinctively went to his pocket where Riptide waited. "Look, I got what I came for. I'm leaving your territory. We can just pretend none of this ever happened." He tried for casual diplomacy, channeling his inner Annabeth. What would she do in this situation? Probably something smart that didn't involve flooding half of Gotham's underground.

"Yeah, about that," Red Hood replied, his posture relaxed despite the tension of the situation. "See, normally I'd be happy to let you go. Your weird water powers and magic sword aren't my problem." He tilted his head slightly in assessment. "But when Batman starts sniffing around my territory because of you? That makes it my problem."

"I didn’t ask Batman to come after me," Percy shot back.

"Nobody asks Batman for anything. He just shows up and ruins your night." Red Hood gestured towards him with one of his guns, the metal gleaming under the streetlight. "Kind of like you did to mine."

The standoff stretched between them, neither willing to move first. Percy calculated his odds—he could probably summon enough water from the nearby fire hydrant to create another distraction, but whether he could outrun someone who clearly knew Gotham's streets better than him was another question entirely. Plus, there was something about Red Hood that suggested he wouldn't be so easily deterred a second time.

A cold breeze swept down the street, carrying with it the river's polluted scent. Percy's throat felt raw from thirst and fatigue, his body still not fully recovered despite the water's healing touch. If it came to a fight, he wasn't sure he had enough left in his reserves to win.

Just as Percy was about to risk a dash for the hydrant, a new sensation prickled at the edge of his awareness—a subtle shift in the air pressure, a whisper of movement where there should be none. Red Hood must have sensed it too, because his posture stiffened almost imperceptibly.

Then, from the shadows behind Red Hood, a new voice spoke—young, confident, and distinctly unimpressed.

"Are we interrupting something?"

A figure flipped down from a fire escape, landing in a crouch before straightening with fluid grace.

Percy released a long-suffering sigh as he spotted the familiar red, black, and yellow uniform. Just what this situation needed. A back-flipping, crime-fighting teen in his color-coordinated vigilante outfit. The absurdity of his life never failed to amaze him.

"Long time no see," Percy greeted conversationally, giving a slight wave with his free hand while maintaining his grip on Riptide. The blade's glow illuminated the teen's domino mask and the calculating eyes behind it.

Despite the mask, Percy got the distinct impression Robin was not impressed. "Still causing trouble in Gotham, I see." The vigilante's gaze flicked to Red Hood, his posture subtly shifting to a more defensive stance. "Though you've certainly upgraded your company."

"Great," Red Hood muttered, tension radiating from his previously relaxed posture. "The replacement's here. Just what this day needed."

Percy glanced between them, confused by the obvious animosity but more concerned with finding an escape route. With Robin focusing on Red Hood, maybe he could back away slowly, find another alley, and disappear into Gotham's labyrinth of streets.

He managed exactly two steps backward before a low, gravelly voice behind him froze him in place.

"Perseus Jackson."

Percy spun around, heart hammering against his ribs, to find Batman himself standing there, having somehow approached without making a sound. The crime-fighting bat lover was every bit as intimidating as he remembered—tall, imposing, with a cape that seemed to consume the shadows around it and a cowled face set in a permanent scowl.

Up close, Percy could see details he'd missed in their brief previous encounter—the armor plating beneath the suit, the utility belt loaded with gadgets whose purposes he could only guess at, and the eyes behind the cowl. Those eyes were unsettling—sharp, analytical, missing nothing. They reminded Percy uncomfortably of Athena's gaze, except where hers burned with divine intelligence, Batman's held something colder, more calculated.

"You have got to be kidding me," Percy mumbled, tension knotting between his shoulder blades. He was officially trapped between a violent crime lord and Gotham's infamous vigilantes. Maybe if he stabbed himself here and now the fates would have mercy on him.

Batman's gaze shifted over Percy's shoulder. "Hood," he addressed the crime lord, his tone carrying a warning that needed no elaboration. "This doesn't concern you."

"Like hell it doesn't," Red Hood replied, his electronic voice cooler now, more controlled. The casual cockiness was gone, replaced by barely contained hostility. "He's in my territory, flooding my operations—literally."

"Pretty sure Gotham doesn't belong to you," Robin muttered, earning a glare from Red Hood that somehow cut through the helmet.

"Right, because clearly it belongs to the guy dressed like a bat," Percy interjected, immediately regretting his words when both vigilante and crime lord turned to stare at him.

"Just an observation," he added weakly, fighting the urge to step back.

Red Hood tilted his head. "For once, Water Boy and I agree on something."

"Don't call me Water Boy," Percy said flatly, feeling a flare of annoyance. 

"Would you prefer Fish Kid? Aqua Lad? Sea Brat?" Each suggestion was delivered with increasing mockery, the electronic filter doing nothing to hide Red Hood's amusement.

"How about 'the guy who's going to drown you in your own helmet'?" Percy scowled, fingers twitching towards the fire hydrant. He could feel the water inside, responding to his irritation, pressure building against metal that suddenly seemed far too fragile.

"I'd like to see you try," Red Hood challenged, taking a step forward. His hand moved to the gun at his hip, not drawing it yet, but making it clear he could.

Batman raised a hand. "Enough."

That single word, delivered in that gravelly tone, was enough to make everyone pause. There was power in it—not the supernatural kind that Percy was familiar with, but something equally commanding.

Despite the almost casual interaction, the air between them all felt charged, like the moment before a lightning strike. Percy had been in enough fights to recognize the signs—muscles tensing beneath armor, weight shifting to combat stances, fingers twitching toward weapons. This was going to get ugly fast unless someone defused the situation.

Unfortunately, Percy had never been particularly good at defusing situations. If anything, his presence tended to make them more explosive.

Still, he had to try. He slowly backed away from both parties, looking for any opening to get out of there. The street behind Batman was clear, but he doubted he could outrun the vigilante. The alley to his left was narrow, possibly a dead end. His options weren't looking too good, and he was getting really tired of being stuck between opposing forces. Story of his life, really.

"Look," Percy tried, raising his hands in what he hoped was a universal gesture of 'I'm not a threat, please don't attack me.' "I've had a really long day involving sewers, mutant alligators, and a three-headed crocodile monster. I just want to go home. So if you all want to have your territorial dispute, can you do it without me in the middle?"

"Don't move," Batman ordered, his attention shifting fully to Percy. The full force of that cowled gaze was like standing in a spotlight. "Perseus Jackson. We have questions."

Percy tightened his grip on Riptide, the familiar hilt grounding him. "How does everyone in this city know my name?" he demanded, frustration bubbling up. "Is there a bulletin board somewhere? 'Attention all criminals and vigilantes: look out for this guy'?"

"Proper research," Batman replied evenly, as if Percy's irritation was entirely irrelevant. 

"Stealing police files," Red Hood interjected like he was correcting a minor detail in a story. "Let's call it what it is."

"Says the guy with the GPS tracker," Percy muttered.

Robin's head tilted in apparent surprise. "You found his tracker? Impressive."

Percy couldn't tell if the vigilante was being sincere or sarcastic. The domino mask made reading his expression difficult, and his tone gave away little. Still, there seemed to be a glimmer of genuine interest there.

"I did," Percy admitted, a hint of pride creeping into his voice despite the situation. "I fed it to a street dog. It's probably shit out in an alley by now."

Robin stifled a laugh, only to clear his throat quickly when Batman shot him a glance.

"Your abilities," Batman continued, ignoring the exchange with the practiced patience of someone used to dealing with teenagers. "They're not metahuman in origin. They're something else."

The certainty in his voice sent a chill down Percy's spine. Batman had been watching him longer than he thought.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Percy tried confidently. If there was one thing he was good at, it was not knowing things. Years of teachers asking him questions he couldn't answer had prepared him for this moment. Unfortunately, he doubted Batman was the type to be easily fooled. The man practically radiated 'human lie detector.'

Batman took a step closer, his cape catching the faint breeze. "The water in Gotham Harbor responded to your arrival before you hit the surface. At first, I theorized metahuman hydrokinesis, but the pattern was inconsistent with known metahumans."

Percy swallowed hard. This guy had been watching him from the moment he fell into Gotham. Of course he had.

"Then there was the matter of your sword," Batman continued, his voice revealing nothing of what he thought about magical weapons. "Monomolecular edge, yet it appears to phase through ordinary humans. Only visible to certain individuals. Composition unknown."

Percy's hand instinctively tightened around Riptide in his pocket. The Mist should have prevented this level of clarity in a mortal's perception. Then again, something told him Batman and his Halloween squad weren't exactly typical mortals.

Robin had edged closer during Batman's assessment, his own curiosity evident. "The energy signature it gives off matches nothing in our database," he added. "And trust me, our database is extensive."

"You're tracking me through CCTV," Percy realized aloud. "That's how you knew about—"

"The shop, yes," Batman confirmed, not bothering to deny it. "Though the cameras malfunctioned repeatedly in your presence. Static interference. Digital distortion. Common symptoms of magical energy."

Robin shifted his weight, looking between them. "We cross-referenced your movements with weather anomalies. Localized pressure changes, micro-bursts of humidity, even a minor earthquake when you appeared particularly... agitated."

"You've been busy," Percy muttered, feeling increasingly exposed. “Don't you have criminals to catch or something?"

"We're looking at one," Robin pointed out dryly, gesturing to Red Hood with a tilt of his head. The crime lord responded with a rather rude gesture that made Robin smirk.

Percy resisted the urge to snort. Nope, not the time.

Batman's expression remained unreadable behind the cowl. "The water manipulation. The sword that appears from nowhere. Your connection to Greek mythology—the ancient coins. Your DNA sample shows markers that don't match any known human genome."

Percy's eyes widened. "You got my DNA? When did you—" He stopped mid-sentence, realizing. "The cave." He finished flatly. Thanks for that, Barbara. She'd seemed so normal, so helpful. He should have known better than to trust anyone in this city.

Batman didn't confirm or deny. He didn't need to.

The air between them seemed to thicken, the night itself holding its breath. Red Hood stood unnaturally still, his hand hovering near his holster. Robin tensed, ready to move at Batman's signal. For a moment, the only sound was the distant wail of a police siren somewhere in Gotham's maze of streets.

Percy weighed his options. The fire hydrant at the corner could provide enough water for a distraction, but Batman had clearly studied his abilities—he'd be prepared for that. Running seemed futile against someone who could apparently track him across the entire city. Fighting all three at once would be suicide.

Batman's eyes narrowed behind the cowl, and when he spoke again, his voice carried a weight that seemed to press down on Percy from all sides.

"You're a demigod."

The word hung in the air between them, heavy and impossible to take back.

"Son of Poseidon," Batman continued simply, the words landing like a hammer blow, "based on your hydrokinetic abilities and affinity for marine life."

Percy's stomach didn't just drop—it crashed through the pavement beneath his feet, taking all hope of an easy escape with it.

For once in his life, Perseus Jackson, son of Poseidon, was completely and utterly speechless.

Somewhere past the loud ringing in his own ears, he could almost hear the distant sound of the fates laughing.

Chapter Text

The tension crackled like static electricity, thick enough to choke on. For several heartbeats, no one moved. The revelation hung in the air between them—a physical weight that pressed against Percy's skin, suffocating and electric.

Batman. A mortal in a bat costume. Had not only seen through the Mist but had completely unraveled Percy Jackson's entire identity.

Of all the supernatural beings who could have figured out his secret, it had to be a guy dressed like a giant bat who probably ironed his cape for maximum dramatic effect. And here Percy thought dealing with the gods was complicated.

As the tension mounted, Percy couldn't help but reflect on the absurdity of his situation. He'd faced down monsters that would make most people's nightmares look like children's bedtime stories, and survived encounters with gods who could obliterate entire civilizations on a whim. And now, here he was, cornered by a group of vigilantes in the darkest corner of Gotham City.

"That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard," Percy tried, hating the way his voice pitched mid-sentence. He'd never been a good liar, and today was no exception.

Batman's cowled expression remained impassive—a living statue carved from shadows and determination. Each word from the vigilante struck Percy like physical blows, dismantling the carefully constructed anonymity he'd been desperately maintaining.

"Don't bother denying it. We have solid proof."

Red Hood, who had been unusually still during the initial confrontation, shifted subtly. The electronic filtering of his helmet couldn't completely mask the surprise in his voice. "Demigod?" he echoed, disbelief threading through the word. "As in, half god, half human?"

Despite the skeptical tone, something in Red Hood's posture suggested he was already reassessing rather than dismissing the information. This was a person used to believing the unbelievable—a quality Percy could appreciate.

"According to the legends," Robin supplied, his voice a mix of academic fascination and tactical caution, "they possess abilities inherited from their divine parent."

Percy's hand tightened around Riptide, his knuckles white. The pen-turned-sword felt like his only anchor in a moment of complete chaos. "Well, shit," he muttered, running his free hand through his hair to avoid screaming—or worse, summoning a tidal wave in the middle of Gotham.

"Your heat signature is also anomalous," Robin added, almost as an afterthought. "Consistent with the physiological adaptations necessary for someone who can survive extreme water pressure and temperatures. And your cellular regeneration accelerates by 43% when in contact with water."

Percy stared at him, genuinely unsettled now. "Are you people always like this?"

"Yes," Red Hood snorted.

"You also talked to the fish in the harbor," Robin helpfully continued. "For like, three hours."

Percy shot him an irritated look. "They're terrible gossips, but they hear things.” 

The exchange might have been comical if the stakes weren't so high. Here he was, a demigod son of Poseidon, being dissected by a vigilante and his tech-obsessed protégé in the middle of Gotham's shadowy underbelly.

"It all fits the data," Robin said with a shrug, his voice unapologetic. “The unexplainable abilities, the ancient Greek connections, the abnormal DNA markers..." He tilted his head slightly. "Though I have to admit, I was leaning more toward Atlantean."

Percy couldn't help the snort that escaped him. "Do I look like I have gills to you?"

The moment the words left his mouth, Percy mentally kicked himself. Great job, Seaweed Brain. Way to confirm their theory.

Batman's expression remained impassive, but Percy sensed a shift in his attention—the slightest narrowing of eyes behind the cowl. "So you're familiar with Atlanteans."

"I've read comic books," Percy shot back, attempting to recover. "I know about Aquaman."

"Aquaman isn't just a comic book character," Robin said matter-of-factly. "He's been photographed with the Justice League in at least three—"

"Not now," Batman cut him off with a slight gesture, never taking his eyes off Percy. "Your physiology isn't consistent with Atlantean biology, and your abilities extend beyond hydrokinesis. The ancient Greek connection is unmistakable."

Percy gripped Riptide tighter in his pocket, acutely aware that he was running out of options. The Mist clearly wasn't working on Batman or Robin—whether due to their own unusual natures or some form of technological countermeasure, he couldn't tell. And if they'd been tracking him through Gotham's surveillance network, escaping would be nearly impossible.

For a brief, desperate moment, Percy considered calling for divine intervention. But the gods had been unusually silent since his arrival in Gotham, and something told him that even Poseidon's influence might be muted in this strange city.

"How do you know all this?" Percy finally asked, abandoning denial for direct confrontation. "Who told you?"

Batman's cowl revealed nothing. "I've encountered other pantheons before. Other beings that should exist only in myth."

"Other—" Percy blinked, momentarily thrown off balance. "What other pantheons?"

"That's not relevant to our current situation," Batman replied, taking another step forward. "What is relevant is why a son of Poseidon is in my city, interfering with criminal operations and causing disturbances."

Percy bristled at the accusatory tone. "I didn't exactly plan a vacation to Gotham," he shot back, gesturing down to his beaten body and worn out clothes. "I was blasted here by a volcano full of little sea demons. I've been trying to get back to New York since I arrived."

“Sea demons sent you here," Batman repeated, his tone neutral but somehow conveying skepticism.

“Telekhines,” Percy confirmed, seeing no point in hiding it now. “Although the blow-up part was kind of my fault. Accidentally. I would never willingly come to your shithole.”

Robin made a noise that might have been amusement. "He's got a point about Gotham."

Batman ignored the comment, his focus unwavering. "And the artifacts you were searching for?"

"Golden drachmas," Percy explained, resigned to the interrogation. "Ancient Greek coins. I need them to contact my friends at Camp Half-Blood. It's a training facility for demigods," he added before Batman could ask. "In Long Island."

A moment of silence followed as Batman processed this information, his expression giving away nothing. Percy could almost see the calculations happening behind that cowled face—assessing threat levels, weighing options, determining the most efficient course of action.

"You're coming with us," Batman finally declared, the words carrying the weight of a decree rather than a suggestion.

Percy took a defensive step back. "I don't think so. I appreciate the... whatever this is, but I need to get back to New York."

"That wasn't a request," Batman clarified.

Red Hood, who had been watching the exchange quietly, suddenly shifted his weight, the leather of his jacket creaking as he stepped forward.

"Actually," he interjected, his electronically filtered voice regaining its earlier confidence, "the kid's with me."

All eyes turned to the crime lord. Percy couldn't see his face behind the red helmet, but his body language radiated defiance as he stared down Batman.

"Excuse me?" Robin said, disbelief evident even behind his domino mask.

"You heard me, Replacement," Red Hood replied, a hint of mockery in his tone as he addressed Robin. "The sea brat's in my territory, messing with my operations. That makes him my problem to deal with."

"Hood—" Batman began, a clear warning in his voice.

"What's the matter, old man?" Red Hood taunted, turning back to face Batman fully. "Afraid I'll corrupt Junior Aquaman here?" He gestured toward Percy without looking at him. "Or maybe you're worried he'll see how the other half of Gotham lives—the half you can't save with your fancy gadgets and moral code."

Percy glanced between them, sensing the tension that went beyond their current standoff. There was history here—old wounds and unspoken grievances that made the air between them feel electric with potential violence.

"This isn't about our differences," Batman stated, his voice dropping even lower. "This is about containing a potentially volatile situation."

"Translation: you want to lock him up in your cave and run experiments," Red Hood shot back. "Study the half-god freak show."

"That's not—" Robin started, but Red Hood cut him off with a sharp gesture.

"Save it," he snapped. "I know how the Bat operates. Everything's a specimen to analyze. Every person's a problem to solve."

Throughout this exchange, Percy had been quietly assessing his options. The fire hydrant on the corner was his best bet—enough water to create a significant distraction. But even if he got away, then what? Batman had apparently been tracking him since his arrival in Gotham. Running seemed futile.

But there was another option forming in his mind—one that might be just as risky but could potentially get him what he needed.

"I'll go with Red Hood," Percy announced suddenly, his voice cutting through the argument.

All three masked figures turned to stare at him.

"What?" Robin asked, clearly blindsided.

Percy squared his shoulders, meeting Batman's cowled gaze with determination. "You heard me. I'm going with Red Hood."

"Kid, I was just trying to—" Red Hood began, sounding surprised by this turn of events.

"I know what you were doing," Percy interrupted. "Using me as a way to stick it to Batman. But here's the deal—I need to get back to New York, and I need resources to do it." He turned to face Red Hood fully. "You run half the criminal operations in this part of Gotham. You have money, connections, and from what I can tell, a vested interest in annoying Batman. I'm offering you that opportunity."

Red Hood's helmet concealed his expression, but his posture shifted subtly—interest replacing his earlier antagonistic stance.

"And what do you get out of this arrangement?" he asked, caution evident in his tone.

"Transportation to New York," Percy replied simply. "And no more flooding your operations. Win-win."

Batman stepped forward, his cape flowing around him like living shadow. "This is a mistake," he warned. "Hood isn't stable. He's volatile, unpredictable—"

"So am I," Percy countered before Red Hood could snap back, a hint of his trademark recklessness surfacing. "Besides, no offense to your whole... thing," he gestured vaguely at Batman's costume, "but at least he's been straightforward about wanting to catch me. You've been stalking me across the city, collecting my DNA, and hacking into surveillance systems to track me. Not exactly building trust there."

Robin made a noise that might have been a hastily disguised laugh. Batman's scowl deepened.

"You don't understand what you're getting involved with," Batman insisted.

Percy couldn't help but laugh at that—a short, tired sound that held little humor. "Story of my life, man. Story of my life." He turned back to Red Hood. "So, do we have a deal?"

A moment of tense silence followed as Red Hood studied him through the featureless helmet. Percy could almost feel the calculations happening—weighing the benefits of annoying Batman against the potential trouble of harboring a demigod.

Finally, Red Hood nodded. "Deal." He tilted his helmet toward Batman in a mocking salute. "Looks like I win this round, old man."

Batman's fists clenched at his sides, the only visible sign of his frustration. "This isn't over," he warned, his voice dropping to a more dangerous tone.

"It never is with you," Red Hood replied dismissively.

Batman turned to Percy, who had to force himself to avoid stepping back. “Robin will be nearby if assistance is needed."

"I won't need a babysitter," Percy grumbled, eying the colorful crime-fighter. 

“Think of it more as backup," Robin suggested, a hint of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth.  "Just in case Red Hood's brilliant help goes sideways. Which, based on historical precedent, is about 95% likely."

"Your confidence is touching, Replacement," Red Hood said sarcastically.

Robin shrugged, turning to Percy. "I’ll just be watching your back if needed. We made a pretty good team against that metal monster."

Percy snorted, allowing a small smile to settle. “I guess so. Thanks for that, by the way."

"Don't mention it," Robin replied, his formal demeanor slipping for a moment. "Just try not to get blown up this time."

Percy was uncomfortably reminded of his very achey body. He needed a recuperation day. Or fifty.  

"I'll do my best," Percy shrugged. "Though with my luck, I'm making no guarantees."

Red Hood holstered his gun, jerking his head toward the alley. "Come on, Fish Boy. Let's go before the Bat decides to stop playing nice."

Percy hesitated for just a moment, glancing between Batman and Robin. Despite everything, they were still technically the "good guys" in Gotham's warped moral landscape. Was he making a terrible mistake?

Then again, mistakes were kind of his specialty.

"No tracking devices this time," Percy warned Red Hood as he started to follow him. "And stop calling me Fish Boy."

"No promises on either count," Red Hood replied, the electronic filter not quite hiding the amusement in his voice.

Batman didn't move to stop them, but his presence seemed to darken the very air as they edged past. "I'll be watching," he warned, the words directed at Red Hood but his gaze fixed on Percy.

"Wouldn't expect anything less," Red Hood shot back. "Say hi to the family for me."

With that parting shot, he led Percy down the alley, away from the vigilantes and deeper into Gotham's shadows.

Percy could feel Batman's gaze burning into his back long after they had turned the corner and disappeared from sight.

"That," Red Hood declared once they were several blocks away, moving through Gotham's maze-like alleys with the confidence of someone who knew every crack in the pavement, "was either the ballsiest or stupidest move I've seen in a long time."

Percy kept pace beside him, adrenaline still pumping through his system. "I get that a lot. Usually both at the same time."

Red Hood led him down another turn, through a narrow passage between two buildings that Percy would have missed entirely if he'd been alone. The route seemed deliberately circuitous—doubling back, crossing the same streets from different angles, passing through abandoned buildings. Percy realized Red Hood was making sure they weren't being followed, even though both of them knew Batman probably had ways of tracking them that went beyond simple pursuit.

"So," Percy ventured after several minutes of silent navigation, "you know I'm a demigod now."

"Apparently," Red Hood replied, his tone unreadable through the electronic filter.

"And you're just... okay with that?" Percy pressed, uncertainty creeping into his voice. Now that they were away from Batman, the reality of his situation was setting in. He'd just allied himself with a crime lord in a city he barely understood.

Red Hood stopped suddenly, turning to face Percy fully. The blank red helmet was unsettling in the dim light of the alley, hiding any hint of human expression.

"Kid, in this city I've seen a man who can freeze people with a touch, another who can control plants, a woman who's half-plant herself, and a guy who transforms into a literal clay monster," Red Hood stated flatly. "The bar for 'weird' is pretty high in Gotham. Your daddy being a sea god barely registers."

Percy blinked, momentarily taken aback by the casual dismissal of his divine heritage. After years of it being the defining factor in nearly every aspect of his life, there was something almost refreshing about someone being so underwhelmed by it.

"Fair enough," he conceded.

Red Hood's helmet tilted slightly as he studied Percy. "Though I will say, the whole controlling water thing? That's a neat trick. Could be useful."

"It's not a trick," Percy corrected automatically, defensive. "And I'm not going to help you commit crimes, if that's what you're thinking."

A short, electronic laugh escaped the helmet. "Relax, Fish Boy. I'm not looking to add 'corrupting a minor deity' to my resume. Besides," he added, resuming their walk through the alley, "I'm not the villain Batman makes me out to be."

"You're a crime lord," Percy pointed out skeptically.

"I control crime," Red Hood corrected. "There's a difference. This city's going to have crime no matter what Batman does. I just make sure it stays within certain boundaries."

"What kind of boundaries?"

"No dealing to kids," Red Hood replied immediately, his tone hardening. "No human trafficking. No random violence against civilians. My people step out of line on those rules, they answer to me." The last words carried a threat that Percy had no trouble believing.

They emerged from the alley onto a wider street lined with warehouses. Most appeared abandoned, windows broken and walls covered in graffiti, but one stood apart—lights still burning behind blacked-out windows, a pair of men in nondescript clothing standing guard at the side entrance.

The guards tensed as they approached, hands moving to concealed weapons, but relaxed marginally when they recognized Red Hood.

"Boss," one of them acknowledged with a nod, his eyes flicking curiously to Percy before returning to his employer. "Didn't expect you back tonight."

"Change of plans," Red Hood replied shortly. "This is..." he paused, glancing at Percy.

"Percy," Percy supplied, seeing no point in aliases at this stage.

"Percy," Red Hood repeated. "He's a... consultant. Temporary alliance. He goes where I go for now, understood?"

The guard nodded, though his expression remained skeptical. "Whatever you say, boss." He stepped aside, allowing them entry to the warehouse.

Inside was nothing like Percy had expected. Rather than the empty space typical of a warehouse, the interior had been converted into what looked like a command center combined with living quarters. One section held computer terminals and communications equipment that wouldn't have looked out of place in a military operation. Another contained weapons—guns, knives, and various devices Percy couldn't identify mounted on racks or laid out on tables.

A small kitchen area occupied one corner, while what appeared to be sleeping quarters—a bed, chest of drawers, and a privacy screen—filled another. The center of the space was dominated by a large table covered in maps and documents, with several chairs scattered around it.

It was, Percy thought, what the Bat Cave probably looked like if you removed all the stalactites and bat imagery.

"Home sweet home?" Percy asked,  raising an eyebrow as he took in the surroundings. The place looked like what would happen if a military surplus store and a tech startup had a very angry baby. 

"One of several," Red Hood replied, moving to the center table. "I don't stay in one place too long. Bad for business."

He reached up and, with a pneumatic hiss, removed his helmet. Percy couldn't hide his surprise. Even after previously seeing the crime lord’s face, he hadn’t really had time to examine it with the gun’s pointed at his head and all. 

Red Hood was definitely young, he hadn't been wrong about that, with sharp features and a shock of black hair with a distinctive white streak at the front. A domino mask still covered his eyes, but it didn't hide the scar that bisected his right eyebrow or the hard set of his jaw.

Noticing Percy's expression, Red Hood—or whatever his actual name was—smirked. "What? Were you expecting some scarred, middle-aged crime boss?"

“Not really,” Percy admitted. “Though you do sound older with the voice modulator."

"That's the point." Red Hood set the helmet down on the table, running a hand through his hair. 

"So," Percy ventured, "does Batman always stalk people, or am I just special?"

"Special implies he finds you interesting," Red Hood retorted. "You're more like... an unexpected tax audit he can't wait to investigate."

Percy clutched his chest in mock offense. "Wow. And here I thought we were bonding."

"Whatever, smartass." Redhood snorted, walking past him. "So, Percy Jackson. Son of Poseidon. Now that we've established Batman isn't listening in, let's get down to business. What exactly do you need to get back to New York?"

Percy hesitated, realizing that despite his impulsive decision to ally with Red Hood, he still didn't fully trust the man. But he was running out of options and even more out of time.

"Ideally? A rainbow and a direct line to Camp Half-Blood," he replied, keeping his tone casual despite the absurdity of the request. "But since that's probably not happening, I'll settle for transportation. Bus ticket, train, car—anything that gets me out of Gotham and headed east."

Red Hood leaned against the table, arms crossed over his chest. "That's it? Just a ride out of town? I was expecting something more... mythological."

Percy shrugged. "The mythological part is my problem. Getting out of this city without Batman or your goons catching me is yours."

"My 'goons,' as you so eloquently put it, take orders from me," Red Hood pointed out. "They're not a problem anymore."

"And Batman?"

A shadow crossed Red Hood's face, something dark and complicated that Percy couldn't quite interpret. "Batman's always a problem," he said quietly, before his expression shifted back to businesslike efficiency. "But I know how he thinks. I know how to move around this city without him noticing."

"You used to work with him," Percy realized aloud, the pieces suddenly clicking into place. "That's why you called Robin 'replacement.' You were Robin before him."

Red Hood's posture stiffened, his hand drifting unconsciously toward one of the guns holstered at his hip. "You're smarter than you look, Fish Boy."

Percy held up his hands in a placating gesture. "Hey, I'm not judging. Everyone's got a complicated family history. Mine involves several immortal gods who occasionally try to kill me."

For a moment, tension hummed in the air between them. Then, unexpectedly, Red Hood laughed—a genuine sound without the electronic distortion, revealing a glimpse of someone younger and less hardened than the crime lord persona suggested.

"Fair point," he conceded, relaxing slightly. "Yes, I used to be Robin. Now I'm not. The details aren't important for our arrangement." His expression turned serious again. "What is important is getting you out of Gotham without Batman interfering."

He pulled a map from the stack on the table, spreading it out to reveal Gotham City and its surroundings. "The problem is Batman's surveillance network. He's got the main roads, train stations, and bus terminals covered. Facial recognition, movement analysis algorithms—the works."

Percy leaned over the map, studying the routes out of the city. "What about the water? The river leads to the ocean eventually, right?"

Red Hood nodded slowly. "The Gotham River flows into the Atlantic, but..." he hesitated, giving Percy a measuring look. "After your run-in with Killer, are you sure you want to risk the waterways again?"

Percy's hand went unconsciously to his side, where the bruises from Killer's attack were still healing. "How do you know about that?"

"My territory, my business to know what happens in it," Red Hood replied simply. "Killer's a legend in Gotham's underworld. Most people who encounter him don't live to tell about it."

"I didn't kill him," Percy felt compelled to clarify. "Just wounded him enough to escape."

"Which is exactly why I'm asking if you want to risk that route again," Red Hood said. "Wounded predators are more dangerous than healthy ones, and Killer's not exactly stable to begin with."

Percy frowned, considering his options. The water would normally be his preference—his natural element, where his powers were strongest. But Gotham's waterways were different. The pollution muted his abilities, and after his encounter with Killer, he wasn't eager for a rematch.

"What alternatives do we have?" he asked finally.

Red Hood traced a route on the map with his finger. "There's a private airfield on the outskirts of Gotham. Small planes, minimal security, mostly used by smugglers and rich people who don't want their movements tracked. I've got contacts there who owe me favors."

"A plane?" Percy repeated, alarm bells going off in his head. "I can't fly. Zeus will blast me out of the sky." At Red Hood's raised eyebrow, he elaborated, "Family drama. My dad and Zeus don't exactly get along, and Zeus tends to take it out on Poseidon's kids. Being in his domain is... risky."

Red Hood stared at him for a long moment, as if trying to determine whether Percy was serious. Finally, he shook his head. "Your family puts the 'fun' in dysfunctional, doesn't it?"

"You have no idea," Percy muttered.

"Alright, scratch the plane," Red Hood conceded, returning his attention to the map. "There's still the private docks along the eastern shore. Smugglers use them to move product in and out without going through the main harbor. Smaller vessels, faster, designed to avoid Coast Guard detection."

"A boat could work," Percy agreed cautiously. "Once I'm far enough out to sea, I can manage on my own."

Red Hood's masked eyes narrowed. "What do you mean 'on your own'? You planning to swim to New York?"

"If I have to," Percy replied with a shrug. "I can breathe underwater. Distance isn't really an issue once I'm in the ocean."

Red Hood stared at him for a beat, then shook his head again. "Right. Son of Poseidon. Almost forgot." He rolled up the map with a decisive motion. "The docks it is, then. I've got a guy who can get us there tomorrow night."

"Tomorrow night?" Percy repeated, disappointment evident in his voice. "Why not now?"

"Because Batman will be expecting us to move immediately," Red Hood explained patiently. "He'll have every exit from The Bowery under surveillance tonight. By tomorrow, he'll have to spread his resources thinner. Plus," he added, gesturing to Percy's disheveled appearance, "you look like death warmed over. When was the last time you slept? Or ate a real meal?"

As if on cue, Percy's stomach rumbled loudly in the quiet warehouse. The meal from Maggie felt like forever ago. The half-sandwich he'd scrounged earlier barely counted.

"I'll be fine," he insisted, even as exhaustion weighed heavy on his limbs. "I've gone longer without food or sleep."

"That's not the brag you think it is," Red Hood observed dryly. He pointed toward the kitchen area. "There's food in the fridge. Not five-star cuisine, but it's edible. After that, you can crash on the cot in the corner."

Percy eyed him skeptically. "Just like that? You're feeding me and letting me sleep here? What's the catch?"

Red Hood's expression hardened. "The 'catch' is that if you try anything stupid—like contacting Batman or flooding this place—our deal is off, and I'll personally make sure you never leave Gotham." His hand rested pointedly on his holstered gun. "Are we clear?"

Despite the threat, Percy found himself almost respecting the directness. At least Red Hood didn't pretend to be something he wasn't. "Crystal," he replied.

Red Hood nodded once, seemingly satisfied. "Good. Now go eat something before you pass out. You're no use to either of us unconscious."

As Percy made his way to the kitchen area, he couldn't help wondering what Annabeth would say about his current situation. Allying with a crime lord to escape a vigilante dressed as a bat? She'd either call it brilliant adaptation or the stupidest plan he'd ever concocted.

Probably both.

The refrigerator contained an assortment of take-out containers, energy drinks, and pre-packaged meals—the diet of someone who used the kitchen more as a refueling station than a place to actually cook. Percy grabbed what looked like leftover pizza and a bottle of water, too hungry to be picky.

As he ate, he watched Red Hood move around the command center, checking monitors and occasionally speaking into a communicator in low tones. For a crime lord, he operated with military precision, methodically reviewing information and issuing instructions to unseen subordinates.

"What's your actual name?" Percy asked suddenly between bites of cold pizza. "Feels weird calling you 'Red Hood' all the time."

The crime lord paused in his work, giving Percy a measured look. "Jason," he replied after a moment. "Jason Todd."

Percy grinned. "Sounds like a name from an accounting firm, not a crime lord."

"And Percy Jackson sounds like a math teacher," Jason shot back. "We can't all have intimidating names."

Percy snickered. "Thanks for the food, Jason."

Something unreadable flickered across Jason's face—surprise, perhaps, at the casual use of his name. Then it was gone, replaced by his usual guarded expression. "Don't mention it. Seriously, don't. Bad for my reputation."

Percy couldn't help but smile at that. For all his criminal credentials and threats, there was something almost familiar about Jason Todd—the sharp edges and defensive humor reminded Percy of several campers he knew, the ones who'd arrived at Camp Half-Blood carrying invisible wounds and trust issues.

By the time Percy finished eating, his eyelids were growing heavy, the day's exertions finally catching up with him. The cot in the corner looked increasingly inviting, despite its spartan appearance.

"Get some sleep," Jason advised, not looking up from the terminal he was working at. "Tomorrow's going to be a long day."

Percy didn't need to be told twice. He made his way to the cot and collapsed onto it, barely remembering to remove his shoes before horizontal gravity took over. The last thing he saw before his eyes closed was Jason Todd's silhouette against the blue glow of computer screens, helmet back in place as he spoke into a communicator, planning their escape from Gotham.

As Percy drifted into unconsciousness, one thought circled in his mind: of all the strange alliances he'd formed over the years—and there had been many—teaming up with a gun-toting crime lord in a city of costumed vigilantes had to be one of the oddest.

Then again, being a demigod had never been normal to begin with

Chapter Text

Percy Jackson was not a morning person. This was a well-established fact known to anyone who had ever lived in proximity to him—from his fellow demigods at Camp Half-Blood to his mother back in New York. But waking up in a crime lord's secret warehouse? That was a whole new level of morning disorientation.

The first thing he noticed when he woke up was that everything hurt. Again.

His body had become intimately familiar with pain over the years—monster fights, godly battles, and now apparently adding "surviving Gotham" to the list of experiences that left him black and blue. His ribs ached with every breath, a souvenir from his encounter with Killer. A collection of bruises decorated his arms and legs like a modern art exhibit, and the cut on his forehead had crusted over with dried blood.

The second thing he noticed was the voices—low, urgent, and definitely arguing. He kept his eyes closed, letting his other senses gather information first. An old habit learned from way too many monster ambushes.

The cot beneath him was firmer than he remembered, and the air smelled different—less like a warehouse and more like... coffee and gunpowder? With a hint of something metallic and the chemical tang of medical supplies. He cracked one eye open, memories of the previous night coming back in a rush. Right. Crime lord's safehouse. Gotham City. Batman knows he's a demigod. Just another Tuesday. Or whatever day it was.

"—can't just bring random meta-humans into our operations!" a female voice was saying, her tone a controlled whisper that still carried an impressive amount of intensity.

"He's not 'random,' and technically he's not a meta," came Jason's familiar voice, sounding distinctly annoyed. "And last I checked, this was my safehouse." There was a weight to his words that suggested this wasn't the first time they'd had this argument.

"Our safehouse," the woman corrected sharply. "Our operation. Our necks on the line when Batman decides to crash the party because you've picked up a stray with water powers."

"That 'stray' held his own against both Batman and Killer Croc," Jason replied. "If anything, we should be recruiting him."

Percy's lips twitched in reluctant amusement. He'd gone from "terrifying godspawn" to "stray with water powers" in less than five days. The demotion stung his pride a little, but he'd been called worse. Much worse. Usually by things with multiple heads and a tendency to breathe fire.

Percy decided this was probably a good time to announce his consciousness before they started discussing whether to keep him as a pet or put him down. He sat up with deliberate noise, running a hand through his perpetually messy hair.

The conversation stopped instantly. Percy found himself facing not only Jason, now without his helmet but still wearing the domino mask, but also a woman with short dark hair and sharp eyes that immediately assessed him as a potential threat. She wore fitted black tactical gear with hints of dark purple, and the way she balanced her weight spoke of serious combat training.

"Morning," Percy offered, aiming for casual despite the tension crackling in the air. "Or... is it still morning? Hard to tell in this place."

"It's 2 PM, Fish Face.” Jason informed him, taking a sip from a coffee mug that read 'World's Deadliest Boss' in cheerful script. The juxtaposition was so absurd Percy almost laughed. "You slept for about fourteen hours."

"Fourteen—?" Percy jumped to his feet, fully awake now. "We need to get moving. Camp will be—"

"Relax, Water Boy," Jason cut him off. "Our boat doesn't leave until tonight. You've got time."

The woman crossed her arms, giving Jason a look that Percy couldn't fully interpret but definitely contained several varieties of disapproval. "So it's true," she said, turning her attention to Percy. "The Bat's latest obsession is a demigod."

Percy blinked. "You told her?" He shot Jason an accusatory look. After all they'd gone through to keep the godly world secret, Jason had just casually shared his identity with someone Percy had never met?

"She's my second-in-command," Jason replied with a shrug, completely unapologetic. "Besides, Artemis has seen weirder." 

Percy's guard immediately shot back up, his gaze snapping back to the woman—Artemis, apparently—with narrowed eyes. "Artemis. As in goddess of the hunt?" 

The woman raised an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth twitching upward in what might have been amusement. "Different Artemis. Though I'm flattered by the comparison."

"This is Artemis Crock," Jason explained. "Former assassin, current partner in crime—literally—and the reason my operation runs smoothly when I'm out playing dress-up in the helmet."

Artemis gave Percy a smile that was all teeth and no warmth. "Nice to meet you, Son of Poseidon. The last mythological being I encountered tried to kill me, so you're already ahead of the curve by just being annoying."

"Uh, thanks?" Percy replied, not entirely sure if he was being complimented or insulted. "So you're... what? Red Hood's sidekick?"

The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees. Jason winced visibly, taking a step back.

"Partner," Artemis corrected, her voice dangerously soft. "And I'd advise against using the S-word in this particular corner of Gotham. It tends to trigger violent reactions."

"Noted," Percy said quickly, recognizing the threat for what it was. "Partner. Got it. No S-word. My bad."

“There you go,” Artemis patted his cheek in a way that somehow managed to be both condescending and vaguely threatening. "You learn faster than most men I meet. There might be hope for you yet."

Jason cleared his throat, apparently deciding to steer the conversation away from dangerous waters before Artemis decided to demonstrate her skills with one of the many weapons she carried. "Artemis was just expressing some concerns about our arrangement."

"What he means," Artemis interjected, "is that I think harboring a demigod who's already on Batman's radar is a spectacularly bad idea, especially when we're in the middle of consolidating territory after the gang war."

Percy frowned, looking between them. "Look, I'm not trying to cause problems. I just need to get out of Gotham and back to New York."

"And that's exactly what's going to happen," Jason assured him, shooting Artemis a look. "Tonight."

Artemis held Jason's gaze for a long moment before finally sighing. "Fine. But if this goes sideways, I reserve the right to say 'I told you so' before we all get arrested or killed."

"When has anything ever gone sideways with one of my plans?" Jason asked with exaggerated innocence.

Both Artemis and Percy snorted in unison, then glanced at each other in surprise.

"I don't even know you," Percy said to Jason, "and I can tell that's a lie."

"He has a 100% success rate at getting into trouble," Artemis confirmed, a reluctant smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "It's his one consistent talent."

"Hey," Jason protested, "I resent that. I'm also exceptionally good at shooting people."

Despite everything, Percy found himself laughing. There was something about the dynamic between Jason and Artemis that reminded him of his own friendships—the easy banter masking genuine trust, the kind forged through shared danger and mutual respect.

Artemis's expression softened fractionally as she observed Percy's reaction. "At least the sea spawn has a sense of humor," she conceded. "That might keep him alive when Jason's plan inevitably falls apart."

"I'd be offended if that wasn't a completely fair assessment," Jason replied, setting down his coffee mug. "Hungry? You should eat something before we get into the details."

"Starving, actually," Percy admitted, suddenly aware of the hollow feeling in his stomach.

Percy stood, stretching muscles that protested the movement. His ribs ached where Killer Croc had landed a particularly nasty hit, and his right shoulder felt stiff—probably from where it had been practically dislocated it during their brief encounter. He rolled it experimentally, grimacing at the twinge of pain.

"You need medical attention for that shoulder?" Artemis asked, her sharp eyes missing nothing.

Percy shook his head. "I heal fast. Perk of the whole demigod thing." He rotated the joint again, feeling it loosen slightly. "By tonight it'll be good as new."

Artemis looked skeptical but didn't push the issue. Instead, she gestured toward the bathroom. "Shower. Now. You smell like the Gotham sewers, which I assume is because you've been in them."

"You have no idea," Percy muttered, heading for the bathroom. A hot shower sounded like absolute bliss right now, even if it wouldn't have the same healing properties as a good soak in the ocean. "Ten minutes. Then food."

The bathroom was surprisingly normal compared to the high-tech military vibe of the rest of the safehouse—just a simple shower stall, toilet, and sink. Percy caught sight of himself in the mirror and winced. No wonder Artemis had looked at him like he was something the cat dragged in. His hair was matted with what he hoped was just mud, his face was streaked with dirt and dried blood, and his clothes looked like he'd gone ten rounds with the Minotaur. Again.

Ten minutes and one gloriously hot shower later, Percy emerged feeling somewhat more human. He'd managed to wash most of the grime away, though his clothes were still a disaster. Someone—probably Jason—had left a stack of clean clothes outside the bathroom door. They were a bit too big, but anything was better than his current outfit.

When he returned to the main area, the smell of coffee and food drew him to the kitchen, where Jason was pouring coffee into two mugs. "Coffee?" Jason asked, holding up a pot.

"Sure. Black is fine." Percy accepted the mug Jason handed him, noting that this one read 'I survived Gotham and all I got was this lousy mug' in faded letters. "You cook?"

"Basic survival skills," Jason replied with a shrug, pushing a plate of scrambled eggs across the counter. "Alfred would be disappointed if I couldn't manage eggs."

Percy raised an eyebrow as he took a seat at the small kitchen island. "Alfred?"

Something flickered across Jason's face—a brief, unguarded moment that vanished as quickly as it had appeared. "Butler at Wayne Manor. Makes the best chocolate chip cookies in Gotham."

"But are they blue?" Percy asked with a small grin. His stomach almost did happy backflips at the prospect of finally getting a real meal.

He gave a thoughtful hum, noting the casual reference to Wayne Manor. The pieces were falling into place—Batman, Bruce Wayne, the adoptive sons. It wasn't difficult to connect the dots, especially after their confrontation the previous night. 

"So Bruce Wayne is Batman," Percy stated rather than asked, taking a sip of the coffee.

Jason stiffened, his hand dropping to where a gun would normally be holstered. "What makes you say that?"

Percy rolled his eyes. "Dude, I'm not an idiot. You were Robin. You lived at Wayne Manor. Batman has Robin sidekicks—sorry, partners," he corrected hastily, glancing toward where Artemis had been. "It's not exactly quantum physics." 

For a moment, Jason looked like he might deny it. Then he sighed, the tension draining from his shoulders. "Well, the old man would be thrilled to know his big secret can be figured out by a teenager with a D+ in algebra."

"Hey, I'll have you know I've worked my way up to a solid C," Percy protested with mock indignation.

A ghost of a smile touched Jason's lips. "Impressive. Yale will be calling any day now."

"More likely to call the police if I showed up," Percy snorted, helping himself to some of the eggs. They were surprisingly good—perfectly seasoned and not overcooked.

Artemis, who had disappeared briefly, returned with what looked like a small first aid kit. Without asking permission, she set it on the counter and pulled out a tube of something. "Shirt up," she ordered Percy.

Percy blinked in surprise. "Excuse me?"

"Your ribs. They're bruised, possibly cracked. This will help." She held up the tube. "Specially formulated for accelerated healing. Even works on Jason's stubborn ass when he gets himself shot. Again."

"I don't get shot that often," Jason muttered.

"Twice last month," Artemis countered without missing a beat.

Percy hesitated, then lifted his shirt, revealing the impressive collection of bruises decorating his torso. Artemis's expression didn't change as she efficiently applied the salve to the worst areas. Her touch was clinical but careful, avoiding putting unnecessary pressure on the most damaged spots.

"Killer Croc?" she asked, examining a particularly nasty bruise on his side.

Percy nodded. "He packs quite a punch for a giant lizard man."

"You're lucky he didn't tear you in half," she commented, finishing her work and stepping back. "That's the usual outcome for tourists who stumble into his territory."

"I've had practice with monsters," Percy said, lowering his shirt. The salve was already working, a pleasant cooling sensation spreading across his battered ribs. "Though most of mine are a bit more... mythological."

"Picky, picky," Jason muttered, but there was a hint of amusement in his tone.

Percy finished his eggs, trying not to inhale them like a starving wolf. He hadn't realized just how depleted he was until food was in front of him. A demigod's metabolism was no joke, especially after fighting and healing.

"So we have a plan for tonight?" he asked, trying to refocus on the practical matters at hand.

"We do," Jason said, his expression turning more serious. He moved to a computer terminal across the room, tapping a few keys to bring up a map of Gotham. “We've got lots to cover before tonight."

He turned to Percy, his demeanor shifting from casual to all business. "You need fitted clothes, basic supplies for the journey, and a crash course in avoiding Batman's surveillance network."

Percy glanced down at the borrowed clothes he was wearing—the black t-shirt hung loose on his frame, and he'd had to roll up the sweatpants to keep from tripping. 

"Yeah, that'd be nice," he admitted, running a hand through his still-damp hair. "Though I hope you're not planning to dress me up like a mini-Red Hood." The mental image of himself in Jason's full leather outfit, complete with helmet, was both ridiculous and slightly disturbing.

Jason smirked, the expression making him look younger—closer to Percy's age. "Tempting, but no. The leather chafes if you're not used to it."

Artemis rolled her eyes so hard Percy was surprised they didn't fall out of her head. "I'll handle the supplies," she said, already moving toward the door. "You two focus on not drawing Batman's attention for the next six hours. Think you can manage that, or should I come back with bail money?"

"Your faith in me is moving," Jason called after her as she left.

Once Artemis was gone, Jason's demeanor shifted subtly, becoming more focused and less performative. He moved to one of the computer terminals, gesturing for Percy to join him.

"Let's get down to business," he said, typing a series of commands that brought up a detailed map of Gotham on the screen. "This is our current location," he pointed to a blinking dot in what Percy recognized as the Bowery district. "And this," he indicated another point near the eastern shoreline, "is where our boat will be waiting tonight."

Percy studied the map, noting the distance between the two points and the maze of streets, alleys, and buildings in between. "That's quite a trek through Batman territory."

"All of Gotham is Batman territory," Jason corrected. "But yes, it's not going to be a simple walk in the park. Batman's surveillance network is extensive, but it does have blind spots."

He typed another command, and several areas of the map highlighted in red. "These are the high-surveillance zones—major intersections, financial district, areas around police precincts and City Hall. We'll be avoiding those completely."

More typing, and new paths appeared in green, cutting through seemingly random sections of the city. "These are what I call the Ghost Routes—paths through Gotham that are difficult for even Batman's tech to monitor consistently. Abandoned subway tunnels, sewer systems, buildings with specific types of structural interference that mess with his sensors."

Percy raised an eyebrow, impressed despite himself. "You've really mapped all this out?"

"Know your enemy," Jason replied simply. "Especially when your enemy used to be your mentor and knows how you think."

There was that hint of complicated history again, the undercurrent of unresolved issues that seemed to define Jason's relationship with Batman. Percy was tempted to ask more, to understand the full story behind Red Hood's obvious animosity toward Gotham's primary defender, but something told him that would be pushing too far too fast.

Instead, he focused on the practical. "So we follow these Ghost Routes to the docks, hop on a boat, and I'm homeward bound?"

"That's the plan," Jason confirmed. "It's about a six-hour journey by boat to reach waters deep enough and far enough from Gotham for you to safely... do whatever demigod water thing you plan to do."

"Swim," Percy supplied. "Really fast. And possibly call in some oceanic transportation."

Jason stared at him for a beat, then shook his head. "Right. Sea god powers. Keep forgetting."

He minimized the map and brought up another display, this one showing what appeared to be security camera feeds from various locations around Gotham. "While we wait for Artemis to return with supplies, we need to check Batman's current patrol patterns. He tends to follow certain routines, even when he thinks he's being unpredictable."

Percy moved closer, fascinated by the glimpses of Gotham life captured by the cameras—citizens hurrying along sidewalks, police officers patrolling corners, the occasional flash of something more unusual, like a person in costume or an oddly modified vehicle.

"Is that him?" Percy asked, pointing to a dark shape moving across a rooftop in one of the feeds.

Jason leaned in, eyes narrowing behind his mask. "No, that's Nightwing—another former Robin. Batman's first protégé." There was something almost wistful in his tone, quickly suppressed. "He's usually based in Blüdhaven, not Gotham. If he's here, Batman's called in reinforcements."

"How many of you are there?" Percy asked, surprised. "Former Robins, I mean."

"Too many," Jason replied dryly. "Batman collects traumatized orphans like some people collect stamps. I was number two. The 'Replacement' you met is number three. Plus Batgirl and a few others who orbit the Bat's little universe."

He tapped a key, switching to another feed. "This complicates things. If Nightwing's in Gotham, Batman's deploying full resources to find you. He must think you're a bigger threat than you seem."

Percy frowned, watching the feeds cycle through different locations. The image of a young man in a black and blue costume moving with impossible grace across Gotham's rooftops was both impressive and concerning. If Batman was calling in his entire network to hunt down one teenage demigod, getting out of Gotham might be even harder than he'd thought.

"Or he's just that obsessed with solving the puzzle,” Percy suggested, furrowing his brows. “Figuring out the demigod thing."

Jason considered this, then nodded slowly. "Could be. Batman hates mysteries he can't immediately solve. And if he's figured out there's a whole hidden world of gods and monsters out there..."

"He'll want to catalog it, analyze it, and probably develop contingency plans to neutralize it," Percy finished, thinking of Batman's methodical approach to everything he'd observed so far. "Gods, he'd get along great with Athena."

"Another Greek deity?" Jason asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Goddess of wisdom, battle strategy, and knowing absolutely everything," Percy confirmed. "She's also my girl… my friend's mom, which makes family dinners super awkward, seeing as she and my dad hate each other.”

Jason actually laughed at that—a genuine sound that seemed to surprise even him. "Your life is seriously messed up, Jackson."

"Says the guy dressed as a red helmet who fights crime by committing crime," Percy retorted with a grin.

"Touché." Jason's smile faded as he focused back on the monitors. "Wait, there—" he pointed to a feed showing a dark shadow moving swiftly across a distant rooftop. "That's him. Batman."

Percy leaned closer, watching the shadow resolve into the distinctive caped silhouette. Even from this distance and grainy camera quality, there was something imposing about the figure—a deliberate, predatory movement that marked him as different from the common criminals Percy had encountered in Gotham.

"He's in the Diamond District," Jason observed. "Heading east. That's not his usual daytime patrol route." He frowned, checking the time display on the monitor. "He should be at Wayne Enterprises or the Batcave at this hour, not out in the field."

"Maybe he's looking for me?" Percy suggested.

"Maybe," Jason agreed, looking troubled. "Or maybe something else is going on." He switched to another feed, showing a different angle of the same area. "There—" he pointed to a flash of color moving alongside the darker shadow. "Robin's with him."

Percy recognized the red, green, and yellow uniform of the vigilante immediately. He hated to say it but he actually liked the guy. "Your replacement," he noted, glancing at Jason to gauge his reaction.

Jason's jaw tightened briefly, but his voice remained neutral. "Tim Drake. Smartest of the Robins, possibly smarter than Batman himself. Don't tell him I said that, his ego makes his head big enough already. If he's involved in tracking you down, our job just got harder."

Percy raised a brow, "I thought he said he'd be around to help me. Not bring me in."

"Robin reports to Batman first and foremost, so if it comes between choosing to help you or following along with Batman's orders, he's going with Batman."

"Great," Percy muttered. "So we've got Batman, Robin, and this Nightwing person all potentially looking for me. Any other masked vigilantes I should worry about?"

"About half a dozen," Jason replied, utterly serious. "But they're not all invested in your case specifically. Yet."

He closed the surveillance feeds and turned to face Percy fully. "This changes our timetable. We need to move sooner than planned. Batman's activity in the east sector means he might be aware of the smuggling operation at the docks."

"So what's the new plan?" Percy asked, not liking the growing concern in Jason's expression.

Before Jason could answer, the door to the safehouse opened, and Artemis returned carrying several bags. She took one look at their faces and sighed deeply.

"What happened?" she asked, setting the bags down. "And how badly do I need to say 'I told you so'?"

"Batman's on the move in the east sector, with Robin," Jason informed her. "Nightwing's been spotted in Gotham as well."

Artemis's expression hardened. "The full Bat family reunion. Wonderful." She glanced at Percy. "Your stock just went up, demigod. Batman doesn't deploy that kind of manpower for ordinary troublemakers."

"Lucky me," Percy replied sarcastically. "So what's the new plan?"

Jason and Artemis exchanged a look, having one of those silent conversations that only comes from working closely together for a long time. After a moment, Jason nodded.

"We split up," he declared. "I'll create a diversion in the north end of the city—something flashy enough to draw Batman's attention. Artemis, you take Percy through the Ghost Routes to the secondary extraction point."

"The Canal Street tunnel?" Artemis asked, frowning. "That's risky. The last collapse—"

"It's been reinforced since then," Jason cut her off. "And it's our best option for avoiding Bat-surveillance."

Percy looked between them, not liking the increased tension. "What about the boat?"

"Change of plans," Jason said grimly. "No boat. Too much risk of Batman intercepting at the docks. Instead, we go with Plan B—the underground river access."

Artemis's eyebrows shot up. "You want to send him through the—" she broke off, shaking her head. "Jason, that's suicide for anyone without specialized equipment. The currents alone—"

"He's the son of Poseidon," Jason reminded her. "Water is literally his thing."

"The Gotham underground river system isn't just water," Artemis argued. "It's toxic waste, industrial runoff, and who knows what else Scarecrow, Joker, and the rest have dumped down there over the years."

Percy cleared his throat. "Maybe I should weigh in here, since it's my potential death we're discussing?" When both turned to look at him, he continued, "I can handle polluted water. Not only did I swim in your awful harbor, I swam in your sewers. Literally. It's not comfortable, but it won't kill me." He grimaced at the memory of Gotham's sewer system—easily the most disgusting body of water he'd ever encountered, and that was saying something. "All that matters is that it can lead me to the ocean."

Artemis studied him intently, as if trying to determine whether his confidence was justified or just teenage bravado. "The chances of this going bad are insanely high," she warned finally. "There are currents down there that have drowned experienced divers. The visibility is zero. The water temperature drops to near freezing.”

"But it does eventually connect to the ocean?" Percy pressed.

Jason nodded. "Through a series of underwater tunnels that run beneath the harbor defenses. It was an old smuggling route dating back to Prohibition, before it became too contaminated for normal use. The tunnel exit is about three miles offshore—well outside Batman's immediate patrol zone."

Percy considered this. Swimming through toxic underground rivers wasn't exactly his idea of a good time, but if it meant getting back to Camp Half-Blood sooner rather than later... "I can handle it," he sighed. "Better than dealing with Batman's entire costumed family."

Artemis still looked skeptical, but she didn't argue further. "Your funeral, sea spawn."

"Actually avoiding the funeral is kind of the point," Percy pointed out. He turned to Jason. "What's this diversion you're planning?"

A slow, dangerous smile spread across Jason's face—the kind that reminded Percy that beneath the almost-friendly exterior, Red Hood was still a crime lord with a penchant for violence.

"Let's just say there's a certain weapons shipment arriving at the docks tonight that several of Gotham's less reputable citizens would love to get their hands on," Jason explained. "And Batman would be very, very interested in preventing that from happening."

"You're going to stage a fake arms deal?" Percy guessed.

"No, I'm going to hijack a real one," Jason corrected. "Kill two birds with one stone—create a distraction for you and remove some dangerous toys from Gotham's street."

"That's... actually kind of heroic," Percy observed, somewhat surprised.

Jason’s expression darkened. "Don't mistake pragmatism for heroism, Jackson. I'm still the bad guy in Batman's book."

There was that edge again—the hint of something deeper and more painful than Jason wanted to admit. Percy recognized it because he'd seen it before in demigods who'd been through too much, too young.

"Anyway," Jason continued, his tone deliberately lighter, "we move at dusk. That gives us about four hours to prepare." He gestured to the bags Artemis had brought. "There should be clothes that better fit and supplies in there. Get changed, get ready."

Percy moved to examine the bags, finding a set of nondescript dark clothing, a waterproof backpack, some energy bars, and a few other basic supplies. As he sorted through them, a thought occurred to him.

"Wait, if I'm going underground," he said, turning back to Jason, "how will I know where I'm going? I don't exactly have a map of Gotham's sewer system memorized."

"Most people don't," Artemis commented dryly. "Consider yourself normal in at least one respect."

Jason walked over to a cabinet on the far wall, unlocked it with a code, and returned with what looked like a small, ruggedized device about the size of a smartphone. "This is a modified GPS unit designed to work underground," he explained, handing it to Percy. "Military-grade, waterproof to 100 meters, with the route to the ocean tunnel pre-programmed."

Percy turned the device over in his hands, impressed by the solid construction. "Batman won't be able to track this?"

"No active broadcasting signature," Jason confirmed. "And the casing is lined with a material that blocks most scanning frequencies. It's receive-only, not transmit."

"Where do you get this stuff?" Percy asked, genuinely curious.

"When you've been both a vigilante and a crime lord in Gotham, you develop interesting connections," Jason replied cryptically. "Let's just say I know people who know people who design toys for people who don't want to be found."

Percy slipped the device into the pocket of his new pants. "Thanks. I mean it." He hesitated, then added, "You didn't have to help me this much. You could have just pointed me toward the city limits and been done with it."

Something unidentifiable flickered across Jason's face—surprise, perhaps, or discomfort with the gratitude. "Don't get sentimental on me, Fish Boy. This is a business arrangement, remember? You stay out of my territory after this, and I get the satisfaction of outsmarting Batman."

"Right," Percy said, not entirely convinced by Jason's dismissal. "Business arrangement."

Artemis, who had been checking her own equipment nearby, snorted softly. "Don't mind him," she said, just loud enough for Percy to hear. "He acts tough, but he's got a soft spot for strays. The number of homeless kids he's set up with safe housing and new identities would shock you."

"I can hear you," Jason called from across the room, where he was now examining what appeared to be a small arsenal of weapons. "And I do not have a 'soft spot.' I have strategic community investments."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, boss," Artemis replied cheerfully.

For the next few hours, they prepared in earnest. Percy changed into the new clothes—sturdy black pants, a dark blue long-sleeved shirt, and a lightweight jacket with multiple pockets. The clothes were still slightly too big, but functional. He practiced with the GPS unit until he was comfortable with its operation, studied the maps Jason provided of the underground river system, and even managed to eat another decent meal—courtesy of Artemis, who turned out to be a surprisingly good cook when she felt like it.

"So," Percy said through a mouthful of what might be the best pasta he'd had since coming to Gotham, "how did you end up working with Jason? You don't seem like the typical crime lord lieutenant."

Artemis paused, fork halfway to her mouth. "I'm not," she said simply. "And he's not a typical crime lord."

"That's not an answer," Percy pointed out.

She shrugged, taking another bite before responding. "We met when we were both... looking for new purpose. Let's just say I used to be part of a different organization with different methods. Jason offered me a chance to do things my way."

"Which is?"

"Protect those who need protecting. Punish those who deserve punishing. No compromise, no politics, no red tape." She set down her fork, meeting Percy's eyes directly. "In my experience, demigod, the world isn't black and white. It's crimson. Blood red. And sometimes the only way to stop the bleeding is to cauterize the wound."

Percy licked his lips. Well. That was dark. To a certain extent, he could understand it though. 

"Maybe," he said finally. "But I've seen what happens when people decide they're judge, jury, and executioner. It doesn't end well."

Artemis's expression softened slightly. "You're young. Hold onto that idealism as long as you can."

As dusk approached, the atmosphere in the safehouse grew more focused. Jason disappeared into another room and emerged fully outfitted as Red Hood, helmet and all. Artemis donned additional tactical gear, including what looked like specialized night-vision equipment and a series of weapons Percy couldn't even identify.

Red Hood turned to Percy, voice once again filtered through the electronic modulator. "One thing you should know."

"What's that?"

Red Hood checked his guns one final time before holstering them. "I don't kill kids or civilians, but anyone who comes at us tonight is fair game. If that's a problem for you, say so now."

Percy hesitated, the gravity of Jason's statement sinking in. He'd faced death before, caused it when necessary against monsters who would have killed him and his friends without hesitation. But taking human lives—even those of criminals—was different territory.

"I don't kill humans," Percy said finally, meeting the blank faceplate of the helmet. "But I won't stop you from defending yourself or me. Just... try for non-lethal if you can."

Red Hood stared at him for a long moment, then nodded once. "Fair enough. Stay behind me, follow my lead, and when I tell you to do something, do it immediately. No questions, no hesitation. Got it, Fish Boy?"

Despite everything, Percy couldn't help but smile at the ridiculous nickname. "Got it, Helmet Head."

Red Hood paused, glancing back over his shoulder. "Did you just—"

"Payback," Percy shrugged innocently. "Now, are we going to stand around comparing bad nicknames, or are we going to get me out of this city?"

A short, electronic laugh escaped the helmet. "I'm starting to see why Batman finds you annoying."

"It's part of my charm," Percy assured him, flipping riptide between his fingers.

Percy really couldn’t believe his life. Here he was, casually discussing murder with a crime lord while preparing to escape from a city he got blown to by a volcano full of sea demons. All while avoiding a strangely intimidating man Percy was half convinced could pass as a furry. 

"Almost time," Red Hood announced, his voice once again filtered through the helmet's modulator. "Final checks. Comms?"

Artemis tapped an earpiece. "Online and secure."

"Weapons?"

She patted several holsters and sheaths strategically placed around her person. "Locked and loaded."

"Exit strategy?"

"Secondary retreat point at the old textile factory if things go south," she recited. "Emergency protocols in place for worst-case scenarios."

Red Hood nodded, apparently satisfied, then turned to Percy. "You ready for this, Fish Boy?"

Percy patted his pocket where Riptide resided, then adjusted the waterproof backpack containing his meager supplies. "As ready as I'll ever be to swim through Gotham's toxic waste channels."

"Good. One last thing—" Red Hood reached into a pocket and pulled out a small object, tossing it to Percy, who caught it reflexively. It was a simple burner phone. "Emergency use only. If something goes catastrophically wrong, call the only number in the contacts. It's a secure line. Someone will answer. It’s modified to not be traceable back to your location, so you won’t have to worry about the monsters and shit."

Percy turned the phone over in his hand, strangely touched by the gesture. "Thanks. I hope I won't need it."

"So do I," Red Hood replied grimly. "Because if you do, it means something's gone seriously wrong, and we're all in deeper trouble than we thought."

He moved to the door, checking a display on his wrist that seemed to show security status around the building. "Perimeter's clear. It's time to move."

As they prepared to leave the relative safety of the safehouse, Percy found himself with a peculiar feeling—something between nervousness and excitement, not unlike the moments before a major quest. Despite the danger, despite the absurdity of his alliance with a Gotham crime lord, there was something almost... fun about planning a city-wide escape from Batman.

He wondered what Annabeth would say if she could see him now. Probably something about his "reckless disregard for proper planning" and "infuriating tendency to improvise." The thought made him smile.

"What's so amusing?" Artemis asked, noticing his expression as they moved toward the exit.

"Just thinking about what my friend Annabeth would say about all this," Percy replied honestly. "She's big on planning. Like, obsessively big on planning."

"Smart woman," Artemis commented. "You should listen to her more."

"That's what she says too," Percy agreed with a grin.

Red Hood opened the door, checking the alley outside before gesturing them forward. "Save the relationship advice for when we're not about to execute a high-risk extraction under Batman's nose," he grumbled. "Let's move."

As they stepped into the gathering darkness of Gotham at dusk, Percy took one last look at the safehouse that had briefly sheltered him. Despite everything, he found himself almost reluctant to leave. There was something about Jason Todd and his operation that intrigued him—the complexity beneath the surface, the contradiction of a "villain" who clearly still retained some heroic instincts.

But Camp Half-Blood was waiting, and New York needed him more than Gotham did. With a deep breath, Percy turned and followed Red Hood and Artemis into the shadows, ready for whatever came next in this strange detour through Batman's city.

Chapter Text

The night air in Gotham was heavy with smog and tension as Percy, Red Hood, and Artemis moved through the shadows of the city. They stuck to the narrow alleys and blind spots that Jason had memorized over years of avoiding Batman's surveillance.

"Two blocks ahead, then down," Red Hood instructed, his voice low and mechanical through the helmet. "The entrance to the Canal Street tunnel is beneath an abandoned transit station."

Percy nodded, staying close behind the armored vigilante while Artemis moved like a ghost at his side. Every few minutes, she would pause, head tilted slightly as she listened to the sounds of the city, before signaling them forward again.

"You're sure this will work?" Percy whispered as they crouched behind a dumpster, waiting as a police car cruised slowly past the mouth of the alley.

"No," Red Hood replied honestly. "But it's the best chance we've got."

"That's reassuring," Percy muttered. "Usually when I'm on quests, there's at least a prophecy cryptically telling me how I'm going to fail. This is just winging it."

"Welcome to Gotham," Red Hood replied dryly. "Where the only prophecy is that something will definitely go wrong."

The police car disappeared around a corner, and they moved forward again, making their way through the shadows with practiced ease—well, Red Hood and Artemis did. Percy tried his best to mimic their fluid movements, but he felt like a baby elephant following two panthers.

"Lower your center of gravity," Artemis whispered as they paused at a corner. "And stop stomping. You walk like you're trying to wake the dead."

"That's a different cousin's specialty," Percy muttered, adjusting his stance as instructed.

For a city obsessed with bright neon signs and spotlights, Gotham had an abundance of darkness – as if the shadows themselves were drawn to the place.

"Hold," Artemis suddenly hissed, throwing up a hand.

They froze instantly. A moment later, Percy heard it too – the faint sound of movement above them. Something – or someone – moving across the rooftops.

Red Hood tilted his head up, the blank face of his helmet revealing nothing. "Bat surveillance," he muttered. "But not the big guy. Too light-footed."

"Robin?" Percy asked, thinking of the younger vigilante he'd encountered.

"No," Artemis replied, her eyes narrowed as she tracked the barely perceptible movement. "Nightwing."

Percy remembered what Jason had told him earlier – Nightwing, the first Robin, now operating in a city called Blüdhaven. If he was in Gotham, joining the search for Percy, it really did mean that Batman was deploying serious resources to find him.

"Change of plans," Red Hood announced, reaching for one of the devices on his belt. "We split up now. Artemis, take Percy through the lower route. I'll start the diversion early."

Artemis frowned. "That wasn't the plan, Hood."

"Plans change," he replied, already checking his weapons. "Nightwing's appearance means Batman's getting too close. We need to draw them away now, not wait until we reach the extraction point."

Percy glanced between them, sensing the tension. "Is Nightwing that dangerous?"

Red Hood let out a short, humorless laugh. "In a different way than Batman. He's... persistent. And annoyingly good at tracking people."

"He also knows your methods," Artemis added, giving Red Hood a pointed look.

"All the more reason to change things up," Red Hood countered. He turned to Percy. "You stick with Artemis. She'll get you to the tunnel entrance. I'll meet you there if I can shake them, but if I don't make it in twenty minutes, don't wait."

Before Percy could respond, Red Hood was already moving, scaling a fire escape with practiced ease. Within seconds, he had disappeared over the roofline.

"Is he always this dramatic?" Percy asked, watching the empty space where the vigilante had been.

"You have no idea," Artemis replied, already pulling him toward a different alley. "Come on, demigod. We're taking the scenic route."

The "scenic route" turned out to be a narrow passage between buildings that opened onto what appeared to be an abandoned loading dock. Artemis moved with confident precision, leading Percy to a rusted metal door that looked like it hadn't been opened in decades.

"Stand back," she instructed, pulling out a small device and attaching it to the lock. There was a brief electrical hum, then a satisfying click as the mechanism disengaged.

"Impressive," Percy commented as she pushed the door open.

"One of Hood's toys," she explained, tucking the device away. "He has a fondness for gadgets."

Inside was a cavernous space that might once have been a warehouse or factory floor. Moonlight filtered through broken skylights, casting long shadows across debris-strewn concrete. The air smelled of rust and stagnant water.

"Through here," Artemis said, leading him toward what looked like an old elevator shaft. "The service tunnels run beneath this entire district."

As they crossed the open space, Percy felt a familiar prickling sensation at the back of his neck – the same feeling he got when a monster was nearby. He slowed his pace, instinctively reaching for Riptide in his pocket.

"What's wrong?" Artemis asked, noticing his hesitation.

"Not sure," Percy admitted, scanning the shadows. "But something doesn't feel right."

Artemis drew one of her weapons – a sleek, compact device that Percy couldn't immediately identify. "Hood's diversion should have drawn away the Bats," she said quietly, "but Gotham has other predators."

They moved more cautiously now, Artemis taking point as they approached the elevator shaft. The rusted doors had been pried open long ago, revealing a dark pit that descended into blackness.

"There's a service ladder along the south wall," Artemis explained, producing a small but powerful flashlight. "Twenty meters down, then we access the horizontal tunnels."

Percy was about to respond when a sharp, metallic sound echoed through the warehouse – like something hard striking a metal surface. They both froze, Artemis immediately extinguishing her light.

"Up high," she whispered, barely audible. "Left corner."

Percy strained his eyes, trying to pierce the gloom. For a moment, he saw nothing. Then, a shadow among shadows seemed to shift, and Percy caught a glimpse of something – or someone – moving along the ceiling beams.

"Is that—" he began, but Artemis was already shoving him toward the elevator shaft.

"Go," she hissed urgently. "Now!"

Percy didn't need to be told twice. He swung himself into the shaft, finding the ladder with his feet and beginning a rapid descent. Above him, he heard Artemis following, but also something else – a faint whistling sound followed by a metallic clang as something struck the wall near his head.

"Keep moving!" Artemis called down, her voice tense. "He's tracking us!"

Percy increased his pace, the rusty ladder creaking ominously under his weight. The shaft seemed to descend forever, the darkness below revealing nothing. His hands were already slick with grime and rust, making each grip treacherous.

Finally, his foot struck something solid – the bottom of the shaft. He jumped down the last few rungs, landing in ankle-deep water that smelled strongly of chemicals and decay. Artemis dropped down beside him moments later, immediately activating her flashlight to reveal a circular tunnel stretching in both directions.

"This way," she directed, pointing to the right. "The Canal Street access is about half a kilometer east."

They splashed through the murky water, moving as quickly as the slippery footing would allow. The tunnel was narrow – barely wide enough for two people to walk abreast – with curved walls covered in decades of grime and mysterious growths that Percy decided not to examine too closely.

"Who was that back there?" Percy asked between breaths. "Batman?"

"Nightwing," Artemis replied grimly. "He must have followed Hood, then doubled back when he realized it was a diversion."

Percy frowned, processing this new complication. "So Hood's plan..."

"Just became a lot more complicated," Artemis finished for him. "Nightwing is... tenacious."

There was something in her tone that made Percy glance at her. "You know him?"

A brief, unreadable expression crossed her face. "We've crossed paths." Before Percy could press further, she held up a hand, stopping suddenly. "Listen."

Percy held his breath, straining his ears. At first, he heard nothing beyond the gentle lapping of the filthy water around their ankles. Then, faintly but growing louder, came the unmistakable splash of someone else moving through the tunnel behind them.

"He's in the tunnels," Artemis muttered, a note of grudging respect in her voice. "Faster than I expected."

"What's the plan?" Percy asked, gripping Riptide in his pocket.

Artemis checked a small device on her wrist that looked like a specialized compass. "We're still half a kilometer from the Canal Street junction. We won't make it before he catches up." She looked at Percy with narrowed eyes. "How are you in a fight?"

Percy uncapped Riptide, the pen expanding into a glowing bronze sword that cast eerie reflections on the tunnel walls. "I can handle myself."

Artemis's eyebrows rose slightly at the sight of the weapon. "Handy trick," she commented. "But I wasn't planning on killing him."

"Neither was I," Percy replied, somewhat offended. "Celestial bronze doesn't hurt mortals... usually."

"Usually?" she repeated skeptically.

Before Percy could explain further, a new sound echoed through the tunnel – a cheerful, almost playful whistle that seemed bizarrely out of place in the grimy underground passage.

"He's definitely messing with us now," Artemis growled, drawing a sleek baton that extended with a flick of her wrist.

"Is he whistling the 'Pink Panther' theme?" Percy asked incredulously.

"It's his thing," Artemis replied with an eye roll. "He thinks he's funny."

The whistling grew louder, accompanied by the splashing of approaching footsteps. Then, rounding a curve in the tunnel ahead of them, a figure appeared – not behind them as they'd expected, but in front, cutting off their escape route.

The man was tall and athletic, dressed in a formfitting black and blue costume with a distinctive blue insignia across his chest. Unlike Batman or Red Hood, he wore only a simple domino mask, revealing a handsome face set in an expression of mild amusement.

"Artemis Crock," he said, his voice light but carrying a subtle edge. "Fancy meeting you down here. Love what you've done with your hair."

"Nightwing," she responded coolly. "I'd say it's good to see you, but we both know I'd be lying."

He grinned, an easy, charming expression that reminded Percy oddly of Apollo. "And here I thought we were friends." His gaze shifted to Percy, bright eyes analyzing him through the mask. "You must be the mystery meta-human that's got Batman working overtime."

Percy kept Riptide at the ready but didn't raise it threateningly. "I prefer 'demigod,' actually. And I'm just trying to get home."

"With the help of Gotham's second-most-wanted criminal and his lieutenant?" Nightwing raised an eyebrow. "Interesting choice of travel companions."

"Wasn't exactly a choice," Percy replied. "More like... the only option that didn't involve being dissected in the Batcave."

Something flickered across Nightwing's face – surprise, perhaps, or concern. "Batman doesn't dissect people," he said, though there was the faintest hint of doubt in his voice.

"No?" Artemis challenged. "Just interrogates, intimidates, and imprisons them, right?"

Nightwing sighed, some of his playful demeanor fading. "Look, I'm not here to debate Batman's methods. I'm here because a powered individual with unknown abilities is currently being escorted through Gotham by known criminals, and that tends to end badly for everyone involved."

"I'm not a threat," Percy insisted. "I just want to get back to New York."

"New York," Nightwing repeated thoughtfully. "You're one of the enhanced individuals operating there. The ones connected to the unexplained phenomena around the Empire State Building."

Percy tensed at such a casual mention of what was supposed to be information unknown to mortals.

"I'm just a kid trying to get home," he said carefully. "And yes, I have some... abilities. But I'm not here to cause trouble." 

"Unless you count accidentally flooding the convenience store bathroom," Percy added as an afterthought. "But that was just poor plumbing design, not me using my powers maliciously."

Nightwing's mouth twitched. "Flooding powers. Noted."

"That's not what I—" Percy began, then stopped, realizing he'd just given away information.

Nightwing studied him for a long moment. "I believe you," he said finally, surprising Percy. "But that doesn't change the fact that Hood and his operation are involved, which automatically complicates things."

"Spare us the lecture," Artemis cut in. "Either arrest us or get out of our way. We're on a schedule."

"Always so direct," Nightwing said with a small smile. "That's what I've always liked about you, Artemis."

There was definitely history there, Percy realized, watching the interplay between them. Not romantic – or at least, not exclusively so – but something complicated and unresolved.

"What's it going to be, Boy Wonder?" Artemis pressed, her stance subtly shifting to a fighting position.

Nightwing's smile faded, replaced by a more serious expression. "I can't let you proceed with whatever Hood has planned. But," he added, raising a hand as Artemis tensed, "I'm willing to hear alternatives that don't involve violence or criminal activity."

Percy glanced at Artemis, then back to Nightwing. An idea was forming in his mind – perhaps not the best idea he'd ever had, but certainly not the worst.

"What if I told you there was a third option?" Percy suggested. "One that gets me home safely, keeps Batman off your back, and doesn't involve anyone getting arrested?"

Both Artemis and Nightwing turned to look at him with nearly identical expressions of skepticism.

"I'm listening," Nightwing said cautiously.

"You help me get out of Gotham," Percy proposed. "Officially. With Batman's knowledge and approval. You tell him I'm not a threat, just a... unique individual trying to get back where I belong."

Artemis shook her head. "Batman doesn't just take someone's word on these things, kid. Even Golden Boy here doesn't have that kind of pull."

"Actually," Nightwing said slowly, "he might be onto something." He studied Percy with renewed interest. "Batman's primary concern is determining whether you represent a threat to Gotham. If I can verify you're not..."

"You can't be serious," Artemis interrupted. "Hood would never agree to this."

"Hood doesn't have to," Percy pointed out. "This is my decision. I appreciate his help – yours too – but if there's a way to resolve this without a citywide game of cat and mouse, I'm all for it."

The tunnel fell silent save for the gentle lapping of the foul water around their ankles. Nightwing seemed to be considering Percy's proposal, while Artemis looked increasingly unconvinced.

"It won't work," she insisted. "Batman will want to study you, understand your powers, catalogue your weaknesses. That's what he does."

"I don't need him to understand everything," Percy countered. "Just enough to know I'm not a threat. And," he added, turning to Nightwing, "I'm willing to demonstrate my abilities – some of them, anyway – as a show of good faith."

Nightwing crossed his arms, head tilted slightly as he evaluated Percy. "You're suggesting I broker a deal between you and Batman."

"Exactly," Percy confirmed. "You vouch for me, I show him I'm not a threat to Gotham, and he lets me leave peacefully. Nobody gets hurt, nobody gets arrested."

"And Hood?" Nightwing asked, glancing at Artemis.

"Stays out of it," Percy replied firmly. "This is between me, you, and Batman. Red Hood and Artemis were just... tour guides. They shouldn’t be dragged into it.”

A short, surprised laugh escaped Nightwing. "Tour guides. That's one way to describe Gotham's most efficient crime operation." He shook his head, but there was a hint of admiration in his expression. "You've got guts, kid. I'll give you that."

"So?" Percy pressed. "Will you help?"

Before Nightwing could answer, a new sound echoed through the tunnel – the heavy splash of someone large landing in the water, followed by the distinctive metallic click of weapons being readied.

"He won't," came Red Hood's electronically filtered voice from behind Percy and Artemis. "Because this conversation is over."

Percy turned to see Red Hood standing in the tunnel, water rippling around his boots, guns drawn and pointed directly at Nightwing.

"Hood," Nightwing greeted, his posture instantly shifting to a defensive stance despite his casual tone. "Fashionably late as usual."

"Step away from them, Wing," Red Hood ordered, the helmet masking any emotion in his voice. "This doesn't concern you."

The tension in the tunnel thickened like the murky water around their ankles. Percy found himself caught between three formidable warriors, each radiating a different kind of danger.

"This isn't helping anyone, Hood," Nightwing said, his casual tone belying the alertness in his stance. "We can resolve this without bullets."

"Like you resolved things with Batman?" Red Hood's voice was cold through the helmet's filter. "No thanks. I'll handle this my way."

Percy glanced at Artemis, who had shifted slightly to position herself between him and potential crossfire. Her expression was unreadable, but the tension in her shoulders told him she was ready to move in any direction necessary.

"The kid had a point," Nightwing pressed. "I can negotiate with Batman. Get him safe passage out of Gotham."

"Right," Red Hood scoffed. "And I'm sure there won't be any tracking devices, surveillance, or Bat-agents following him. Batman just lets things go like that all the time."

Percy cleared his throat. "I'm still standing right here, you know."

All three vigilantes turned to look at him, and Percy suddenly felt like he'd interrupted an argument between Greek gods – always a dangerous proposition.

"Look," Percy continued, deciding to press his advantage while he had their attention. "I appreciate everyone's help and concern, but ultimately this is my problem. I need to get home, and I'd prefer to do it without anyone getting shot, stabbed, arrested, or drowned.“

Red Hood lowered his guns slightly, but maintained his aggressive stance. "You don't understand Batman, kid. He doesn't make deals. He collects data, finds weaknesses, and neutralizes threats. That's how he operates."

"He's not entirely wrong," Nightwing admitted with surprising candor. "Batman is... thorough."

"So what's your solution?" Percy asked Red Hood directly. "Shoot your brother and hope Batman doesn't hunt us all down with even more determination?"

A tense silence followed, broken only by the gentle lapping of water against the tunnel walls.

"He's not my brother," Red Hood finally muttered, though the guns lowered another inch.

"Could have fooled me," Percy replied. "You two argue exactly like siblings."

Artemis made a sound that might have been a hastily suppressed laugh.

Nightwing's mouth twitched in what could have been the beginning of a smile. "The demigod has a point, Hood. Maybe we can work this out without adding more family drama to my patrol report."

Red Hood was still for a long moment, his helmet giving nothing away. Then, with deliberate slowness, he holstered his weapons.

"Fine," he said, the electronic filter unable to mask his frustration. "But I don't trust Batman, and neither should any of you."

"Trust isn't required," Nightwing said, his posture relaxing slightly. "Just practical cooperation."

Percy looked between them, sensing a potential breakthrough. "So we're going with my plan?"

"With modifications," Nightwing clarified. "I'll arrange a meeting with Batman – neutral ground, no tricks. You demonstrate you're not a threat, answer some basic questions, and I'll personally ensure you get transport to New York."

"And us?" Artemis asked, gesturing between herself and Red Hood.

Nightwing's expression turned wry. "Temporary amnesty. Batman knows you're involved, but as long as this resolves peacefully, he won't pursue you... for this incident, at least."

Red Hood crossed his arms. "And we're supposed to just take your word on that?"

"You know how this works, Hood," Nightwing replied, a hint of exasperation creeping into his voice. "It's the best deal you're going to get."

Another tense silence filled the tunnel as Red Hood seemed to contemplate his options. Percy could almost feel the internal struggle playing out beneath that expressionless helmet.

"I'll be nearby during the meeting," Red Hood finally stated. It wasn't a request.

Nightwing nodded. "I expected nothing less."

Percy looked between them, feeling like he was witnessing the settling of much older, deeper conflicts than his current predicament.

"So, we have a plan?" he asked cautiously.

"We have an extremely tenuous arrangement that could fall apart at any moment," Artemis corrected, but there was a note of relief in her voice.

"That's practically Batman Family tradition," Nightwing quipped, earning a snort from Red Hood.

"Where and when?" Hood demanded.

"The old Gotham Transit Authority headquarters," Nightwing suggested. "One hour from now. It's neutral territory, abandoned but structurally sound, and has multiple exit points."

"I know the place," Red Hood acknowledged, and Percy sensed that a significant concession had just been made.

Nightwing turned to Percy, his expression suddenly serious despite the mask. "I hope you understand what you're getting into. Batman isn't easy to convince of anything."

Percy nodded, thinking of all the gods and monsters he'd faced. "I've dealt with difficult authority figures before."

"Not like this one," Red Hood muttered.

"Either way," Percy continued, "I appreciate everyone playing wing man for me tonight." He paused, then grinned. "Especially you, Nightwing."

There was a moment of stunned silence before Nightwing burst into laughter – a genuine, unguarded sound that echoed strangely in the grim tunnel.

"Did you just..." Artemis began, shaking her head.

"He did," Nightwing confirmed, still chuckling. "I like this kid, Hood. He's got terrible taste in jokes."

"A character flaw we've noticed," Red Hood replied dryly, but Percy could swear there was a hint of amusement in his filtered voice.

For a brief moment, the tension in the tunnel dissolved, replaced by something almost like camaraderie. Then, as quickly as it had appeared, the moment passed, and they were back to business.

"One hour," Nightwing confirmed, backing up a few steps. "Don't be late."

"We won't," Red Hood promised, a subtle threat underlying his words.

With a nod to Percy that almost seemed respectful, Nightwing turned and disappeared down the tunnel, moving with the fluid grace that had earned him his name.

As the sound of his footsteps faded, Red Hood turned to Percy and Artemis. "You realize this could be a trap."

"Of course it could," Percy agreed. "But it feels less like a trap than trying to outrun Batman across the entire city."

"The kid has a point," Artemis admitted. "And if it is a trap, at least we'll be expecting it."

"Plus," Percy added with a grin, "I'll have my new best friends—Gotham's most intimidating tour guides—watching my back."

Red Hood stared at Percy for a long moment, his helmet masking his expression. "Alright, demigod. We'll do this your way." He turned to lead them back down the tunnel. "But if you're going to face Batman, there are a few things you should know."

Percy followed, feeling a strange mix of relief and apprehension. "More cheerful stories about how terrifying he is?"

"No," Red Hood replied, his voice uncharacteristically serious. "About how he thinks. And how to use that against him."

"So... mental Bat-repellent?" Percy suggested. "Bat-psychology 101?"

"Something like that," Red Hood replied, and Percy thought he detected the faintest hint of amusement in his filtered voice.

As they moved through the dark tunnels beneath Gotham, Percy couldn't help but wonder if he'd made the right choice. But then again, when had he ever chosen the easy path?

Percy felt a sudden pang of worry that had nothing to do with Batman or his impending meeting.

"Wait," Percy said, coming to an abrupt halt in the murky water. "There's something I completely forgot about."

Red Hood turned, the blank face of his helmet revealing nothing. "This isn't the time for second thoughts, kid."

"It's not that," Percy insisted. "It's Mike and Joey - two street kids who helped me get to The Bowery. They're expecting me to meet them back at the Bowery’s edge today. I promised I'd come back to them and Maggie."

Artemis glanced at Red Hood, then back to Percy. "Friends of yours?"

"They helped me when I was lost," Percy explained, voice dropping with guilt. "They're just kids, but they swore they'd come looking for me if I didn't show up. I can't let them wander into whatever mess this turns into."

Red Hood was silent for a moment, then let out a sigh that sounded mechanical through his helmet's filter. "Maggie's. On the western edge of my territory?"

Percy nodded, surprised. "You know it?"

"I know everything that happens in my part of Gotham," Red Hood replied, reaching for something in his jacket. He pulled out a small communicator and activated it with a practiced motion.

"Miguel," he said, his tone shifting to something more authoritative. "I need you to check on someone. Woman named Maggie, runs a diner on the western edge. She's got two boys who hang around there—Mike and Joey." He paused, listening to the response. "No, they're not in trouble. Tell them their friend Percy is helping me with something important and he won't be back at their meetup spot. Let them know he's found a way home." Another pause. "Yeah, make sure they understand they're not to come looking. And leave some cash for the woman too—discreetly."

He tucked the communicator away and turned back to Percy. "Satisfied?"

Percy felt a weight lift from his shoulders, and he couldn't help but smile despite their grim surroundings. "Yeah, actually. Thanks."

"Don't mention it," Red Hood replied with a dismissive wave. "Literally. Ever. To anyone. I have a reputation to maintain."

"Your secret capacity for basic human decency is safe with me," Percy promised, earning what might have been a snort of amusement from inside the helmet.

"I knew I should've left you with Batman," Red Hood muttered, but there was no real heat in his words as he turned to lead them onward.

Artemis gave Percy an appraising look as they resumed their journey through the tunnel. "Those kids must have made quite an impression on you."

Percy shrugged, splashing through the ankle-deep water. "They reminded me of some demigods I know. Smart, resourceful, but still just kids trying to survive in a world that doesn't make much sense."

He glanced back the way they'd come, toward the city above. "I couldn't just leave them wondering what happened."

"Hmm," was all Artemis said in response, but there was a hint of approval in her expression as she followed Red Hood deeper into the tunnels.

"Plus," Percy added with a grin, "Mike promised to teach me how to hotwire a car, and I hate breaking promises."

"Don't even think about it," Red Hood called back without turning around.

"How did you—"

"These tunnels echo," Red Hood explained. "And I know trouble when I hear it."

"Says the guy with guns strapped to every available inch of his body," Percy muttered.

"I heard that too."

As they continued toward their destination, Percy found himself hoping that Mike and Joey would be okay. In a strange way, they represented the Gotham he was leaving behind—rough around the edges, but with moments of unexpected kindness that shone through the darkness.

Above them, the city continued its restless existence, oblivious to the unusual alliance forming in its depths – a demigod, two criminal vigilantes, and a tenuous plan that might just be crazy enough to work.

———

("You know," Percy said thoughtfully as they sloshed through the murky water, "when I get back to camp, nobody's going to believe I spent my weekend running through sewers with color-coded vigilantes and crime lords."

"We're not color-coded," Red Hood objected.

"Says the guy in the red helmet walking next to the woman in green," Percy replied, raising a judgmental brow at their choice of clothing. "What do you call that?"

"Tactical identity differentiation," Artemis supplied with a straight face.

"Right," Percy nodded solemnly. "Definitely not color-coding.")

Chapter Text

The old Gotham Transit Authority building loomed like a sleeping giant against the night sky, its once-grand art deco facade now crumbling and covered in graffiti. Percy stood at the base of the wide stone steps, looking up at the structure with a mixture of apprehension and determination.

"Important reminder that this could still be a trap," Red Hood said from beside him, his voice mechanical through the helmet's filter. The vigilante's posture was tense, one hand resting casually near his holstered weapon.

"You've mentioned that," Percy replied dryly. "Seven times, actually. I'm starting to think you're nervous."

"I'm not nervous," Red Hood insisted, shoulders squaring defensively. "I just have a healthy survival instinct when it comes to Batman."

Artemis snorted, the sound echoing slightly in the empty street. "Since when?"

"Since I got tired of dying," Red Hood muttered, checking his weapons for what had to be the fifth time. "It's overrated."

Percy chose not to unpack that particular statement. In his experience, people who talked casually about dying and coming back usually had complicated stories that took way too long to explain. He'd learned that lesson after three different satyrs tried to tell him their reincarnation journeys.

"You two don't have to come inside with me," Percy reminded them as they approached the entrance. "I can handle one conversation with Batman."

"Right," Artemis deadpanned, her eyes scanning the perimeter with practiced efficiency. "Just like you 'handled' flooding that bathroom and ending up on Gotham's Most Wanted list."

"That was an accident," Percy protested. "And technically the wanted list wouldn’t be my fault either.”

"Save the excuses for Batman," Red Hood suggested, pushing open the heavy metal door that led into the building's cavernous main hall. "He loves those."

The interior of the transit building was a strange mix of faded grandeur and urban decay. Moonlight filtered through broken skylights, casting long fingers of silver across marble floors where weeds now grew through cracks. The ceiling soared three stories above them, adorned with faded murals depicting Gotham's history.

"Cheery place," Percy remarked,  his voice echoing slightly. "Let me guess—this was also the site of seventeen tragic deaths and a demon summoning gone wrong?"

"Just twelve deaths, actually," Red Hood replied, his voice deadpan through the helmet's filter. "And it was a cult sacrifice, not a demon summoning."

Percy stared at him. "I was joking."

"I wasn't."

Percy let out a nervous sound, taking each step far more carefully.

Red Hood snorted beneath his helmet. "Welcome to Gotham real estate. If you're not looking at a crime scene, you're standing in a future one."

Percy sighed, resisting the urge to turn tail and run. “Thanks, Jason, really setting a positive tone here."

“It’s Red Hood on the field, kid.”

“But you’re wearing a helmet.”

Red Hood made a sound that might have been a sigh or possibly a prayer for patience. "Just go before I change my mind about this whole plan."

They moved further into the hall, footsteps echoing against the marble. Columns lined either side of the space, creating shadows perfect for concealment. Percy found himself automatically scanning for water sources – an old habit from years of monster attacks. He spotted a decorative fountain in the center of the hall, long dry but possibly still connected to plumbing, and rainwater had pooled in several low spots where the roof leaked.

Not ideal, but workable if things went south.

"They're already here," Artemis said quietly, her eyes tracking something in the shadows above.

Percy followed her gaze but saw nothing. "How can you tell?"

"The air changed," she explained. "Plus, there's a shadow on the third balcony that's darker than it should be."

Red Hood made a small noise of agreement. "East wall, behind the column. And above the old ticket booths."

Percy squinted but still couldn't see anything. The shadows looked like... well, shadows.

He looked at them. Then back at the shadows. Then back at them again.

Either the Bat-family were actual shadows come to life, or his companions had paranoia-enhanced vision.

"Should we, I don't know, say hello?" Percy suggested. "Or is standing awkwardly in silence part of the Gotham greeting ritual?"

As if in response to his question, a figure detached itself from the darkness high above and descended in a controlled fall. Nightwing landed lightly on the marble floor about twenty feet away, his movements fluid and almost impossibly graceful.

"Glad you could make it," he said, straightening up with a slight smile. "Though I see you brought company."

“Tour guides," Percy reminded him with a grin. "Very educational experience. Did you know that Gotham has more gargoyles per capita than any other city in America?"

"That's... not actually true," Nightwing replied, though his smile widened slightly in amusement.

"See? Educational." Percy turned to Red Hood. "You lied to me."

"I said Gotham has more ways to die than any other city," Red Hood corrected. "The gargoyle thing was all you."

Before Percy could respond, another movement caught his eye – this one much larger and somehow even darker than the surrounding shadows. Batman emerged from behind a column, his cape settling around him like folded wings. He didn't make a sound as he appeared, simply materializing as if he'd been carved from the darkness itself.

Robin appeared a moment later, emerging from a different entrance with considerably less dramatic flair but no less vigilance. He positioned himself slightly to Batman's right, his masked eyes immediately locking onto Percy.

Unlike their previous encounter, Percy was ready this time. He'd faced gods, monsters, and primordial beings with extinction-level anger management issues. He could handle one mortal in a bat costume.

Probably.

"Jackson," Batman acknowledged, his voice somehow managing to sound both empty and heavy at the same time.

"Batman," Percy returned with a nod, deciding to match the vigilante's terse greeting style. Two could play at the minimalist conversation game.

The silence that followed stretched uncomfortably, broken only by the distant sounds of Gotham filtering in through broken windows—police sirens, car horns, the occasional shout.

"So," Percy finally said, unable to bear the quiet any longer, "nice weather we're having?"

Robin snorted softly, doing his best to cover it up as he crossed his arms and straightened his expression.

Batman's expression, what little of it was visible beneath the cowl, didn't change. "Nightwing says you want to negotiate."

"Not exactly negotiate," Percy corrected. "More like... clarify some misunderstandings. Clear the air. Have a heart-to-heart."

"You've caused considerable disruption since your arrival in Gotham," Batman stated, ignoring Percy's attempt at levity. "Flooding. Property damage. Consorting with known criminals."

"First of all, the flooding was totally an accident," Percy began, ticking points off on his fingers. "Second, any property damage was self-defense. And third, I wouldn't call it 'consorting.' More like 'getting assistance from entrepreneurial locals with alternative careers.'"

From the corner of his eye, Percy saw Red Hood's helmet tilt slightly in what might have been appreciation.

Batman wasn't amused. "You're a metahuman with unknown capabilities, interfering in Gotham affairs."

"Demigod," Percy corrected automatically. "Not meta. And I wasn't 'interfering.' I was 'surviving while actively trying to leave.' There's a difference."

Something shifted in Batman's stance – a minute adjustment that somehow made him seem even more imposing. "You admit to being a demigod. Son of Poseidon."

Percy sighed. They'd already covered this ground in their previous encounter, but apparently Batman enjoyed reruns.

"Yes, I'm the son of Poseidon. Greek god of the sea, earthquakes, and awkward father-son fishing trips," Percy confirmed. "And before you ask again – yes, the Greek gods are real. No, they don't usually hang out in Gotham. Yes, they're kind of jerks sometimes. No, I can't introduce you."

"Your abilities," Batman continued, seemingly unphased. "Define them."

Percy glanced at Nightwing, who gave him an encouraging nod.

"Water control, mostly," Percy explained with a shrug. "I can breathe underwater, talk to horses and fish, cause minor earthquakes when I'm really upset, and I heal when I touch water. Oh, and I'm pretty good with a sword." He patted his pocket where Riptide rested. "That covers the highlights."

Batman's eyes narrowed slightly. "You're leaving things out."

Percy fought the urge to roll his eyes. "Dude, if I listed every weird thing that's happened to me because of my divine DNA, we'd be here until next Tuesday. The point is, none of my abilities are a threat to Gotham or its people. I just want to go home."

"To Camp Half-Blood," Batman stated. "The training facility for demigods in Long Island."

Percy nodded, not surprised that Batman had retained this information from their brief previous encounter. "That's the one. Where I'm supposed to be right now instead of hanging out in America's most haunted city."

Robin took a step forward, the movement so subtle it almost seemed casual, but Percy noticed how it positioned him slightly closer to the conversation.

"These abilities," Robin said, his voice intrigued. "They have limitations? Constraints?"

Percy turned his attention to Robin, surprised by the direct question. "Yeah. I mean, I can't just make water appear out of nowhere – I need a source. And using the bigger powers like earthquakes wipes me out completely. Plus," he added with a self-deprecating smile, "I'm still working on the whole 'control' aspect. Hence the flooded bathroom incident."

Robin nodded thoughtfully, the white lenses of his mask narrowing slightly. "Interesting. So theoretically, in a completely dry environment with no water sources, your capabilities would be reduced to physical attributes and combat skills."

"Uh, yeah, pretty much," Percy admitted, not entirely comfortable with how quickly Robin had identified his weakness. "Though in my experience, there's almost always water somewhere if you know where to look."

"Seventy percent of the human body is water," Robin continued, his tone academic. "The air contains moisture. Pipes run beneath most urban environments. Even concrete retains trace amounts."

Percy blinked, surprised by this assessment. "You've put thought into this."

A ghost of a smile appeared on Robin's face. "Contingency planning is a family specialty."

"Your story about the telekhines and the volcano," Batman pressed. "Explain it again."

Percy fought back a sigh. He understood Batman's caution – really, he did – but the repetitive questioning was starting to grate. Somewhere in his mind, he heard Annabeth's voice reminding him that patience wasn't just a virtue, it was a survival skill.

"I was on a routine mission," Percy began, trying to keep his explanation concise. "Dealing with a nest of telekhines – sea demons, about yay high," he held his hand about waist-level, "ugly dog-seal faces, crafty with metal. They were setting up shop in Mount Saint Helens, which is, you know, not ideal."

"Because it's an active volcano," Nightwing supplied.

"Bingo," Percy confirmed. "Anyway, things got complicated. I got cornered, they were forging something nasty for the Titan Lord Kronos – long story, he's bad news – and I kind of... accidently triggered a volcanic reaction."

"You caused a volcanic eruption," Batman stated flatly.

Percy winced. "Not on purpose! I was surrounded, weaponless, and tapped into my powers a little too deeply. Next thing I know, I'm doing an impression of a demigod cannonball, flying through the air, and crash-landing in Gotham Harbor."

"That was nine days ago," Batman noted. "The geological monitoring stations at Mount Saint Helens recorded a significant seismic event that matches your timeframe."

Percy blinked, surprised. "You checked?"

"I verify all claims," Batman replied simply.

"So you believe me?" Percy asked, unable to keep the hope from his voice.

Batman didn't answer directly. Instead, he shifted topics with the conversational grace of a bulldozer. "Your weapons. Show me."

Percy hesitated, glancing at Red Hood and Artemis, who had remained unusually silent during the exchange. Red Hood gave an almost imperceptible nod.

"Okay," Percy agreed, reaching into his pocket. "But don't freak out."

He pulled out Riptide – still in pen form – and held it up. "This is Anaklusmos. Riptide. Gift from my father."

"That's a pen," Batman observed, his tone suggesting Percy might be mentally unbalanced.

"Yeah, it's disguised as a pen," Percy explained. "Watch."

He uncapped Riptide, and it expanded into its full form – a three-foot-long celestial bronze sword that glowed faintly in the moonlight. The blade cast strange reflections across the marble floor, its bronze surface seeming almost alive with inner light.

Batman didn't flinch, but Nightwing let out a low whistle.

"That's a neat trick," Nightwing commented appreciatively.

“So that’s where the sword comes from.” Robin muttered, his eyebrow raised as he examined it from a distance. 

"Celestial bronze," Percy explained, giving the sword a small twirl. "Forged by the Cyclopes, perfect for killing monsters, harmless to regular mortals." He paused, then added, "Though I'm not entirely sure about Bat-people. You guys might exist in a weird gray area."

"We're fully human," Robin assured him, though his tone suggested he wasn't entirely offended by the implication.

Batman stepped closer, his eyes fixed on the blade. "May I?"

The request surprised Percy. He hesitated, then nodded, carefully offering the sword hilt-first. "Sure, but I should warn you—"

Batman reached for the sword, but as his gloved hand closed around the hilt, Riptide seemed to shimmer and suddenly transformed back into a pen.

"—it has security features," Percy finished with an apologetic smile. "Sorry."

Batman's expression didn't change as he handed the pen back to Percy. "Interesting."

Percy pocketed Riptide, suddenly feeling more confident. The conversation was going better than he'd expected. No one had tried to arrest him yet, and Batman seemed more curious than hostile.

"So," Percy ventured cautiously, "now that you know I'm not a threat, am I free to leave Gotham? Go back to Camp Half-Blood?"

"Your camp," Batman said slowly. "It exists to train demigods."

"Train and protect," Percy clarified. "The divine world is dangerous. Monsters can smell our blood. Half of us don't make it to adulthood without training."

Something shifted in Batman's demeanor – so subtle Percy almost missed it.

"And these monsters," Batman continued. "They target children specifically?"

Percy nodded grimly. "The younger we are, the weaker our scent. As we get older, more powerful, the monsters can track us more easily. That's why the camp exists – safe haven, training, community."

Another almost imperceptible shift in Batman's stance. Percy realized with sudden clarity that he'd accidentally struck a nerve. Batman might be the world's greatest detective and Gotham's shadowy protector, but he also had a documented weakness for endangered kids. Hopefully that weakness would extend to returning Percy home.

"How many demigods are there?" Nightwing asked, seemingly catching the same thread as Percy.

"Hundreds, maybe thousands," Percy replied honestly. "Many don't know what they are. Some never find out. The lucky ones make it to camp."

"And the unlucky ones?" Batman asked, his voice somehow even darker than before.

Percy hesitated, then answered truthfully. "They don't survive. Or they end up bitter, angry, easy recruits for the wrong side."

The hall fell silent, the weight of Percy's words hanging in the air. For a moment, no one spoke – even Red Hood and Artemis seemed to understand the gravity of the moment.

Finally, Batman broke the silence. "You're telling the truth."

It wasn't a question, but Percy nodded anyway. "I have no reason to lie. I just want to get home."

Batman stared at him for a long moment, his expression unreadable behind the cowl. Then, with a subtle gesture that Percy almost missed, he signaled to Nightwing.

"We'll help you get back to New York," Batman stated. It wasn't an offer but a decision. "Under certain conditions."

Percy raised an eyebrow. "I'm listening."

"First, you provide detailed information about these demigods, this camp, and the threats they face," Batman said. "Intelligence only, nothing that compromises their security."

Percy considered this. On one hand, sharing information about Camp Half-Blood with mortals—even caped crusader types—wasn't exactly standard protocol. On the other hand, Batman clearly already knew more than most mortals.

"I can share some basics," Percy agreed cautiously. "But there are divine laws about this stuff. The Mist usually prevents mortals from seeing our world clearly."

"The Mist," Batman repeated. "The supernatural veil that obscures divine reality from mortal perception."

Percy blinked in surprise. "That’s oddly on point"

"I've encountered similar phenomena," Batman replied cryptically. "Second condition: you establish a communication protocol. A way to contact you if necessary."

"Uh, demigod communication isn't exactly smartphone-friendly," Percy pointed out. "Monster attraction issues. But I could set up an Iris Message relay through a friend."

"Iris Message," Batman stated, clearly filing the term away for future reference. "Third condition: this arrangement with Hood ends now."

Red Hood, who had been unnaturally silent, finally spoke up. "Last I checked, you don't get to dictate who I work with, old man."

Batman's attention shifted to Red Hood, the temperature in the hall seeming to drop several degrees. "This isn't about your operation. This is about keeping a powerful metahuman—"

"Demigod," Percy corrected again.

"—out of Gotham's criminal ecosystem," Batman finished, ignoring the interruption.

Percy stepped between them, sensing the decades of tension ready to erupt. "Look, I have no intention of becoming part of Gotham's... anything. Once I'm gone, I'm gone. No offense, but this city isn't exactly on my vacation wishlist."

"Smart kid," Artemis commented from behind him.

Batman's focus returned to Percy. "Final condition: no gods, monsters, or divine conflicts in Gotham. This city has enough problems."

Percy couldn't help but laugh at that. "Trust me, the gods avoid Gotham like it's got divine plague. Too chaotic, too unpredictable, too... Batman-y." He shrugged. "They prefer clearer battlegrounds. Places with fewer... complications."

Batman studied him for another long moment, then gave a slight nod. “We’re done here.”

The abrupt declaration caught Percy off guard. "Just like that? No interrogation under the Bat-spotlight? No truth serum or whatever?"

"Would you prefer those methods?" Batman asked dryly.

"No! Definitely not. It's just... you seemed pretty determined to dissect me earlier."

"I never intended to dissect you," Batman corrected. "I needed to understand what you were and whether you posed a danger to Gotham."

Nightwing grinned. "What he means is, he's a paranoid control freak who needs to catalog every potential threat, but he's also pretty good at reading people. And you passed the Batman test."

"The test being... what? Not looking like I want to destroy the city?" Percy asked skeptically.

"Essentially," Batman confirmed with unexpected frankness. "Your actions while in Gotham demonstrate a pattern of minimizing civilian harm, even when pursued. You've had multiple opportunities to use your abilities destructively and chosen restraint instead."

Percy relaxed slightly, feeling a glimmer of hope. "So... does this mean I can leave? No tracking devices, no Bat-surveillance, just a normal trip back to New York?"

Batman was silent for a moment, and Percy could practically see the mental calculations happening behind that cowl. Finally, he gave a short nod.

"Nightwing will arrange transport to New York. No tracking devices, no surveillance. A clean exit."

At Percy’s hesitant glance, Nightwing confirmed with a small smile. "Batman's a man of his word."

"When it suits him," Red Hood muttered, just loud enough to be heard.

Batman ignored the comment. "There's a car waiting outside. It will take you to the city limits, where you'll transfer to another vehicle for the journey to New York."

Percy glanced at Red Hood and Artemis, unsure if this was the part where they parted ways. As much as he was ready to get back to Camp Half-Blood, he felt oddly reluctant to leave his unlikely allies behind.

"So..." he began eloquently, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "I guess this is goodbye. Thanks for the tour. Sorry about all the... everything."

"Just get in the car, Jackson," Red Hood ordered, crossing his arms. "No tearful goodbyes. This isn't a Hallmark movie."

Percy grinned. "Admit it. You're going to miss my incredible wit and charm."

"Like a bullet wound," Red Hood replied instantly. "Try not to fall into any more harbors, kid."

"No promises," Percy replied with a wider grin. He turned to Artemis, who was watching the exchange with barely concealed amusement. "And thanks for not killing me multiple times when you definitely could have."

"I was tempted," she admitted, but there was a hint of warmth in her voice that hadn't been there when they first met. "You're not entirely terrible for a demigod."

"High praise," Percy noted solemnly. "I'll add it to my resume and cherish it forever."

Batman was already moving toward the exit, clearly considering the meeting concluded. Nightwing lingered, watching the exchange with an expression that seemed almost wistful.

"Ready?" Nightwing asked as Batman disappeared through the doorway, his cape billowing dramatically behind him.

Percy nodded, then paused, his fingers drumming against his pocket. "Actually, one more thing."

He turned back to Red Hood and pulled Riptide from his pocket. "Here," he said, offering the pen. "For safe keeping. Until next time."

Red Hood stared at the pen, his helmet giving away nothing of his expression. "Your magic sword? Kid, you can't give that away. Isn't that your whole thing?"

"I'm not giving it away," Percy clarified, a mischievous spark in his sea-green eyes. "It's enchanted. No matter what happens, it always returns to my pocket. But it might take a few minutes this time."

For a long moment, Red Hood didn't move. Then, with uncharacteristic gentleness, he accepted the pen.

"What am I supposed to do with—" Red Hood began, but stopped as the pen suddenly shimmered and disappeared from his hand. He looked up at Percy, the blank face of his helmet somehow conveying surprise.

Percy let out a loud laugh, patting his pocket where Riptide had already returned. "Just wanted to see if it would work. Call it a science experiment."

"You are a pain in the ass,” Red Hood declared, but Percy swore he could hear a smile in the filtered voice.

"Coming from you I'll take that as a compliment," Percy replied.

He turned to leave, then caught Robin watching him with what might have been amusement. Percy gave him a small salute, which Robin returned with a subtle grin as he followed after his mentor.

Percy hesitated again. "But seriously, thanks. For everything. Even the part where you threatened to throw me off a roof."

"It built character," Red Hood replied dismissively, but he uncrossed his arms and offered a small nod that Percy chose to interpret as grudging respect.

"If you hug me, I will shoot you," Red Hood warned when Percy took a half-step forward.

Percy laughed, raising his hands in surrender. "Wouldn't dream of it."

"If you're ever in New York and need a tour guide who specializes in monster hotspots and the best places to avoid godly family drama, you know who to call," Percy offered, giving them a final nod before turning to follow Nightwing.

"I thought you said gods avoid complications," Artemis called after him.

Percy looked back over his shoulder with a lopsided grin. "They do. I don't."

With that, he followed Nightwing out of the transit building and into the Gotham night, leaving behind the most bizarre weekend of his demigod life – which, considering his track record, was really saying something. As they got further and further away from the world’s worst negotiation destination, Percy could have sworn he heard Red Hood mutter, "Kid's going to get himself killed," but there was something almost like fondness in his voice.

———

The car Batman had arranged was sleek, black, and obviously expensive without being flashy – exactly the kind of vehicle Percy would have expected from someone who dressed as a nocturnal mammal but was secretly a billionaire.

Nightwing led him to the passenger door, then hesitated. "You know," he said conversationally, "not everyone gets to leave Gotham on Batman's good side."

"Is that what this is?" Percy asked skeptically. "His good side looked suspiciously like his 'I'm plotting forty different ways to take you down' side."

Nightwing laughed. "That's just his face. Trust me, if he didn't approve of you leaving, you wouldn't be leaving."

"Comforting," Percy muttered. "So what now? Do I get a Bat-blindfold or something?"

"Nothing that dramatic," Nightwing assured him. "I'm driving you to the city limits. Someone else will take you the rest of the way to New York."

Percy raised an eyebrow. "Someone else? Let me guess – another member of the Bat-family?"

Nightwing grinned, “No, not family. An... associate. Someone who understands unique situations."

Before Percy could ask for clarification, the passenger door opened seemingly on its own. Percy peered inside, half-expecting to see another costumed vigilante. Instead, the car was empty, its interior all black leather and discreet technology.

"After you," Nightwing said, gesturing to the open door.

Percy slid into the passenger seat, surprised by how comfortable it was. The car smelled new, with just a hint of something Percy couldn't identify – maybe Bat-cologne. Did Batman wear cologne? The mental image of the Dark Knight spritzing himself before putting on the cowl was almost enough to make Percy laugh out loud.

Nightwing got in the driver's side and the engine came to life with a purr that reminded Percy of Mrs. O'Leary after a good belly rub.

"Nice car," Percy commented as they pulled away from the transit building. "Does it come with bat-shaped cup holders?"

"No, but the ejector seat is pretty cool," Nightwing replied with a straight face.

Percy couldn't tell if he was joking or not, which seemed to be a recurring theme with Batman's associates. He decided not to test the theory and settled more comfortably into his seat.

"So," Percy ventured after they'd been driving in silence for a few minutes, "Batman seems... intense."

Nightwing glanced at him with a small smile. "That's one word for it."

"How does someone end up in that life?" Percy asked, genuinely curious. "I mean, I got drafted into the demigod thing by divine genetics, but you guys choose this, right?"

"It's complicated," Nightwing replied after a moment. "Sometimes it chooses you as much as you choose it."

Percy nodded, understanding better than Nightwing probably realized. "Like a calling."

"Something like that." Nightwing navigated through Gotham's winding streets with practiced ease. "Though I'm guessing our training doesn't involve as many actual monsters."

"No?" Percy raised an eyebrow. "From what I've seen of Gotham, I find that hard to believe."

Nightwing laughed, the sound surprisingly genuine. "Fair point. Though our monsters tend to be more... human."

"Sometimes those are the worst kind," Percy said quietly, thinking of Luke and others who had chosen the wrong path.

They lapsed into silence again, but it was comfortable this time – two warriors from different worlds recognizing something familiar in each other.

As they approached the outskirts of Gotham, the urban landscape gradually gave way to industrial zones, then sparse suburbs, and finally open highway. The city's perpetual smog seemed to thin, the air becoming marginally clearer with each mile.

"Almost there," Nightwing announced as they exited the highway onto a smaller road. "Your ride should be waiting at the checkpoint ahead."

Percy peered through the windshield, surprised to see they were approaching what looked like an abandoned gas station. A single vehicle was parked in the cracked concrete lot – a nondescript van with tinted windows.

"That's my ride?" Percy asked skeptically. "It looks like something kidnappers would use."

"Appearances can be deceiving," Nightwing replied as he pulled into the lot and parked a short distance from the van. "Wait here a moment."

He stepped out of the car and approached the van, speaking briefly with someone Percy couldn't see. After a short exchange, Nightwing returned and opened Percy's door.

"You're all set," he said with a smile. "Your ride to New York."

Percy stepped out, eyeing the van warily. "No offense, but this has 'terrible idea' written all over it."

"Trust me," Nightwing said, placing a hand on Percy's shoulder. "This is a friend. Someone who understands the... unusual nature of your situation."

As if on cue, the driver's door of the van opened, and a woman stepped out. She was tall and athletic, with long black hair and an aura of quiet confidence that reminded Percy of Artemis – the goddess, not the vigilante he'd just left behind.

"Percy Jackson," she said, approaching with an extended hand. "I'm Diana. I understand you need transportation to Long Island."

Percy shook her hand automatically, momentarily speechless. There was something about this woman – a presence that felt both familiar and foreign.

"Diana is..." Nightwing began, then seemed to reconsider his words. "Let's just say she has experience with gods and their offspring."

Percy's eyes widened as understanding dawned. "You're not mortal," he said to Diana, not a question but a realization.

She smiled, neither confirming nor denying. "Let's just say I understand complicated divine parentage. Now, shall we get you home? I imagine your friends are worried."

Percy glanced back at Nightwing, who gave him an encouraging nod. "It's okay. You're in good hands."

"Thanks," Percy said, suddenly feeling the weight of the last few days. "For everything."

"Don't mention it," Nightwing replied with a grin. "And if you ever find yourself back in Gotham..."

"I'll run screaming in the opposite direction?" Percy suggested.

Nightwing laughed. "I was going to say 'look us up,' but your plan works too."

With a final handshake, Percy followed Diana to the van, his steps lighter than they had been in days. As he climbed into the passenger seat, he caught a glimpse of Nightwing watching them from beside the black car, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"Interesting friends you've made," Diana commented as she started the van.

Percy shrugged. "Not so much friends as... temporary allies in a weird situation."

"Sometimes those make the best friends," she replied with a knowing smile. "Now, tell me about this Camp Half-Blood. I've heard... stories."

As they drove away from Gotham, leaving the city's shadowed skyline behind, Percy found himself recounting his adventures to this mysterious woman who nodded in all the right places and asked questions that revealed a deeper understanding than any mortal should possess.

By the time they crossed the state line, Percy had relaxed completely, lulled by the rhythm of the road and the strange sense that he was in the presence of someone who truly understood the world he came from.

"Almost home," Diana said softly as the first hints of dawn appeared on the horizon. "Ready to face whatever comes next?"

Percy thought about Camp Half-Blood, his friends, the prophecy that still hung over his head, and all the challenges that awaited him. After Gotham, even a war with the Titans seemed almost straightforward.

"Yeah," he said with a smile. "I think I am."

———

The sun was fully up by the time Diana's van approached the base of Half-Blood Hill. 

"So," Percy said, trying to sound casual, "on a scale of one to ten, how annoyed would Batman be if I sent him a postcard? Something like 'Thanks for not arresting me. Wish you were here. P.S. Your city needs more sunlight.'"

Diana's eyes sparkled with amusement. "I'd put it at an eight. He'd publicly burn it, but privately add it to his evidence file on you."

"He keeps files on everyone, doesn't he?" Percy sighed.

"Oh yes," Diana confirmed. "Very detailed ones."

"What do you think mine says? 'Percy Jackson: Troublemaker. Flood risk. Talks to fish.'"

Diana laughed. "More likely: 'Perseus Jackson: Demigod. Class 4 water-based metahuman. Potentially valuable ally. Tendency toward structural damage.'"

"Wow," Percy grinned. "Class 4? I'm flattered."

Diana parked at the side of the road, just out of sight of any mortal passersby.

"This is as far as I go," she explained, nodding toward the hill where Thalia's pine stood guard. "Some boundaries aren't meant to be crossed casually."

Percy nodded, understanding. "Thanks for the ride. And the conversation."

"Thank Batman," Diana replied with a small smile. "Though he'd probably deny having anything to do with it."

"Seems on brand," Percy agreed. He hesitated, then asked the question that had been nagging at him. "You're not Greek, are you? I mean, not from my pantheon."

Diana's smile widened slightly. "Let's just say there are many divine families in this world, Percy Jackson."

Before Percy could process that cryptic statement, she reached into the back seat and retrieved something wrapped in cloth.

"A gift," she said, handing it to him. "From Batman, though he would never admit it."

Percy unwrapped the bundle to reveal a small, sleek device that looked like a cross between a smartphone and something from a sci-fi movie.

"What is it?" he asked, turning it over in his hands.

"Communication," Diana explained. "Specially designed. Minimal digital signature, heavily shielded. According to Batman, it should attract fewer... unwanted visitors than standard technology."

Percy stared at the device, genuinely touched. "Batman made this? For me?"

"He may not show it," Diana said gently, "but he understands what it means to be young and carrying too much responsibility. To have one foot in a normal world and one in a world of shadows."

Percy pocketed the device carefully. "Tell him thanks. And tell him I'll hold up my end of the deal – no gods or monsters in Gotham."

"I will," Diana promised. "Though I think he already knows you're a man of your word."

With a final nod of farewell, Percy stepped out of the van and began the familiar trek up Half-Blood Hill. The morning air was sweet with the scent of strawberries from the camp's fields, and the sound of distant training could already be heard – the clash of swords, the thwack of arrows hitting targets.

Home.

As he crested the hill, Peleus the dragon lifted his head from around Thalia's pine, regarding Percy with curious golden eyes before settling back down. Beyond, Camp Half-Blood spread out in all its glory – the Big House, the cabins, the training arenas, the forest, and the beach in the distance.

Percy took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the past few days finally lifting from his shoulders. Gotham, with its shadows and complications, seemed like a distant dream now – a strange detour in an already strange life.

He was halfway down the hill when the first camper spotted him. A young Apollo kid whose name Percy couldn't remember pointed and shouted, and suddenly there was commotion everywhere.

Within minutes, Percy found himself surrounded—Annabeth hitting his arm before pulling him into a fierce hug, Grover bleating with relief, Clarisse pretending she hadn't been worried but punching his shoulder just a little less hard than usual.

"Where have you been?" Annabeth demanded, her grey eyes stormy with a mix of anger and relief. "After Mount Saint Helens exploded, we thought... we thought..."

"I know," Percy said softly, pulling her into another hug. "I'm sorry. It's a long story."

"We've been looking everywhere for you!" Grover exclaimed. "The satyrs have been searching up and down the coast. Tyson's been inconsolable."

"I got a little... sidetracked," Percy explained vaguely. "Ended up in Gotham City."

A hush fell over the gathered campers. Even Clarisse looked impressed.

"Gotham?" Annabeth repeated incredulously. "As in, Batman's Gotham?"

Percy nodded, unable to suppress a small grin at their reactions. "The one and only."

"Did you see him?" a younger camper asked excitedly. "Did you see Batman?"

Percy thought about the imposing figure in the cowl, the tense negotiations in the abandoned transit building, the strange courtesy of arranging his transport home.

"Yeah," he said simply. "I saw him."

"What was he like?" another camper pressed.

Percy considered the question seriously. How could he describe Batman to people who hadn't experienced the full weight of that cowled stare?

"Intense," he finally said. "Like Mr. D on a bad day, but with better gadgets and less Hawaiian shirts."

That drew laughs from the gathered crowd, breaking the tension. Questions came from all sides then – about Gotham, about Batman, about how Percy had survived and made it back.

"Hold on," Chiron's voice cut through the commotion as the centaur approached, his expression a mix of relief and concern. "Give Percy some space. I'm sure he's exhausted and needs rest before telling his tale."

Percy shot Chiron a grateful look. "Thanks. It's been... an interesting few days."

"I imagine so," Chiron replied, studying Percy with eyes that had seen thousands of years of heroes and their adventures. "Gotham is not a place for demigods. The Mist works... differently there."

Percy wasn't surprised that Chiron knew about Gotham's peculiarities. "Yeah, I noticed. Batman seemed pretty immune to it."

Chiron nodded gravely. "Some mortals are. Especially those who have touched other realms of existence." He placed a hand on Percy's shoulder. "But you're home now. Safe."

As the crowd began to disperse, Percy found himself walking toward the dining pavilion with Annabeth and Grover, the familiar routine of camp life already settling around him like a comfortable blanket.

"So," Annabeth said, bumping his shoulder with hers, "you survived Gotham. That's practically a heroic labor in itself."

"It wasn't that bad," Percy replied with a shrug, then reconsidered. "Okay, it was pretty bad. But I had help."

"From Batman?" Grover asked incredulously.

Percy smiled, thinking of Red Hood's sarcastic comments, Artemis's deadpan advice, Nightwing's acrobatic grace, Robin’s analytical quips, and even Batman's grudging assistance. 

"Let's just say I made some unexpected allies," he replied cryptically. "Gotham's full of surprises."

"Well, I'm just glad you're back," Annabeth said, her voice softer than usual. "The prophecy... we thought maybe..."

"Not yet," Percy assured her, reaching for her hand. "I've still got time before my sixteenth birthday. And apparently surviving Gotham wasn't part of the great prophecy."

As they reached the dining pavilion, the familiar sounds and smells of camp surrounding them, Percy felt a strange sense of perspective settle over him. After facing Batman and navigating Gotham's underworld, even the looming titan war seemed like a more familiar challenge.

"You know," Percy said thoughtfully as they took their seats, "I think I learned something important in Gotham."

"What's that?" Annabeth asked, raising an eyebrow.

Percy smiled, twirling his fork between his fingers. “No matter how weird my life gets with gods and monsters, there are people out there dealing with their own kind of weird. Different weird, but just as complicated."

"Very profound, Seaweed Brain,” Annabeth said, giving him an amused look.

"Don't sound so shocked," Percy replied with mock offense. "I have my moments."

"So Batman was just trying to protect Gotham?" Grover asked, nibbling on a tin can. "From you?"

Percy shrugged. "From anything that might threaten it. Including accidentally flood-prone demigods." He lowered his voice. "But between us, I think there's more to him than just the scary bat routine. He really cares about kids being in danger."

"Sounds like someone else I know," Annabeth said, nudging him with her shoulder.

Before Percy could respond, a commotion erupted from the Hermes table as the Stoll brothers unveiled what appeared to be poorly drawn bat symbols on their camp shirts.

"Behold!" Travis announced. "The official Camp Half-Blood Batman Appreciation Society is now in session!"

"Our first order of business," Connor continued solemnly, "is getting Percy to spill all the Bat-secrets!"

Percy groaned as campers from every table turned to look at him with eager expressions. "Great. This is going to be my life for the next month, isn't it?"

"Look on the bright side," Annabeth said with a smirk. "At least no one's trying to kill you."

"Give it time," Percy muttered. "The day's still young."

"So," Clarisse called from the Ares table, her voice carrying across the pavilion, "did you bring back any souvenirs? Bat-autograph? Piece of a gargoyle?"

Percy reached into his pocket and pulled out the sleek communication device Diana had given him. "Just this."

The Apollo and Hephaestus campers immediately crowded around, exclaiming over the obviously advanced tech.

"Is that from...?" one of them asked reverently.

Percy nodded. "Batman's workshop, apparently."

A collective "whooooa" went up from the gathered demigods.

"Does it work?" asked Jake Mason from Hephaestus, eyeing the device with professional interest.

"Supposedly," Percy replied, turning it over in his hands. "Though I'm not sure who I'd call. It's not like Batman gave me his personal number."

Chiron cleared his throat, appearing behind them with a stern but amused expression. "Perhaps it would be wise to keep Gotham connections... minimal. Different worlds, different troubles."

Percy nodded, understanding. He tucked the device away, though he had no intention of getting rid of it. Some connections, he was beginning to realize, transcended the usual boundaries.

"Alright, enough Batman talk," Percy declared, suddenly ravenous. "I haven't had a decent meal in days. Red Hood's idea of fine dining was gas station burritos."

"Red Hood?" Annabeth questioned sharply. "As in, the criminal vigilante?"

Percy winced. "Did I say Red Hood? I meant... uh... some guy in a red... hood. Very common in Gotham. Fashion statement."

Annabeth gave him her patented I-know-you're-lying-and-we'll-discuss-this-later look, but let it drop for the moment.

As Percy settled into the familiar routine of camp meals – scraping a portion into the brazier for his father, listening to the chatter of his friends, feeling the warmth of belonging – he found himself thinking of Gotham's dark skyline. For all its shadows and danger, there had been something compelling about the city. A determination that Percy recognized, a refusal to surrender to forces greater than oneself.

Maybe someday he'd visit again – preferably not via volcanic explosion. He had a feeling Batman would be watching if he did.

For now, though, he was home. And with a war brewing on the horizon, Percy knew this brief respite was precious. He'd faced down the Dark Knight and lived to tell about it (he totally would’ve whipped Batman’s ass if it came down to it). Somehow, that made the prospect of facing Kronos just a little less daunting.

As his friends laughed and the familiar chaos of camp life swirled around him, Percy felt himself truly relax for the first time since Mount Saint Helens. Some battles were won with swords, others with wits. In Gotham, he'd needed both. And now, as he looked around at his friends – his family – Percy Jackson felt ready for whatever came next.

Even if it didn't include bat-shaped gadgets and vigilantes in colorful tights. 

(As Percy later finished recounting a sanitized version of his Gotham adventures to a crowd of wide-eyed campers, Connor Stoll raised his hand.

"So you're saying Batman is just a regular mortal with cool gadgets?"

"Pretty much," Percy confirmed.

Travis Stoll exchanged a look with his brother. "So theoretically, if someone were to, say, start a vigilante career, they'd just need some cool gadgets and a gimmick?"

"No," Percy said firmly, suddenly imagining the chaos the Stolls could cause with bat-inspired equipment. "Absolutely not."

"But you said—"

"I also said Batman has trained for decades and can probably bench press a car," Percy interrupted. "Besides, Gotham already has a bat. What would you even call yourselves? The Stoll Signal doesn't have the same ring to it."

"Camp Half-Blood already has a Percy," Travis pointed out. "We could be... the Demigod Duo!"

"Or the Olympian Owls!" Connor suggested.

"Or maybe," Chiron interrupted, appearing behind them with suspiciously perfect timing, "you could be the Dish Washing Detachment for the next month."

The brothers' faces fell as Percy tried not to laugh.)

———

Epilogue: Two Weeks Later

Percy was sprawled across his bed in his mom's apartment, attempting to catch up on homework that had piled up during his unexpected "vacation" to Gotham. The upcoming battle with Kronos was looming larger by the day, but oddly enough, algebra still seemed to matter to his teachers.

"Percy!" his mom called from the living room. "There's a package for you!"

Grateful for the distraction, Percy tossed aside his textbook and headed out of his room. Sally Jackson stood in the apartment doorway, a puzzled expression on her face as she held a sleek black box with no visible shipping labels.

"It was just sitting outside our door," she explained, handing it to him. "No delivery person, no nothing."

Percy frowned, immediately on alert. After years of monster attacks and divine "gifts" with strings attached, mysterious packages ranked high on his suspicion meter. He examined the box carefully – it was lightweight, matte black, and completely unmarked except for a tiny engraving in one corner.

He squinted at the engraving and nearly dropped the box when he recognized what it was – a miniature bat symbol, no larger than his fingernail.

"Do you know who it's from?" Sally asked, watching his reaction.

"I have an idea," Percy replied, trying to keep his voice casual. "Probably just something from camp."

Sally raised an eyebrow, clearly not believing him but choosing not to press the issue. "Well, be careful opening it. No explosions in the living room, please."

"That was one time," Percy protested with a smirk, already carrying the box to his room.

Once alone, he placed the box on his desk and studied it more carefully. No seams were visible, no obvious way to open it. Percy retrieved Riptide from his pocket – not to uncap it, but to use the pen end to gently probe the box.

Percy couldn't help the grin that spread across his face as he carefully opened the box. Inside, nestled in black foam, was what looked like a high-tech wristwatch with a sleek metallic band. Underneath it was a small card with a handwritten note:

Jackson,

Water-resistant to 3000m. Impact resistant. Built-in emergency beacon. Button sequence: press crown twice, rotate counterclockwise, press side button. Use only in genuine emergencies. And stay out of my city, Fish Boy.

- J

Percy stared at the device, then burst out laughing. He slipped the watch onto his wrist, admiring how it caught the light filtering through the cabin windows. The face displayed the time, date, and what looked like a depth gauge.

"Jason Todd," Percy said to the empty room, shaking his head in disbelief. "You big softie."

He tucked the note away in his desk drawer, already wondering what might constitute a "genuine emergency" in the eyes of the Red Hood. 

Some gifts came with strings attached. This one came with expectations – that he'd survive long enough to use it, that he'd keep learning to control his powers, and that maybe—just maybe—someday their paths would cross again.

Percy glanced at his new watch before pulling out his algebra textbook again, somehow feeling more motivated to face even this mundane challenge. But every so often, his eyes would drift back to the watch, and he'd smile at the thought that somewhere in Gotham, a grumpy vigilante in a red helmet was probably cursing himself for going soft on a kid who could talk to fish.