Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

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It was a chilly, stormy night. The clouds hung low over the skyscrapers and fog rolled with crashing waves in the Docks. Not a storm like those typical of Gotham, when the rain pattered in light waves and dripped quietly from lit windowpanes, gathering in shining puddles. It wasn’t the typical, with delightfully dreary weather and subtle gloom, highlighting taillights and headlights of cars and bright jackets.

This was a doom storm, in all the worst ways. Water came down fast and hard, where wipers on car windshields couldn’t keep up, and if you stepped outside your hair would flatten to your face in stuck-together tendrils. It poured, rucking up the pollution on the streets and dimming yellow raincoats

These nights were always the worst. 

The whole city was anxious, brimming with fear: Jason could feel it, rising like green acid. It flooded the streets, sloshing around his ankles and burning even through leather combat boots. It would reach their heads by the end of the night. 

It wasn’t really there, Jason knew. Purely psychological, he told himself, muttering under his hood. 

Not the Red Hood. Now wasn’t the time. If Red showed up, it would make the green rise faster, and so he would wait until it was to his neck. By then, some would already be insane with it. 

Monsters, like him. 

They wouldn’t know they were monsters, too caught up in that awful high to understand. Jason was used to it, a filthy drug that he was already addicted to. He didn’t get the sharp high of violence anymore, it was just a dull, green rage. He bled the sharpness out of his throat. 

He bled it out, and his city caught the addiction. Jason wanted to think that he just hadn’t noticed the green tides rising before, that he simply didn’t have the ability to see it. That wasn’t true. It had always been there, before he made the mistake of trying to take the tires off of his car. He saw it then, and didn’t do anything. 

Then Joker beat him bloody, and even back then the blood was green, and people died. 

It had grown. The green came more often now, suffocating children and driving young teens to the drugs they thought would take it away. 

Red Hood showed up, and the tides rose, but then they lowered. 

It wasn’t by much, poison-pit water drip-drip-dripped from gutters and flowed down roads, washed out by precipitation. It still collected, swirling in puddles like oil. It crashed and rose from the ground in alleyways, following some poor soul on their way home, hoping to stay safe. The Red Hood, in turn, followed it. The radioactive green showed him where things were wrong, who he needed to protect and who was doing the hurting . 

Jason went to the docks, stared at black water, took relief in the way it churned because it was just normal. 

Someone sat beside him, put their feet in the water, scuffed tennis shoes and all. Their feet were tiny: it was a kid. They were bold to sit beside an unknown, tense man in unknown, tense times. His shoes moved in the water, so Jason assumed the kid was kicking his legs.

“You’re aware that it’s dangerous out here, right kiddo?” Jason asked, and the kicking stopped. “I could be a monster, I could kill or kidnap you or worse, and you’re sitting right beside me.”

He turned to look at the kid, who was staring at him with blue eyes that swirled. He was wearing a navy sweatshirt and dirty, ripped jeans, and his hair was messy. The kid was scrawny, too. His hair was plastered down like downy feathers, and it put a pang in Jason's chest.

“You’re actually the first one that hasn’t tried on sight. It’s a good omen,” the boy said, twelve and confident, but Jason could see the falsity of it, how the kid was almost shaking. Maybe it was from the cold, his sweatshirt was probably damp. “I’m Percy.” the kid--Percy--said, bluntly, turning his eyes back to the water. 

“..Jay.” Jason said, giving Percy an olive branch. The protective star inside of him was fighting dull green currents, and that star deep inside of him wanted to help the kid warm up with coffee or hot chocolate, and then force him to sit in a heap of blankets and watch Die Hard while the Red Hood was out. Or, maybe not Die Hard, because movies like that inspired violent tendencies, and the kid was only, like, six. Maybe. He looked about six, but Jason should consider that maybe he was twelve. He didn’t know ages that well.

That would put the kid in danger, though, so Jason wouldn’t. 

“Do you have parents that will worry about you?” Jason asked, careful with his wording. He didn’t want to upset Percy. The boy shook his head, then looked up to the horizon. 

“Gabe murdered my mom. Her name was Sally and she liked the color blue.” Percy said, fiddling with the strings of his hoodie. Jason felt the green rise, no longer fighting the protective star. 

“What happened to Gabe?” Jason asked, knowing his voice took on a darker edge. Percy placed his hands back in his lap and resumed kicking his feet. The black water sloshed around them, but the sound was muted by the roaring in Jason’s ears.

“Oh,” Percy said, “Well, they said he disappeared…” the boy paused, tilted his head, considered something. He seemed to make up his mind. “But that just means they didn’t connect the dots.”

Jason knew who they were, he wasn’t an idiot, and he knew what the kid was implying. 

It must’ve taken some guts to do that.

“Good.” Jason said, “He won’t hurt anyone else.”

Percy nodded, tapping his fingers on his thigh. Jason frowned, realizing something. The green didn’t reach this kid; it stopped when it got close to him, leaving only wet wooden docks for him to sit on. 

Jason thought about that for a moment, winding back through his conversation with the boy. Oh, there it was: a distant New York accent, Lower Manhattan, Long Island, and a little bit of Queens, but no Gotham. It hadn’t beaten Percy down yet. 

Maybe the kid just wasn’t scared. He’d killed his stepdad, which took some courage. Maybe to him, sitting down by a man thrice his size in a petrified city wasn’t all that horrible.

He had been like that once too, but that was gone. He knew better now.

With a quick glance to his watch, Jason realized another thing amiss: it was two thirty, and the kid wasn’t in school. That last law passed to clean up the streets would have him jailed in no time if someone caught him skipping. “Where do you go to school?”

Percy kept tapping. “I used to go to Yancy, but they kicked me out for insulting a teacher.”

Jason knew that school, somehow. He reached into the poison-dipped, hazy memories of Before, sifted through, and ended up with an idea of what the kid was talking about. Yancy was a school for troubled children, it had been one of the ones Batman considered sending him to all those years ago. It didn’t seem like the type of place to kick a kid out for something so small. Maybe that was just the last straw. 

“Do you have anywhere to go?” Jason asked, and the kid shrugged. 

“I dunno. Maybe. I’ve been on Long Island for the past few months, but it got lonely.” Percy tilted his head and stopped tapping, half-smiling at Jason. “My source tells me this is the safest place to be.”

Oh, so the kid thought he was funny, then. Jason shook his head, rolling his eyes to cover amusement. 

“Your source is a filthy liar,” he said, and the kid giggled, bright and happy. It was a good change from the solemn mood of their earlier conversation. 

“No, I think she was just trying to get me murdered,” Percy started tapping again, this time in a different rhythm. He had some semblance of a smile still on his face, a more fond one this time. “It’s fine, I’ll still believe anything that comes out of her mouth. She’s very smart, you know.”

Jason assumed that he was joking about the murder thing, because if he didn’t he would worry more than he already was. That star still wanted to make hot chocolate.

Maybe Percy was in more danger alone, Jason thought. The kid was small, didn’t seem to have all too much muscle on him, and completely and utterly alone. 

If he was caught outside during school times, he would go to juvie and have CPS called on him. If he was out at night, some criminal asshole would try for an easy target. Rain and cold would probably get the kid sick, and hunger would kill him if nothing else did. 

Jason could potentially protect him, get him into a school, make sure he had somewhere to sleep. Some of his safe houses had two rooms, in case he brought home a hurt civilian in need of medical attention. 

That little protective star—let’s call it Knave-y, both because it is one and because Jason was looking at Percy’s navy sweatshirt when he named it—was thrumming deeply and overpowering the green in him. Jason let out a breath through his nose. Fine, then, he would ask at least, but if things went south he’d make sure the kid had somewhere else to go. 

“You want to stay with me? You can leave if you want, whenever you want, but I don’t like the idea of a kid living on the streets.” Jason asked, and fucking Knave grew at the prospect. He would not turn into some fucking mother hen, he would not. 

Percy hummed, kicking his feet twice more before answering. “That sounds nice. I don’t like the idea of living on the streets either.” The kid bumped Jason’s shoulder, and then looked back out at the horizon. Jason tried not to jostle at the touch. Last time he’d actually touched someone, it had been the Joker. 

“We’d better go, though, the tide’s coming in.” Percy said, wistfully. 

Jason nodded darkly, thinking that maybe the kid could see the green water too, but then realized that the literal tides were coming in; where the water used to be at Percy’s ankles, now it was at his mid-calf. Before long, they’d be waist-deep and black water would suffocate the docks.

Percy got up, mindful of slippery docks and decomposed wood.

Jason climbed to his feet, not minding the wet slosh of his combat boots on the ground; it seemed that Percy didn’t either. The kid was still shaking, rubbing his hands together to warm up. Jason wanted to tell him that it wouldn’t work, because Gotham chilled to the bone, but couldn’t find the heart. Percy seemed to figure out himself, or give up a little at least. He wrapped his arms around himself and hunched his shoulders. 

Jason pulled the hood of his coat over his head, like he always did in public spaces. They weren’t looking for him, but the report of a dead boy walking would be sure to attract unwanted attention. 

Some asshole on a street corner yelled at them, garbled through the rain pounding in his ears. Percy was closer to the man, and he tensed at the voice. Jason pulled him in, wrapping an arm around the kid’s shoulders. His leather jacket was waterproof, at least, but he knew the kid’s hoodie wasn’t. 

Percy brought a drenched hand up and flipped the man off. Jason felt his mouth flick up in a smile, patting the kid’s shoulder to mock disapproval. Percy twisted around to look upwards at him, face fearful for a second, before realizing that Jason was amused. 

They continued to the nearest two-room safe house Jason had. It was in a questionable apartment building full of even more questionable people. The walls were crumbling, and the fire escape was rusted, but Jason kept his apartments neat, clean, and bright. The carpets had only one red-brown stain, and it was by the window from that time he got stabbed in the alley below it. The kitchen was decent, and everything had it’s place. The beds were soft, and Percy would have a window—oh, shit, he’d put C4 on that window. 

That was the other thing. There were weapons in every conceivable place in every house, from TNT in the back cabinets to a pistol under the coffee table. He would have to make it a little more kid-friendly, but Percy was, what, eleven? Twelve? He knew not to pick up dangerous things. 

The real problem would be when he got a little older and wanted to pick up dangerous things. 

Jason got Percy to his motorcycle, and showed him how to hold on. It was more Jason’s problem then his, because the kid would be in front until Jason got a small helmet for him. 

While they were in a slightly better spot, Jason pulled his To-Do journal out of his pocket. Paper and leather, so it couldn’t be hacked into.

• Kid-Proof Apartment 2E
• Get Percy settled/warm
• Attain fake identity 
• Get guardianship 
• Get the kid signed up for school
• Groceries 
• GET OUT TONIGHT
• Train the kid (basic self-defense?)
• Avoid being known

He scribbled it down, in a few different languages, because you can never be too careful, and then drove them to the apartment.

There were elevators in the building, but Jason always took the stairs. Percy followed him, almost like an imprinted duckling, to the stair corridor. It was only five floors, and if the kid got tired Jason could carry him. 

…That was not a normal thought for him. 

Percy was clutching his hand, starting on the stairs before Jason did. Jason now followed him while fending off a crisis about his apparent care for something. 

Imaging fuckin’, fuckin’, having feelings . Losers. 

They got to the second floor, and the kid—a duckling —waited to see if this was the right one. Jason guided him up the next three, to the top, and then to his door. It was just like the others, peeling gray paint and decrepit graffiti on the walls beside it. This was Crime Alley, after all, nothing was nice. 

Not on the outside, at least. Jason opened the door to a repaired, painted, cheerful home. It didn’t have anything like LIVE LAUGH LOVE on the walls, but the couch was cream and the floors were cracked concrete, and the walls were fortified brick on the one side he hadn’t plastered. Jason took pride in his apartments.

Percy stood in the doorway, as if he had to catch up with the sudden change of atmosphere. Jason held the door open for the kid, and then closed it behind them.

“Hold on for a second, I’m going to go get you a change of clothes.” He said, showing Percy his hands in the wait here motion. The kid nodded mutely, giving Jason a thumbs up. He was still glancing around the room like something was going to jump out at him or explode. 

It wouldn’t, of course, because Jason had complete control over any and all explosives, the duckling would not die that way, thank you very much-

He slammed one of his drawers shut with much more force than necessary, breathing in over four beats and out on a soft hiss for fifteen to make the green go away. 

He’d collected another pair of jeans, some socks, and a muscle shirt for himself, and too-small sweatpants and a t-shirt for Percy. Socks, too, the thick type. He would have to go shopping for the kid. 

• Go shopping

Putting his clothes down on the bed, Jason walked into the living room to see Percy in a truly atrocious orange shirt with Delphi Strawberries printed on it. The kid’s navy hoodie was bundled up in his hands, soaked.

Percy looked up at Jason again, and the man exchanged the clothes he had for the kid’s hoodie. 

“There’s a bathroom down the hall, first door to the right. Take a shower, get warmed up—don’t worry about hot water, we’re on the hospital’s grid.”

Percy nodded, again, and said thanks, again, and then headed for the bathroom. 

Jason went straight back to his room to change, and then fucking powered though the house disarming it. 

He took C4 out of the second bedroom’s window, the gun from under the coffee table—that one he put under the couch—and he de-rigged trap cabinets. Lights were replaced, because some of them would blow on command. Jason got all of the miscellaneous guns and knives off of his kitchen table, hid the Hood, and then decided maybe to de-rig that too, because if it blew with his head in it, Percy would be left behind.

It took only ten minutes or so, and Jason figured that the kid wouldn’t be in the shower for too much longer, so he made hot chocolate. Two mugs, one with vanilla in it and one with chili. 

• Kid-Proof Apartment 2E

Jason also collected some softer blankets from the storage closet, and put them on the couch. He then sat down, placing his mug in front of him and the other one not far off, and started toying with the TV. 

Percy padded into the room not much later, sweeping the area before spotting Jason and the hot chocolate. More light footsteps, and then the kid was beside him and the remote was no longer in his hands. 

“Thank you, Jay,” The duckling said, jostling blankets around him like downy feathers. 

“Jason,” he said, handing the kid his hot chocolate. Percy tore his eyes off of the TV to look at the drink, and then back up to Jason. “My actual name is Jason.”

Percy’s mouth ticked up. “Mine is Perseus.”

Jason felt something twist at that, how the kid had given him his full first name; especially one that uncommon. Jason could get away with it, being dead and all, but a quick search could reveal everything the kid had ever said on the internet.

At some point, Jason had lifted his mug to taste vanilla, and he startled back with horror and surprise. Percy pointedly took a sip of Jason’s mug, and Jason begrudgingly let him finish it off. 

Jason kept an eye on the time; he guided Percy to an episode of Nailed It , talking with the kid as the show went on, and listening intently to how Percy thought the cakes should be made. The kid knew his stuff. Eventually, the third forty-minute episode lulled Percy to sleep.

Now it was time to start. From the window, Jason noted that the toxic green was flooding; up to the waist, now. He got to work. 

Jason opened the Guest Percy’s room’s door, and carefully lifted the kid up to get him settled. The child stirred slightly, but then continued to doze. Jason tucked him in, letting himself get lost in the need to care. Then he went to the kitchen to get a paper and a pen, writing out a quick message to the kid;

Percy,

If you wake up before I get back, don’t worry. I’m at work, I keep odd hours. If you’re hungry, feel free to make yourself something. I promise I’ll be back soon. 

- Jay

He left it on the bedside, then ruffled the kid’s hair lightly. Percy chased the affection, even in sleep. Jason took a deep breath. Who the hell had this kid before? 

After that he got ready. It was the full thing tonight; Kevlar, leather, Hood, boots, guns and gloves. Jason put weapons on him in every possible place, knives to guns to grenades. He wasn’t going to hurt people that didn’t deserve it. He certainly wouldn’t kill anything short of a monster, but monsters existed; and so did he.

The Red Hood hit the streets. 

This was how he started his nights, and how he made it to his days. 

Hood stormed through the streets, going by rooftop or through the darker alleys. 

Some kid was getting mugged; the assultants panicked and bolted when he strolled into the area, hands in his pockets and whistling . The victim, a young redheaded girl, looked half-glad to see him. Jason didn’t know why. After that he tracked the muggers and broke their fingers. They were lucky, they’d be able to use them again. 

The next thing he did was walk through the main street, right in the middle of the road. No cars were out, but everyone could see him. Jason tried not to smirk under the hood when he caught sight of thugs backing into the shadows. You would think that they should know not to take the bait.

The alleys were where he caught them. 

The night wasn’t as eventful as he thought it would be. Still, Red Hood stayed out, eventually hanging over rooftops to watch the rain pitter onto empty streets. 

So he sat, his legs swung over the roof of a tall building. His palms were out, face up, and he could feel the rain through his gloves. 

Something moved behind him, and Red tensed. He was on top of a six-story apartment building in the Bowery, silent and with his hands out to feel the rain. Just anyone couldn’t get up here. Not anyone would, but Jason knew those footsteps.

“Nightwing,” he addressed, not turning around. The bastard probably had his arms crossed and everything. Jason couldn’t look at him. That was his big brother under the costume, and he hadn’t done anything. Hadn’t stopped Batman from slitting his throat, hadn’t even been there, hadn’t helped Jason with his mission Before, hadn’t been there when Jason died- 

“What do you want?” Nightwing said, still standing behind Jason. His voice was rough, harsh, filled with hatred . Jason wanted, briefly, to tear out his throat so that he didn’t have to hear Dick’s voice. He blinked away the flash of green. 

“To be left alone,” Jason cut out, his voice more emotional than he intended. Thank god for the Hood’s filtering.

Nightwing shifted on his feet behind Jason, but didn’t leave. 

“I meant ,” Wing said, voice strained now. He was angry, Jason realized, with a twist of pain. “What do you want with the city? You may think that you’re better than them, but you aren’t -”

“I don’t want anything with ‘The City,’ I want Crime Alley,” Jason silently cocked his gun. “And you’re in my way.”

He shot behind him, and smiled as Nightwing expertly dodged the bullet. Then he jumped off of the roof. The fall was exhilarating, and when he landed it was on his toes. Ducking back into the dark, Jason headed back to 2E. If Nightwing was nearby, the area would be alright. Besides, Red Hood had made his statement. He needed to get home, to get himself under control. 

• GET OUT TONIGHT

Chapter Text

He shot behind him, and smiled as Nightwing expertly dodged the bullet. Then he jumped off of the roof. The fall was exhilarating, and when he landed it was on his toes. Ducking back into the dark, Jason headed back to 2E. If Nightwing was nearby, the area would be alright. Besides, Red Hood had made his statement. He needed to get home, to get himself under control. 

• GET OUT TONIGHT

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He entered the apartments through the roof, and released the latch on his helmet when the door shut behind him. 

Jason changed faster than he ever had, wanting to peel off his own skin. Dick had been there, and he had spoken to Jason like he was some monster. No hello, no I haven’t seen you in a while, not even a cold I guess you’re back, huh?

He buried his face in his hands, squeezing his eyes shut as hard as he could. God, when was the last time he cried?

Five minutes, and then the doorknob turned. The kid was standing there, concerned, with ruffled hair and no shoes. Jason tried to wipe away the wetness on his face, but Percy had already seen him fucking sobbing like a child. Percy padded over on orange-socked feet, looking somehow even more like a baby duckling than he had earlier. 

The kid sat on the floor beside Jason and wrapped his arms around him. The kid squeezed him as tight as he could, and Jason let him stay there. Percy was warm, and there was still a blanket wrapped over his shoulders. 

They sat on the floor for a long time. When Jason looked up, Percy didn’t seem scared of him, or disgusted, and the kid wasn't disdainful. 

“I’m sorry, kiddo,” Jason said. When Percy went to open his mouth, Jason continued. “I’m not a great guy, hell-” Jason broke off. 

“-I‘m not even a good guy. Even my family knows that much.” Percy nestled himself deeper into Jason’s arms, “I.. I saw my big brother tonight, and he acted like I was a monster. I just-”

Jason’s voice cut itself off with a crack. Sometimes he forgot that he was really only sixteen, but… the hard evidence was impossible to forget.

“I don’t think you’re a monster,” the kid said, his voice only a soft whisper. Jason gently hugged him back, careful not to accidentally break one of the kid’s bones. He rested his chin in Percy’s hair, and frowned slightly when it smelled like salt. His shampoo was rose scented? When had the kid gotten into salt water?

Before Jason could ask, the kid shot up. His head crashed into Jason’s chin, and Jason’s teeth clacked together. Percy gave him a wince, but his eyes were bright and he seemed excited. 

“I know what will cheer you up!” Percy said, yanking Jason out of his room by the hand. “Cookies!”

Jason wondered if he’d picked up a psychic. He let the kid pull him to the kitchen.

The materials were on the counter. It… it took Jason’s brain to catch up to that. They hadn’t been there when he left, he didn’t think. 

Jason pulled his List Book from his pocket. 

• Groceries

Yeah, the materials for cookies most definitely were not there originally. Jason didn’t keep that many perishables in unused safehouses. And, looking closer, he was certain that he didn’t keep food dye. 

That’s why Percy smelled like salt, he realized, things clicking into place. Percy in his hoodie, it being fresh out of the wash, new ingredients, Percy being able to hear him cry when he was supposed to be asleep.

That little shit had gone out shopping while he was away. 

The balls.

“Did you… did you leave and come back with stuff for cookies?” Jason asked, feigning surprise. Percy looked down, shuffled his feet. 

“..you- um, you told me not to worry, so-” Fuck, fuck, shit-balls- fuck-

Jason knew that voice, the posture. Percy—the fucking fragile duckling he was—was scared. Of Jason. Not of Red Hood, not of pit-mad Jason. This Jason here, in pink wool socks and gray sweatpants and a white shirt. 

Jason hadn’t showered. He probably smelled like alcohol, some drunk bastard spilled cheap beer on him and got a bruised rib for it. Percy didn’t know that. 

Percy’s last something—Gabe—had murdered his mother. 

Jason dropped to the kid’s level, on a knee to get Percy to look at him. Tear-filled blue eyes looked up, and Jason fought hard to keep his vision from going acid green.

“I’m sorry,” Percy said, and before he could say it again, or add something else that Jason couldn’t hear right now, Jason pulled the kid tight against him. 

He was never one for hugs, but he’d always craved affection. He'd gotten it from pats on the shoulder, ruffles of hair, silent approval. So he pulled Percy in, letting the child melt into the embrace like he had when he was little.

Jason pulled away, hands on Percy’s shoulders, steadying him. 

“Percy, I am not angry at you. I was surprised that you thought of making cookies, and that you went to the store in this weather, but I will never get angry at you for trying to help.”

Percy blinked back tears. “You promise?”

Jason promised. 

"Yeah, kiddo. I do."

Jason stood, drawing himself up with a half-pained grunt. He wasn't expecting to converse or hang out with the kid; he had blood under his nails and now-dry beer on him that felt caked onto his skin. "I'm gonna go clean up, there's city smog in my perfect hair," Jason said, almost jokingly. Percy giggled, but it was less enthusiastic than that joke should muster. "You can start mixing the ingredients, but don't touch the oven, okay?"

Percy gave a short nod, and Jason turned to head back to his bathroom.

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His shower was short, and Jason tried not to hate the way the water came down. His water pressure was amazing, but the scalding water hit his scars and it burned. Jason kept his head tilted up, didn't want to acknowledge the marring besides for the pain it brought him. He stayed under the water for four-and-a-half minutes, managing to scrub his hair clean and wash off all the dirt and.. other various forms of scum he had accumulated on himself during patrol.

None of the red washing down the drain was his own, of course. He had reinforced metal-plastic armor and a kevlar undersuit. No simple thug could do more than give him a bruise, and god save the drunk bastards that tried to lunge at him. 

Jason toweled off, roughly, and kept his eyes from going to the mirror. He put on a shirt and sweats and socks with pizzas on them and looked back at himself. 

Angry red lines went past his short sleeves, scars from the cracking whips at the League. Some were jagged, like marks from trainer's blades. A few of his scars were white, old and from Before. All of the During scars were on his chest and abdomen, save for the one at his hairline. Grey hair from Death and The Pit leered at him, petulant for not getting his immediate hatred. 

Jason ran his fingers through his hair again, pulling to stop the itch. He walked back into the kitchen, giving Percy a light smile and a questioning thumbs-up. The kid waved him over, posture happy. That was a good enough answer, he supposed.

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Chapter Text

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Percy knew how to make cookies, Jason noticed. He looked over the brands the kid had gotten, and felt a heavy flash of memory; this one warm, happy. He’d made cookies with Alfred, way back when. 

Jason thought about that. He didn’t like to dwell on the past, on a family that was no longer his, but…

He was attached to the kid already. 

Percy could leave whenever, but at some point during the day he’d realized he didn’t want the kid to. Jason couldn’t pinpoint it to a specific thought or experience; hell, he’d only had the kid by him for—Jason checked his watch—seven hours?

If he had to give a time and a place, he’d say it wasn’t even when he was near the kid. 

It was when he was patrolling. Some poor boy was being attacked by three dogs in an alleyway—big dogs, small boy—and he’d looked like Percy. Maybe it was just the dark hair and tan skin, or maybe it was how the kid looked like a wet kitten in the rain. But this kid; he’d taken a pipe from somewhere, metal and shining, and beaten the dogs back with it. One of them didn’t get back up after.

Jason didn’t want this kid to live like that. 

Always on the run, hurt, hungry, or scared. He didn’t want this kid to be taken by the Bat—let’s be honest, it’s a possibility. He fits the type—the responsibility of being a hero forced onto him. Jason was raised with that; it followed him even through death. 

He didn’t want his kid to live like that.

And there it was: his kid.

The title came out of nowhere. Jason hardly knew Percy, hardly knew why he was in Gotham—he wasn’t from here, of course—or what happened to him before. 

Jason wasn’t sure when he established that he would keep Percy, but when he was taking the kid back to his apartment, he’d made notes. 

- Attain fake identity 

- Get guardianship 

- Get the kid signed up for school

- Train the kid (basic self-defense?)

Even then, he’d at least subconsciously thought about future plans. Jason didn’t even remember writing it all to well, or the thought process behind it. 

So he delved into his past for a moment, through the pain and the green and the constant battle for approval. He wasn’t Batman. He wasn’t Bruce Wayne. He never wanted to be, and he never wanted his kid to go through what he did. 

Percy was adding food dye to the wet ingredients; making them a radioactive blue color. Where the kid had been—miraculously—following Alfred’s recipe without an actual recipe, Jason was certain that blue coloring was not on the written copies. Then again, they weren’t using scales, either. 

Jason wasn’t Batman. He wasn’t Bruce Wayne. 

He’d support his kid, wrap him in safety and love instead of deadly danger and bright colors. Percy would learn everything there was to know about defense and only what he needed in terms of offense, because Jason would be there—Red Hood would be there—to protect him.

He would be there to avenge him, too. 

His kid didn’t need to do that himself. Jason wouldn’t send his kid away to a behavioral school, wouldn’t hesitate to assist him or offer praise, Jason wouldn’t make his kid chase appreciation or perfection. 

Jason wouldn’t make his kid dig his way out of an early grave.

They put the wet ingredients in the dry bowl, and Jason let Percy mix it first, expecting the kid to ask for help. Percy didn’t, even when the dough got tougher. 

Jason slid the bowl over to himself. Percy’s palms and fingers were dyed bright blue. “Let me do some,” Jason said, “Then we can match.”

Percy smiled up at him, teeth already stained. So that’s why he went until it was dough- he’d been sneakily eating bites already. 

They rolled the dough into little balls, put them on a pan with a sheet, popped them  in the oven. Jason set a timer, and his kid heaved himself up onto the counter. He was almost level with Jason now, but still about four inches shorter. The counters were tall. 

Percy was watching Jason intently, eyes tracking his movements and features. 

“Why’s your hair white? You aren’t old.”

Jason grimaced. “I went through a kinda rough time not too long ago. It wasn’t fun.” He ran a hand through his hair, fluffing it up a little. The gray-white-silver section was coarser than the rest of his hair, stiffer and more wire-like. Percy nodded. 

“What brought you to Gotham? You coulda gone anywhere.”

Percy shrugged. “Like I said, I heard it’s the safest place to be. I don’t know about that yet, but it’s looking up so far.” He said, quietly. The kid looked down, tapping his fingers again. “You’re alright with me staying here, right? Like, I know you said it’s fine back at the docks, but-”

“Percy,” Jason interrupted, putting a hand on the kid’s shoulder and looking him in the eye. He pulled out his leather book. “This is where I keep my to-dos. Do you want to hear the last few entries?”

Percy looked uncomfortable, but nodded. Jason opened it up, finding the latest page. 

Jason started to read. 

“Kid-Proof Apartment 2E; crossed out, checked, completed.”

“Make sure the Kid doesn’t get hypothermia; crossed out, checked. A note to the side reads “we watched a show.”

Percy was looking at the book now, like it held the secrets of the universe. Jason wanted to show it to him, but the tasks were in different languages and Percy could think he’s lying. The kid was trusting, but confront any child with a loophole and they will find it.

Percy reached out, and hesitated. Jason knew he wanted to see it. He took a deep breath, crossed his fingers that the kid would believe the translations, and handed it over. Percy scanned the lines, a small frown pulling at his mouth and his eyebrows furrowed. 

“Ugh, I hate German,” the kid said, and then read out the next to do, in German.

“Attain fake identity,” Percy said. “Reasonable. Can I have one too?” the kid asked, big blue eyes freezing Jason’s shock for a minute to wreak havoc on his heart.

“Oh. Um, I don’t know this one. I haven’t tried Arabic yet,” the kid said, eyes leaving the page to turn to a stunned Jason Todd. 

“It says: get guardianship,” Jason said, then backtracked. “If you’re alright with that of course.” Jason shifted, suddenly feeling like he’d drastically underestimated his kid. 

Percy read out all the others in English, blushing a little more each time. 

“I- um. Yeah, that definitely answered my question,” Percy said, bright red. The leather book was closed and sitting on the kid’s knees, and Jason reached out for it. Percy gave it to him easily, not leafing through it to see what Jason’s prior priorities were or what he did on a daily basis. It wasn’t trust, exactly, but it was a helluva lot more than he got with Batman or the League. 

“I’m glad it served it’s purpose,” Jason said, and the cookie timer let out a shrill sound. Percy winced and his hands shot up to cover his ears, laughing, the loud noise catching them both by surprise. Jason had jumped, which was probably why Percy was giggling.

He slipped on oven mitts and pulled the pan out, amused to find that the blue color had not, in fact, been altered by heat. The chocolate and dough, though, were. They had turned from salmonella-breeding globs to cheerful, safe , delicious cookies.

Fuck, when did he start worrying about safety?

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

They ate cookies on the living room carpet. There wasn’t a specific reason for this--at least, one Jason knew of--but then again, Percy seemed to have odd priorities. He did dye both their cookies and their milk blue, after all. 

Milk was another thing the kid had gotten on his outing; 2% organic, ethically sourced milk. Where did Percy get the money? It would make sense that he stole it from Jason, but nothing was missing or displaced in the way that it would be when the culprit is an actual child. Jason wouldn’t be mad at Percy for thieving--that would be hypocritical to his past. He just wanted to know if Percy had money enough for baking ingredients to rival Alfred’s, and why he had still been wearing such an atrocious orange color when he got here, and why there was a ratty navy hoodie on top. 

The Percy in question was sitting on the light gray shaggy carpet, criss-cross applesauce, staring holes in Jason’s soul. 

It was very distracting, and Jason placed his half-eaten cookie down on the pan--which they were eating off of directly--and sighed. It was a long one, Jason hadn’t slept well in a while. He also hadn’t dealt with feelings other than rage in 7+ years, and in the past twenty-four hours he’d gone through a helluva lot’a them. 

“What, kiddo?” Jason asked, and Percy squinted at him further. 

“You would be a Grady,” Percy said, “A Grady Whitlock.” the kid finished, a tone of finality in his voice. Jason was dazed for a moment on why the kid thought he wasn’t a Jason Todd, before remembering that Percy wanted both of them to have fake identities. Jason could see the appeal that might have to a twelve year old; the very premise sounded like something from Men In Black. Even so, Jason didn’t want to foster any kind of complex in the kid. 

“How much sleep did you get while I was gone?” Jason leaned forward, noticing the way Percy was beginning to sway back and forth and how the food was making Percy fight to keep his eyes open. 

“Virtually none!” Percy said, cheerfully. Jason let out another sigh. 

“Okay, kiddo,” He placed their plate of cookies to the side, “I’ll make you a deal. You go to sleep--and get as much of it as you can--and when you wake up I’ll have everything ready. Then we can go shopping for your new room and some clothing that will actually fit you. Sound good?”

Percy nodded, and Jason wasn’t really sure if the kid had actually heard any of it. Nevertheless, he helped Percy up--the kid was a dead weight, but a feather-light one--and down the hall. Jason even tucked him in!

Percy started to drift, and when Jason got up to get ready to go to sleep himself he found himself bound. His kid had a tight grip on Jason’s wrist, and Jason sat back down by the bed, waited until Percy was fully asleep. He didn’t mind it, not like he probably should have. The terrifying monster Red Hood was fearsome and dark, but maybe that really wasn’t all there was to Jason. 

Jason Todd liked helping kids, he liked reading and writing and theatre. Jason Todd didn’t wear shoes in his house, and he cooked and kept everything meticulously clean. Jason Todd was protective of what he cared about; himself, his Alley, his homes, his interests, and now his kid, too. 

If his duckling needed him to sit with him 'til he fell asleep, Jason would. 

Jason bent over to pick up a plate of blue cookies from the floor of his living room, wondering how he’d managed to let Percy have dessert for dinner. 

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Chapter Text

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Jason woke up at 7:30 sharp the next morning, his head pounding like someone was taking a hammer to the inside. Even still, he swung his legs over the bed and pulled himself into a sitting position. Shit, did he have water yesterday? The day before? 

He walked to the kitchen, poured himself a very tall glass of water, and chugged it. Then he repeated the task. Jason was exhausted. He started making something to eat, doubling his one-person recipe and deciding that there would probably be extra, since Percy was a kid and most likely didn’t need to keep up with Jason’s sped-up diet. 

Eggs benedict, he thought, scanning the pantry. Percy had bought twelve eggs last night on his little outing, and so they had plenty left over for four toasts. Jason started preparing, thinking about those IDs they would have to get. Jason didn’t have one yet, although he probably should. He’d thought that taking Percy’s name would be enough, but now that he thinks about it that might be a little odd. Or suspicious, considering that the kid’s family had died and ‘disappeared’ only recently. So while he waited for Percy to wake up, he put their eggs in the warming drawer after assembling them. Healthy, Jason noted with a hint of pride. 

He got to work. Jason sat on the breakfast table, opening his computer to the thousands of messages he’d missed while he was away. Okay, fine. The fifteen messages he’s gotten while he was away. Three of them were from his favorite black-market amazon, which had the same logo but with an actual arrow instead of the disneyfied one. Four were from actual amazon, and the other eight were from his employees. Yeah, these apartments didn’t come from just anywhere, he had a job. Not a kid-friendly job, but a job nonetheless. 

Jagger asked why he didn’t check up on anyone yesterday. Jason replied with ‘Yesterday was your day off, remember? You’re sick.’ that had been two days ago. 

The response was immediate. 

no i wasn’t! 

i had a cold i can still work.

answer me you fucknugget

Red i swear to shit i will quit if you don’t answer.

Then he got a text from Jasper Woods, the more polite husband of Jagger Woods. 

Thanks!

Jasper liked a message

Jags really hasn’t been feeling well, this weather sucks. I keep telling him to stay inside, but he’s practically bouncing off of the walls. Do you happen to have any inside work I can give to him so he doesn't kill me for the house key?

Followed up by:

That would be appreciated

Let Jason make one thing clear: He had an issue with trust. Jason found it difficult to trust people with his birthday, much less with something that actually mattered to him. Jagger and Jasper had earned his trust. They loved the Alley almost as much as they loved each other, and that was an impressive feat. The--frankly terrifying--duo were Jason’s two hands, and he trusted them. They wouldn’t betray him, or sell information that he didn’t want them to. 

Jason had his messages on dark mode, and a worn keyboard cover across his keys. He was sitting with a window view, and it was lightly drizzling. He could see the street from here, green acid trickling into gutters and swirling in puddles like gasoline. It soaked through raincoats and made city-goers walk just a little faster.

He trusted Jagger and Jasper with not only his operations, but with his.. Other stuff, too. Sure, that hadn’t been intentional, but it happened, and it continued to. 

Jason got a document together. Grady Jay Whitlock and his younger brother, Perseus Penn Whitlock. He had a picture of himself for his licenses, and none for Percy because the kid didn’t need one. With a deep breath, Jason sent the doc to Jasper. 

Jasper was Red Hood’s left hand, his logical and clear-minded advisor. The blonde was absolutely brilliant when it came to deep fakes; whether it was fake documents or fake concoctions that took the place of drugs. That was Jasper’s job: he made fake drugs. They tricked kids with them, teens that were getting rebellious or apathetic. There were no addictive qualities, no hallucinogens, and nothing harmful to ingest. This was, also, for the good kids that wanted to fit in but were scared. Jason got it. Jasper also made actual drugs, as much as Jason hated it. He didn't hate the cause, though. They were varied doses, sold or given to specific people struggling with addiction. Those were for the people that couldn’t go cold turkey for the sake of their safety. Jasper is really good at what he does.

There was a second, and then Jasper started typing. 

Red, dear, why was I not told that I have another “Whitlock” to dote on?

There was another thing: Jasper was a mother hen. This had been true since the dawn of time, according to Jagger--they were childhood friends--and Jason had been taken into the coop when Jasper found out that he was only sixteen.

Jason took a second to think about his response.

He’s new. We’re going shopping today, I can drop by for the stuff and introduce you as my work mom or whatever the fuck.

That would be swell! Do you have a task for Jagger? I’ve already had him clean the whole house.

Jason did, actually. Percy needed to be able to communicate with him, but Jason didn’t want him to be tracked or have his calls listened in on.

Yeah, I’ll send him the stuff.

Jagger was Red Hood’s right hand. He was creative, hyperactive, intelligent, and a monster when it came to technology. He drank a lot of monster, too. The bastard once made an entire inside-Hood interface with a LexPhone 6 and a pink 60’s toaster. When Jason said Jagger was an engineering genius, he meant a genius . The last time Jagger got bored out of his mind, he infiltrated a Queen lab for tech he ‘just had to have’ with Moves Like Jagger blasting over the speakers. One of the security guards’d knifed him, leaving Jags with a jagged scar along his nose. That’s actually why they call him Jags, because of the scar. 

This is where Jason gets upgrades, explosives, firearms. It’s also where he gets the alarm systems and protection in his safehouses. 

hood i swear to fuck

who is the Child

Jason heaved a sigh. Of course Jagger already knew, he was probably leaning over Jasper’s shoulder while they were conversing. If Jasper was Jason's mother hen, Jagger was the delirious rooster who didn't know red from blue.

Irrelevant. Can you get a new phone and proof it for me? No tracks, no anything. 

you’re a silly bastard man

jasp is telling me to say sorry

Fuck You <3

Jason shook his head, running a hand through his hair. He looked up from his computer and Percy was sitting there, twiddling his thumbs silently. Jason blinked at him, and Percy looked up and stared back. The kid had on his atrocious orange shirt and now-clean blue jeans, but his hoodie wasn’t anywhere in sight. 

Jason got up and grabbed breakfast. His kid’s eyes went wide at what was probably a fancy breakfast to him, judging by the condition he approached Jason in. Jason would have to get used to saying that; his kid. It kinda made him hesitate when he thought it, but he’d fed the kid twice now, they had one more meal until the kid would be adopted Alfred-style. 

Shit, that wasn’t a good thought. 

 No, maybe it was okay. Jason had always loved Alfred, but he was the one that stitched Jason up in the Befores, and he hadn’t hurt him. Alfred hadn’t chosen to betray him like the Bat had.

Percy was digging into his eggs benedict with vigor, and Jason handed him the second one he’s made for extras when the kid finished his first. Kid had an appetite, Jason noted, scribbling it in his margins in German.

• feed Duckling with nutritional food.

Jason finished his breakfast, eating slower than Percy, and then stood and swung his jacket on. It was wet out. Percy took the cue and stopped the merciless tap-tap-tapping he’d been doing with a cheap blue bic ripoff and tossed it onto the table carelessly as he got up.

“Where to?” the kid asked, and Jason pushed in his chair. 

“We’re going shopping; groceries for the apartment and clothing and stuff for you.” Jason had to fight to avoid saying shit. He’d heard somewhere that cursing in front of kids wasn’t a cool thing to do.

Percy followed him to the door, and Jason slipped on his steel-toed combats and Percy put on his filthy converse. Jason would have to see about getting him a decent pair of boots. He would need them in Gotham. Probably a waterproof jacket too. Percy had something in his pocket that he was fiddling with, and when he pulled it out it was the pen again. Jason shot a glance at the table, half-sure he’d left it there. There was no pen on the table, so clearly he was going insane.

Jason and Percy ran into an older woman on the way out. Ms. Morris once told Jason that she had murdered five of her previous husbands. The woman wore rollers and a pink moomoo, but don’t be deceived, she could still kill a man. 

“Awww, Eric deary,” she said, pinching his cheek. As the elder’s eyes tracked to Percy, she drew in an astonished breath. “Johnathan! You didn’t tell me to had a son.”

Jason sighed. It felt like he did that a lot. “No ma’am, Ms. Morris. That’s Percy, my little brother.”

Percy looked up at him, eyes wide and disbelieving, and Jason gave him a look so he didn’t protest. Ms. Morris reached to give Percy a pat on the head, which the kid put up with. 

“You are a fine young boy, Mercy,” Ms. Morris said, getting close to his name. Eventually she would forget it and devolve into guesses such as Eric and Johnathan.

Ms. Morris walked on to her apartment, and Jason’s phone vibrated. 

i’m waiting

hey red riding hood, come get your fucking phone

Oh, brilliant. Jagger was done. His mechanic was efficient, and Jason had no doubt that he’d been rewiring phones for the past three days to keep himself busy.

Jason dropped his jacket around Percy to keep him dry in the rain, and they made a stop on the way to get him a motorcycle helmet. Safety first, and all that bullshit. If Percy fell off and died on the way, Jasper would hang and quarter him.

The shop clerk was sitting on his phone playing candy crush, and Percy picked out a navy helmet. Jason figured that the kid’s obsession with the color went a bit too far. Then, of course, he remembered that the two facts Percy had told Jason were his mother’s name and that she liked the color blue. Maybe Percy’s obsession didn’t go too far. 

Percy’s blue helmet was a little big, but he would grow into it. Besides, with a tightening of the strap he was all safe again. Safer than he would be without one, at least.

Rain pattered on the streets, on their helmets as Jason got them to the Wood’s place. The acid water was near-invisible, diluted and pale. It would become more potent as the day went on; it was only 8:46. 

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

The Wood’s place was in a nicer part of Gotham than his safe houses, they didn’t need to have multiple. Jason put on sunglasses as if that would cover his facial frame. It would cover his eyes though, and that was enough. They took the stairs up, again. Jason kinda felt bad for the kid, his claustrophobia probably shouldn’t have affected Percy. 

“So these guys are work friends of mine, they’re—” Jason broke off before he said together , not knowing how Percy would react. He probably should have vetted the kid before he went and got fucking attached. He could use today for that. Figure the kid out. 

“In love?” Percy panted, resting on the wall on the sixth flight of stairs. Jason squinted at him, not expecting the kid to fill in the blank. He’d been really strange so far, though. Maybe Jason should be more surprised he didn’t do it in another language. What the fuck had that been, anyways? He had kind of forgotten about that revelation, last night was a haze of sharp emotions. 

“And married, too.”

Percy caught Jason’s off-guard look and raised his eyebrows. “I’m small, not an idiot.”

When had he implied that? When had Percy gotten sharp? Earlier he was acting young, but that comment was… well, probably exactly what a preteen would say. A good sign, actually. Percy was acting up a little, showing teeth and making sure Jason was a decent guy. Defense tactics, likely taken from trouble schools. Make sure your friends are your friends, and all that. 

“No twelve-year-old that knows German, Spanish, French, and Italian is an idiot, kiddo,” Jason said, and they were on the eighth floor. “Why’d you learn them, anyways?”

“You know that friend of mine that told me to come here?” Percy asked, and Jason gave him a sharp nod. Three flights to go. “Well, she wanted to have this experiment: exactly how many languages can Percy be illiterate in?”

“Really, it was a test to see how many languages our specific brand of dyslexia worked in, and she needed more than one test subject. So we learned the languages, and it turns out that the Germanic languages are the worst, but the Romance languages aren’t much better.”

Jason snorted. What the hell happened to kids these days? He never would have willingly made himself a polyglot for scientific research. 

“She published the research and findings to Oxford College. Like I said, she’s crazy smart.”

Oh, that was a different story; a kid doing that and then publishing it to a prestigious college? Damn, even the Bat hadn’t done that as a kid. 

“Our camp director tutored us in the languages, he’s really cool.” Percy finished, smiling. Jason wondered where in the depths of hell he’d send this kid to school. Percy probably had his pick. 

They were at the door. It was painted grey, and the bronze doorknob was shining from usage. Jason turned to Percy before knocking. “I’m sorry, kid.”

Jason knocked, and Jasper opened the door, smiling softly. Jagger was in the living room surrounded by parts, Jason could see him over Jasper’s shoulder. 

Jasper immediately looked down to Percy, and his eyes went wide. 

“Oh my goodness,” he said, “a child.”

He glanced up at Jason, pulling Percy into a tight hug like a teddy bear. “Jay, I will be confiscating this, personally I think he’s too fragile—” Jasper smiled, and Jason rolled his eyes.

Percy was looking around with bright, wide eyes, but when he was called fragile he whipped his head around to Jasper and glared at him. It would have been a terrifying glare had he not been a preteen. There was a beat, and then Jasper was on the floor. 

Percy’d fucking decked him. 

Jason actually snorted. 

The kid plopped down, sat cross-legged by Jasper’s head, and folded his arms. “I am not fragile.”

Jagger, now standing nearby, helped Jasper up. “Aww Jay, he’s just like you! But, like, smaller you.” Jagger put a thumb and a finger together for emphasis, earning a light glare from Percy.

Percy stood back up, and Jason wondered where in New York he’d come from. A Manhattan kid wouldn’t have done that. 

“Percy,” Jason said, and pointed to the guys. “The man with a new black eye is Jasper; oddly enough, he’s the nice one. That asshole is Jagger.”

Percy smiled pleasantly, a fast change from the last few minutes. “It’s great to meet you! I’m Percy.”

Jagger grinned and shook the kid’s hand, and Jasper cautiously patted him on the shoulder. The man led them farther into the flat, into the living room. 

“Your IDs and Jay’s license are carding, Jags’ll take you through the tech and credits while they finish up,” Jasper gestured to the cluttered coffee table. Jagger paced, holding a new phone model—it was Apple, because Jason didn’t use WayneTech. He tried to hand it to Percy, but the kid shied away. 

“What?” Jagger demanded, brow furrowed in the way it did when he was emotionally hurt. Percy sent the mechanic an apologetic smile. 

“Technology doesn’t really like me.”

Jagger rolled his eyes. “This tech will. I’ve cut out all the signals, I’ve wired it to— oh, whatever. Look, kid, this shit’s hardly even technology I’ve twisted the wires so much. It won’t give off any bad vibrations, nothing will be able to track you.”

There was a strange inflection in Jagger’s voice during that last sentence, but whatever it was seemed to work. Percy took the phone, and Jagger did a little happy dance.

How did Jason end up like this? 

Jagger was going through the phone with Percy, sitting on the couch and showing him all the upgraded functions. Jason was staring down at the message Percy’s phone had sent him so he’d have the contact; it was a little picture of Jagger and Percy, a selfie. Jason shook his head, half angry at how unsophisticated the situation was. The other half of him was glad. 

Jason had always been unsophisticated; he was a street kid, after all. 

Jasper came in quietly, handed Jason their new identities in a manila-orange jacket folder, and told him everything they needed was inside. 

He sifted through them; freezing when he saw an article on Percy’s past. It was about the death of his mother. 

Both son and stepfather missing, presumed dead.

Well, that sure was a way to go out: a faked death and a new life. 

There was another file pertaining to the past in the folder as well, about the shirt Percy was wearing under Jason’s jacket. Jasper sure was observant, that for sure. 

The Delphi Strawberry Service was a year-round camp for kids that had disciplinary issues. It was headed by an older man who was previously a Latin teacher at schools for troublemakers. There was a note off to the side; Jasper’s handwriting. 

He’ll probably want to keep going.

Jason could arrange that, he thought. There was a slight problem in how Percy was now presumed dead and carrying a separate identity, but that would be ironed out. 

Another file was of schools, something that Jasp thought would be good for Percy. Gotham Prep wasn’t listed, but a few nice schools in New York were. Jason would have to look into them.

It didn’t feel like a long time, but soon it was nearing twelve and they were still at the Wood’s. 

Percy’s stomach growled, and Jason looked up from the notes he was writing. The kid was talking to Jasper about the Harbors and how polluted they were. Their conversation was nearing to an end, and when it did Jason made for them to leave. 

Percy and Jason said their goodbyes, and promised to visit soon, then set off for their task of shopping . Jason hated everything about stores: the inflation, the bright lights, how shitty he felt spending money. 

They got tacos first, from some brave vendor off the street calling out into the rain. 

The first store they showed up at was for clothing. It was an American Eagle, and Percy got a few shirts and four pairs of jeans. Jason was… out of place in the shop. It wasn’t too bad, because they were in Gotham, but he was sure the clerk thought he was going to rob them.

Percy could get shirts off of Amazon, but jeans were a finicky buy, and Jason wasn’t sure how to use other online shopping websites yet. 

After that they went to a shoe store; it didn’t matter which, every store like it in Gotham had both tennis shoes and steel boots. Not many people bought the boots though, especially the smaller ones. Jason ducked into a store nearby to get Percy a jacket like his for the rain. 

By the time that was done, Percy was fucking wilting . Jason was tired too, so they forfeited room decorations to get home so Jason could make dinner. He gave Percy his Amazon Prime passcode and let the kid explore while he cooked. 

They had burgers. Percy asked for his rare, like a fucking psychopath, but Jason obliged and decided to make it the best he could; even if the kid did like to eat raw meat. 

Jason brought their food over to Percy, who was on his computer at the table. Percy shut the computer and moved it to the side to make room. The little wooden table was small—bought for one—but it was sturdy.

“What’cha thinking about putting in your room?” Jason asked, and Percy shrugged, mouth full. “I hear that record players are popular, that would be cool. This place could use some music, you know.”

Percy tilted his head. He pulled the computer closer, opened it, and got to work. Jason finished his burger, and Percy slid the computer away when they were finished. Jason didn't want to talk about the heavy stuff, about schools or Delphi Strawberry Service or how Percy was presumed dead. Percy was looking at the manila jacket with such distaste and exhaustion that Jason decided to worry about it tomorrow. It was almost eight-thirty, which meant bedtime for the kid and patrol for the Red Hood. 

Jason shepherded Percy off to bed, staying until he fell asleep like the night before. He suited up, slid on the Hood, and jumped off of his fire escape. 

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Chapter Text

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“Okay, kiddo,” Jason said, sitting down beside Percy with scrambled eggs and bacon. The kid was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, at seven in the morning. His eyes had circles under them, though, like he hadn’t slept well. If he needed to, Jason would ask. He couldn’t risk getting sidetracked now. 

“It’s time to lay down some ground rules, alright? We’ve had a day and a half, but I need to get this outta the way.”

Percy shifted in his chair, pausing with the fork on the way to his mouth. Jason gestured for him to continue eating, because he was going to talk for a bit, and Percy’s food might get cold.

“I’ll start off with this: I keep promises, and I promised that I would never be mad at you for helping. I will also never get mad at you for asking for help.”

“That being said, there are a few things I will not tolerate. These include: alcohol, vapes, cigarettes, and drugs.” Jason looked his duckling in the eye. “I hate drugs.”

Percy chewed and swallowed slowly, not breaking eye contact. There was some semblance of amusement on his face.

“It’s that easy? I thought you were gonna be like i hate whales or climate change is a myth gods forbid you’re a flat earther.” 

Percy shrugged. “I have had one interaction with drugs, and let me tell you, that was not fun.” Percy took a bite of his bacon, unaware of the green at the edges of Jason’s vision. Who the hell gave Percy drugs? The kid was twelve, and he was a child, and he was- “Man, I didn’t know what time it was, I didn’t know where I came from. Terrifying.”

Jason felt his pen crack a little. Percy just shook his head like he was exasperated. Jason was going to fucking track down those sellers. 

“Anyways,” Percy hummed, mouth full. “What else were you gonna talk to me about?”

Jason pulled himself out of it. No distractions, or this would never get done. He would have to track the bastards down later. 

“Right.” Jason’s voice was thick, and he cleared his throat. “So I’ve been thinking about what school you should go to—”

Percy whistled, grimaced. “Good luck with that.”

“—what?” Jason cut himself off after the comment. “Kid, you’re proficient in multiple languages, schools eat that shit up.”

Percy shrugged. “You can try, man. But I’ve got an awful track record. Percy Jackson dumps class in shark tank, Percy Jackson blows up a bus—“

Jason stilled from where he was sifting though registration papers. That’s what he’d gotten done when he woke up. 

His kid blew up a bus?

“—there was no one inside the bus, of course, and I didn’t mean to, because why the hell was a civil war cannon loaded-”

Percy blew up a bus.

Jason rubbed his face. He’d found a trouble kid all right. It was fine, but getting him into a good school would be—

Oh, fuck. He’d completely forgotten. 

“Kid, you’re Percy Whitlock now, you don’t have a track record.”

The kid blinked, frowned in a considering manner, and said; “oh, so I’m free to pick?”

Jason nodded and handed Percy the list of schools. Percy scanned it, occasionally typing things into Jason’s computer. Jason sat and thought while Percy explored. Gotham was closer, but it was dangerous. New York wasn’t that far, a short commute to school. Percy would have to take a subway back each morning and afternoon. That made Jason’s hackles rise a little, but Percy had been alone in Gotham before he met Jason, and he’d most likely lived in NYC. It would be stupid to think Percy couldn’t handle that, that he hadn’t in the past. 

“What about Ridgeland?” Percy asked, and Jason looked at his notes. A semi-public, semi-private school in Upper NYC, with a small tuition and good teachers. They had an active student body, and a shorter commute than some of the other schools. It was also closer to the camp Percy went to, because Jasper had told him that the kid might want to visit after school and see his friends.

“That works great, Percy. Good choice.”

Percy smiled, closing the computer. He was happy, relaxed. The doorbell rang, and Jason was on his feet in an instant. Percy rolled his eyes. 

“Calm down, it’s probably just O—er, UPS.” Percy rose, walked to the door. Jason followed closely behind. He knew, logically, that there was nothing to worry about, but they were in Gotham. One should always be on edge.

Percy undid the five locks casually, opening the door. Jason looked down to find several blue-wrapped packages. 

Odd. Deliveries didn’t typically show up at the door, and Amazon didn’t wrap packages. He’d have to look into that. Jason’s to-do list was growing. 

Percy picked the top three up before Jason could check them for bombs. He picked up the last two, because they were bigger. Percy went to the living room and set his down on the table, sitting cross-legged on the floor. He ripped into the first, revealing an Amazon box that Jason cut into for him. He used a simple pocketknife, just like any other person would have. It wasn’t like the throwing knives he had under the coffee table. He might need to move those, actually. 

Percy revealed a set of twinkle lights, and Jason had to clench his jaw so he didn’t sigh. This kid was going to be a handful; he’d said that already. The next box held a set of records, and the next a record player. Percy quickly hooked it up to an empty shelf in the corner, and put the records on the one under it. Box one of Jason’s load held a skateboard, and Percy promised—unprompted—not to use it in the house. Jason was glad. The last box had a note on it—a hasty scrawl of sorry —which had Jason panicked. Percy sighed and opened the box, ignoring Jason’s pensive grimace. 

It was a messenger bag, nice and leather and sturdy-looking. Clipped to the inside was a how-to on taking care of the bag, written in the same quick handwriting. Percy was smiling softly, almost regretfully. He caught Jason’s confused expression. 

“I know one of the delivery services’s higher-ups, and his son is a bit of a bully. I guess this is an apology bag.”

Percy really did sound subdued, and Jason inhaled on three beats and out for seven to calm down. This wasn’t like the drug thing, when he was hardly in control.  It was a lesser worry, but it still tinged the edges of his vision green. Maybe he was due for an eye doctor’s appointment. Jason tried to give Percy a reassuring smile, and stood to sign him up for school. 

Percy went to settle his new stuff in, and within a few minutes Don’t Worry, Be Happy was playing. Jason shook his head, smiling despite himself. Percy came and sat by him when he was finishing up, hair wet. 

“You’ll start on Monday; we’ll need to go out later and get your books.”

Percy was fiddling with his pen again. “Sounds good,” he looked up, “what’s for lunch?”

Jason checked his watch. 12:34. How was it lunchtime already?

“How does pizza sound? We can go out before getting your school supplies.” Percy nodded enthusiastically, and Jason thought he caught the kid saying that pizza was his favorite between nods. Jason very slowly reached out and stopped his head, hands over the kid’s ears so he might not get whiplash.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Percy, much to Jason’s chagrin, had pineapple on his pizza. He ordered the Hawaiian—which came with anchovies and ham—but ordered it without the anchovies. The waiter had seen the kid’s pen (It had been sitting idly on the table, not tapping. Percy’s leg was rocketing up and down.) and asked to look at it. Percy held it up so that the waiter could see, and he seemed genuinely interested. Jason started to reconsider his initial estimate of it being a bic ripoff. Maybe it was just something that pen collectors liked. 

“I’m a reverse pescatarian,” Percy said to Jason, taking a sip of coke and pulling him out of his reverie. They were crowded into a small booth in the corner of the restaurant, lighting low enough that Jason didn’t have to wear glasses. The seats were cracked and red, and the table was wooden with resin over it. “That means I eat everything but seafood.”

“Why’s that?” Jason asked, leaning forward to reach over and grab napkins. He dabbed at the condensation around his cup. Jason hated the way his hands felt moist when he picked it up.

“I’m allergic,” Percy said, matter-of-factly. Jason took a long sip of the Coca-Cola in his hand, disliking his lack of knowledge. What if he’d made Percy something with seafood in it for breakfast one morning? What if the kid had other dietary restrictions he didn’t know about? Jason could poison his kid unknowingly. 

“What else do I need to be made aware of?” Jason asked, and Percy started tap-tap-tapping on the wooden table. It was a steady, thwack-twack beat, and the kid glanced down. Self-conscious, Jason’s mind offered, and he waited patiently. 

“I don’t eat seafood, and I have dyslexia and ADHD and ADD. It makes it hard to focus in school sometimes, but I’ve tried medications and they only really impact me in negative ways.”

Jason nodded. “That’s alright, Percy. I’ve got OCD and something else that I don’t know the name of. It’s not the same, I know, but I won’t get mad at you for stuff like that.”

Their food came, Jason’s pepperoni with bacon and Percy’s pineapple-ham disaster. They didn’t talk a whole lot after that, too busy stuffing their mouths with pizza. Jason wondered, just a little, what the waiter thought of them. He’d always been conscious of other people’s opinions, sometimes beneficial, sometimes detrimental. The man had been staring at Jason’s neck when he took their order, and Jason reached up and brushed the scarring with the tips of his fingers. Percy tracked the movement, slowing his chewing a little. He tipped his head to the side, furrowing his eyebrows. 

“Who tried to kill you?” Percy asked, bluntly. Jason swallowed, mouth going dry. He took another sip of his coke—it tasted better than normal. Much better. Jason glanced at the glass cooler in the corner; the door was shattered, and he couldn't see through. Was this from a glass bottle?

“Someone I trusted,” Jason said, smiling despite himself. Percy nodded as if he understood the gravity of the statement. “I guess I shouldn’t have.”

Percy made a humming noise. He put his arm on the table--Jason’s side of the table--and pulled the sleeve of his long yellow shirt. Jason had advised him against the bright color, but Percy insisted. 

On his forearm, a nine-pointed-star shaped scar stood red against his skin. Scorpion, Jason’s reserve supplied. The name of the type that left that scar was on his tongue, the only one the league didn’t push immunity towards. They said that even with his enhancements it would kill him in seconds flat. 

Jason felt his breathing pick up, but he could hear Percy’s voice grounding him, simultaneously pulling him into the green. “I knew this guy, a counselor at camp. He was great, you know. Knew my new friend, he was like Annabeth’s brother. When I got back from a camp-sponsored trip, he--” Percy’s voice broke off a little. 

“--I guess I just didn’t fit into his plan.” Percy cleared his throat. “He was the bully, remember? I mean, not at first, but near the end.”

Jason had a new target. He pulled his little leather book out, turned to a blank page, started scribbling a neat little note in Russian, blinked. There was something close to his face? Percy was snapping his fingers in his face, giving him a look. Jason click-click-ckked his pen, over and over, wanting to do something. But his kid was just staring at him, brows raised in a half-judging way. 

“No hit lists. If you put Luke on your hit list, I will know.”

Jason froze. The acid washed away, flushed out with horror. “I don’t have a hit li-”

Percy leveled him with a look. “You know I know you’re involved in criminal activity, right? I’m not stupid.” Jason made a motion for Percy to lower his voice. The kid obliged, whispering. “Jagger told me everything ‘bout the drug stuff after my shower this morning. We’re chill, man.”

Jason opened his mouth, closed it, struggled to find words. Percy looked back up, frowning.

“Jason, there’s an island in our kitchen. Normal people don’t have kitchen islands.” Percy was tapping the table again, with that blue pen Jason had seen about ten times just this morning. The waiter brought them the check, and Jason put it aside. He had other shit to think about right now, and it was getting harder to think. 

Percy knew, and he was fine with it? Fine with the knowledge that Jason killed people every night? That his guardian was a murderer? 

He’d cut off people’s heads, stuffed them into a duffle bag, let the blood mix and stain fabric. Regularly, Red Hood made green water rise, and only occasionally pushed it down. Liquid was only virtually compressible, after all. Maybe he just soaked it back up, brought it into his bloodstream and out of some scared little girl’s. 

Just last night, Red Hood had shot a man in the stomach nine times and left him to bleed because he had done unforgivable things to his daughter. Jason hadn’t felt shame, he hadn’t felt guilt. He might not have been ashamed, but the green hadn’t washed over his ears and eyes and hands and taken him up in a whirlwind of pure rage. 

“Hey, Jason,” Percy said, trying to get his attention. Jason could hear him, but he felt too fuzzy to react. “Yo, Jay-” Percy was tapping his nose with the blue pen. It wasn’t helping. Jason opened his mouth and tried to speak, and suddenly the duckling was hugging him. “Take a breath, Jason.”

“It’s Grady,” Jason managed to get out. Why was that his first thought? “It’s Grady, Ducky.”

Percy snorted, but he still seemed worried. Jason’s voice was cloudier than he wanted it to be. Why had this specific occurrence set him off? The League was okay with his actions—they encouraged them. Jags and Jasp were fine with it, what was so different? Jason wasn’t supposed to care. Not this much. 

Why did he feel so warm? It was like his stomach was burning, eating itself through with acid. 

“Cause you’re a duckling. Small,” Jason was just talking now, trying to ignore the fucking pain. It was in his head, his chest, his stomach. Percy was looking around. He zeroed in on Jason’s drink—the coke—and took a sip. Jason tried to think about that. His head hadn’t been so airy earlier.

Percy swore, shortly, and called the waiter over. He pointed to the drink, and the waiter nodded. Jason watched, their movements blurry. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but both looked panicked. The waiter ran back to the kitchen, coming back with as shot glass of water that had an almost silver tint. Percy took it, and brought it up to Jason’s mouth.

Jason wasn’t a child, he didn’t need to have something pushed down his throat. He was a thought short of being aware that he didn’t know what was in the liquid he drank, but once he got it down the burning stopped. He could hear better now. The waiter was talking to a worried Percy. 

“He’ll need to rest, that… that was really dangerous. It’s lucky that you figured out so quickly; you know what it does to them.”

Percy nodded, quickly. The space in Jason’s head was starting to fill up. The words they were speaking were slipping away, though, and he was losing grasp of the conversation as it was happening. He knew he should pay attention, it was clearly about him, but Jason couldn’t find the strength to focus. 

“Yeah, they told me. What was that you gave him?”

The waiter glanced at Jason, and then at the empty shot glass beside him. 

“Watered-down mercury. The antidote is poison.”

Percy grimaced. “That’s poetic.”

Percy walked Jason home, and Jason wanted to tell him how dangerous that was. But people avoided them, and they got back to the apartment easily. Percy glanced between the elevator and the stairs, then at Jason. He frowned, then walked to the stairs. Jason figured that is was only muscle memory that got him up them, but he was grateful that Percy didn’t stuff him into the elevator. 

Percy closed the door to the apartment behind them and then left Jason in the living room as he tore through the house. The kid came back after a minute, talking to someone on the phone. It wasn’t Jagger, Jason noticed; the voice was younger. 

Jason was gently prodded into his room, and he passed out on his bed. 

It was dark, soothingly so.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Chapter Text

It was quiet, and Jason’s head throbbed. He tried to sit up, but every part of him hurt. It wasn’t a dull, bruised pain, but the burning sensation of being sore. Jason could remember hazy, green-soaked dreams. Nightmares, mainly. The shade of green changed. Sometimes it was radioactive, bubbling, dreams of floating and drowning in acid. Clown green, blows to the head and chest and back and what hurts more, A or B?

He strained, shifting upwards onto the headboard. Sitting up, Jason could see more than the ceiling. He was still dressed, everything but shoes. That meant— Jason drew his knife, too weak to get all the way up and check the house.  It would have to suffice. What happened? Jason remembers panicked conversations and a shot glass of something silver. He remembers Percy leaving him for a second and ducking into an alley, but only a little. That might have been an anxiety dream. He remembers Percy bringing him up the stairs, finding his room. Jason doesn’t remember falling asleep. 

What time was it? How long had he slept? Jason fumbled around, searching for his phone. It was on the bedside table, and his jacket was hung on the back of a chair. 

12:49, August 27th. 

Jason had been asleep for two days. He’d missed two more days. Two days of getting the kid ready for school, two days of patrol, two days of-

Jason had some sort of complex when it came to sleep. He’d had it since the streets, a nagging feeling of don’t fall in, don’t let down your guard. He’d had it in That Time, a whisper of how can you help if you’re unaware, resting like a coward? The problem got worse after Death. It was bad, when he found out he’d been under for six months. The League made sure he was never fully resting, that he was always on edge. It helped, but he knew he needed to sleep. It was evident in dark eye bags and lethargic movements when he was around the 79-hour mark. 

Jason had missed two days. 

Those days might not have been so important if he didn’t have someone relying on him. It would have scared Jason, yes, but he wouldn’t feel so much guilt. 

Jason struggled to pull out of the horror. He swept a gaze over his room, trying to find things that might have changed. Jacket on chair, extra blanket, water bottle on table: still cold, by the looks of it. Condensation on the outer plastic. 

Percy had brought that recently. Jason reached for it, grimacing when the moisture from the outside of the bottle hit his hand. He doesn’t know why he hates it so much, but he does.

Jason was parched. His throat as dry, his tongue felt coated in sand, and breathing made his lungs scream. 

What the hell did he drink?

Jason managed to swing his legs over the side of the bed. He used the headboard to push onto his feet, then for balance when he struggled to stay upright. It was pitiful. 

Jason hadn’t been sick since the Pit, even when they’d injected him with poison or knock-outs. He’d hated every second of it, but he was glad to know that nothing would work. He’d been glad to know that nothing could render him incapacitated, or stick him in an addictive cycle. He hadn’t noticed that the Pit itself did that.

The doorknob turned just as Jason’s vision went spotted. Percy was standing there, arms crossed. He had an exasperated look on his face.

“I really shouldn’t be mad at you, but please sit down. You almost died.”

Jason winced. He let himself fall back onto the bed, and Percy relaxed a little. His phone was in his hand, and he had messages. Jason didn’t know who the contacts were, everyone had an odd name. Someone’s was just scrambled letters. Another was a clover. 

Jason snapped his attention back to Percy. The kid was talking, rambling about what happened. He told Jason that it had just been a misunderstanding, a mistake. An odd chemical in the machine that Jason must be allergic to. He said that they’d cleaned out the machine and righted it, that it was good they’d had an EpiPen nearby; the hostess was allergic to near-everything. 

Jason hadn’t remembered a needle, but Percy was reading truth, and Jason tried to remember what Talia had told him:

We can’t fix everything, you must understand. We can fix wounds and malnutrition, but there are some things—difficulties in the genes and the mind—that cannot be altered. 

She’d said that, and then smiled widely. It was followed by a sharp cut to his shoulder with a poisoned knife. Jason, now younger, now fourteen, had slipped into thought and gotten distracted. He forgot quickly after, then the pain took over his system. 

“Do you know what the chemical was?” Jason asked, and Percy frowned. 

“Something dangerous.”

Jason nodded. Percy grabbed a discarded blanket and draped it over Jason, careful. 

“You’re gonna need to rest,” the kid had to be kidding. Did he think Jason was going to lose more time for something so idiotic as recovery? Jason tried to get up again, scratchy sheets rustling --because Jason couldn’t handle soft, soft was like down there, surrounded and six feet under-- Percy sighed. “How ‘bout this? You sit here and get better, because that stuff’s still in your body, and you can read to me.”

Jason wondered how Percy knew that would be adequate leverage. The kid gestured to his worn bookshelves, and Jason understood. 

“So give me a book. I’ll grab it.”

Jason decided on Much Ado About Nothing. He wanted to start Percy on a more positive, lighthearted Shakespearean work. The kid got up and grabbed it--a thin, pink booklet with a woman leaning out of a tower to meet a man climbing it. It was cartoonish, but that was probably a good thing. Jason opened it and read out the cast list, stopping periodically when Percy needed clarification on wait, so the Hero is in love with a girl named Hero?

“Wait, Don John’s follower? That sounds kinda cultish,” Percy said, and Jason shrugged. 

“Royalty was weird at the time, kid. It’s like how Don John was illegitimate, so he didn’t get all the things his half-brother did, that’s why he’s so jealous.”

Percy nodded, and nestled in closer to rest his cheek on Jason’s shoulder. The Duckling didn’t fall asleep, though, and by the end of Scene 2, Act 1, he was an active participant in the discussion on the meaning of certain lines. 

Sometimes Jason got sad, Before. He hadn’t been sad for a legitimate reason since the pit, but this felt like one. Percy was eager to learn. Hell; he soaked up any knowledge Jason gave him.The problem lied in Percy’s self-doubt. Jason didn’t know if too many people had said too many cruel things, or if Percy’s internal monologue beat him down too, or if it was just the Dyslexia that messed up his intake, but Percy seemed to think he was stupid. The kid had had an intellectual conversation with Jason on shakespearean comedy, not batting an eye at the formidable language or culture differences. Percy was a polyglot, too. He knew baking, and he knew bartering, and he was hardly scared of anything.   

And so they talked, and Jason read, and eventually he forgot about how anxious he was for missing two days; they conversed as though he hadn’t at all. Jason was concerned, though, because it wasn’t as though there was someone else in the house that could take care of him white Jason was out. 

“Has someone been watching you?” Jason asked, putting Much Ado About Nothing on his bedside table. Percy just shrugged, sitting cross-legged on the bed. 

“I’m okay at taking care of myself, you know. I ate enough, I did whatever schoolwork I could, yada yada yada,” Jason gave Percy a suspicious look, and the kid shrugged again. “I take care of myself a lot, I went to boarding schools for a long time.”

There was something else in how the kid said I take care of myself a lot, but Jason let it slide. 

Percy pulled out a laptop—Jason’s laptop, which contained some very questionable information—and set it at their feet.

For example, I found some movies to watch while you’re recovering,” Percy typed in Jason’s passcode—M@nsf!eldP@rk—and forwent the locks. The only person that knew his passcode was Anton, his stats guy. That meant that either Jags or Jasp knew his passcode now (terrifying) or that Percy had been networking with his underlings (soul-wrecking.)

The kid bypassed his Padlet plotting for taking down Black Mask’s trafficking ring, and then opened Peacock. Someone had set up an account for them. Jason’s profile  said Riding Hood and had a photo of Red from their new Brothers Grimm Reimagined series. Percy’s was just labeled Percy; it had a base profile picture. 

Percy put on Hell’s Kitchen, and Jason settled down to watch. He almost made Percy go to the kid’s version, but decided that doing that might be insulting. 

Jason fell asleep before long. 

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Percy slid his metro card, bundled up in a thick leather jacket in Gotham’s grungy subway system. There was dirt everywhere, caked onto the walls and half-covering obscene graffiti. It was august, and cold, and Percy could see his breath clouding in front of him. Looking around, no one else was bothered. He was starting to sweat, the jacket he was wearing was insulated and Percy typically ran warm, so he wasn’t really affected by cold weather; he just got the chills. 

Today was his first day of school, and Percy was nervous. Not like a normal kid would be, because he was used to the song and dance, but there was still the steady itch under his skin. 

Percy still wasn’t done with his summer work. Ridgeland was apparently the type of place that assigned loads of coursework over the summer, and with Percy being newly-enrolled, he was behind. So here he was, standing and clutching a rail in a cramped, filthy subway on the way to New York, earbuds in his ear reading out Of Mice And Men and Red Bull in hand. 

The train hit a particularly bad thunk on the tracks, and a few unsuspecting people toppled. Percy held tight to his rail, wondering what they hit.

Ridgeland was a big school—two floors and several wings. The mascot was a black-and-blue panther, and it was displayed proudly on a banner proclaiming Welcome Back, Cats!

Percy had to check into the front desk, asking after his schedule and someone to show him around. The receptionist was nice, but she seemed miffed that he interrupted her. Percy wasn’t bothered, he got that a lot. 

The student-tour girl was a redhead—a bad sign already—and she seemed a little miffed too. Maybe tense was a better word. She was tense after giving him a once-over and seeing steel-toed combat boots and a leather jacket. 

Percy tried to give her a friendly smile, but he never had been really good with those. There was green paint on her shirt. 

“I’m Percy Penn,” he said, holding out a hand for her to shake. 

“Rachel,” she said, giving his hand a firm shake. “Rachel Dare.”

Chapter Text

Chiron said it was from the restlessness of the sea. Percy thought it was because people were assholes. It did get worse around bullies, primarily because bullies sucked ass and also pissed him off. Oh, he wasn’t doing so well on the language of that internal monologue. 

Anyways, Rachel was still looking back, eyes narrowed. Either at Percy or the dense fuck behind him, but probably both. Her attention slipped over Percy’s--now slightly tingling--shoulder.

“Perv,” she addressed, and then turned to Percy, who leaned back in his seat a little. “I don’t need you fighting to protect my honor. I’m a perfectly capable young woman.”

Percy shrugged. “You’re welcome to kick him in the balls later, but he was breathing in my face and I lost my temper.” The asshole himself heard Percy’s stupid excuse and prodded him in the back of the neck with his pencil. Percy, to his honor, didn’t flinch. 

The professor walked in, then. Percy felt the guy sitting behind him go ramrod straight in his chair. Maybe so someone could successfully pull the flagpole out of his ass? 

The professor was a somewhat plain-looking man, maybe in his early forties. He was wearing a collared shirt and slacks, with his hands held in a way almost similar to I just had to do it to em .

He walked to the front of the class and stood in front of the TV, taking a deep breath. The Asshole behind Percy interrupted the professor right before he was about to speak. 

“Brooklyn over here physically attacked me!” The prick said, leaning back in his seat. Percy clenched his fist, ignoring the way his knuckles were red. He was really starting to hate this guy. Harassment, bullying, disrespect… Percy made a note in the margin of the blue notebook on his desk and started to write down offenses. 

The professor up front exhaled hard, and his shoulders slumped. 

“My name is Paul, but you will call me Professor Blofis. I do not tolerate bullying in any way, shape, or form, and I am not afraid of sending you to admin,” the prof, Blowfish or something, stared right over Percy’s head. “Here’s the syllabus.”

And just like that, Percy was inconsequential. The asshole behind him didn’t get in trouble, but Percy didn’t either, and the first day of classes began. 

Eight classes a day, five days a week, for seven hours. 

First he had English with a few notable characters: Professor Blofis, Rachel, and the Asshole (otherwise known as Adrian Blake) and another girl named Cindy that managed to call Percy by his name, instead of some variation of /Brooklyn/. 

English class passed by quickly. Prof B gave a rundown of the semester, Percy got stabbed with a pencil in the back of the neck a total of nineteen times, and the  girl beside him, Cindy, drank three black coffees. She, at least, didn’t call him Brooklyn. 

The class ended with Percy getting called to the front, and the Asshole—Adrian Blake, as he introduced himself to Cindy—giving Percy a mocking smile. 

Blofis gave Percy a considering look, and Percy tried not to squirm. Last time he’d been singled out by a teacher, he’d vaporized her. Prof Blofis seemed like a decent fellow, it’d be a shame to-

“Why did you assault Adrian?”

“He was bothering me,” Percy said, “and he said something crude, and I don’t like bullies.”

The Prof crossed his legs, frowning again. 

 “And this was said while I was outside?”

“Yeah. Uhm, sorry,” Percy shifted on his feet again, glancing to the door. “But I have no clue how this school is laid out and I need to get to-” he checked his schedule, “212 A, Mrs. Sarcoma’s room?”

Professor B blinked and stood up, movements urgent. Percy took a step back, trying to be careful, but the Prof just apologized. 

“No, I’m sorry. It was inconsiderate of me to keep you, I’m sure you want to make a good impression on your teachers. A is the Admin hall, the main one. All two hundreds are on the second floor, and 212 is your next right and then three doors down to the left.”

Percy nodded, said thank you, and then slipped out the door. He followed the instructions Blofis gave him, but checked room numbers too to make sure he was getting it right. 

Percy’s next class was Latin. The teacher was a southern-sounding blonde woman by the name of Mrs. Monteith, who very clearly didn’t know Latin, and so Percy had to bite his tongue every other word so he didn’t correct her. Maybe he should mention that he’s fluent, so he can understand her cursing them out in improper syntax. She was treating Latin like a Germanic language. Eventually he just played it dumb and started talking in pig Latin-mixed with Spanish-mixed with Portuguese. Mrs Monteith didn’t notice; she congratulated him in being a ‘fast learner’ and Rachel gave her an incredulous look. 

The rest of his classes were largely unimportant.

Math was with the same people, pretty much, and Percy stopped correcting it when he was introduced as Brooklyn, or brooks, or Lynn, or Brookie, or something of the sorts—fuck them, honestly—and started filtering it out. Rachel seemed to warm up to him once she figured out he wasn’t going to punch anybody for no reason, and Cindy was nice. 

In Phys Ed, Percy downplayed his abilities and Asshole called him weak, and the teacher gave him a pitying look. 

Music Theory was fine; Percy found that he wasn’t almost-tone deaf anymore, and everyone stared at him when he tried to sing scales. Maybe Apollo didn’t hate him after all. Or he was just shit at it.

Study Hall was the most eventful of the uneventfuls. They had a milkshake/coffee bar in the study hall, and Percy tried to steer clear of sugar, but it didn’t really work. 

Percy had Science last, and the prof was some half-Italian lady. She was surprised that Percy could understand her. He was surprised that she wasn’t part of the mafia, but he asked again anyway. She wasn’t. 

Percy was going to Long Island today, because it was Monday and he was going to go on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays. Asshole Adrian pushed him on the way out; they had almost all of their classes together, except for Music Theory and Math. Percy wanted to know who did scheduling, and also who the god of prepubescent boy egos was. Just to talk, of course. 

Percy meandered to the subway station, appreciating positive graffiti and slipping into a pharmacy to get a coffee. He drank it on the subway, calmly trying not to bounce around with the excess caffeine. Why had he grabbed this again?

Percy got off of the subway to the side of NYC that banked Long Island and decided to swim the rest of the way and then around to Camp, which was his destination. He’d been collaborating a little with Annabeth, and they might do tactical strategy today. It’d most likely be like human checkers or something where Annabeth beat everyone.

Chiron pulled his mom aside when he got there, asking to talk. Percy shot a longing glance to the arena, but ended up following Chiron anyways. 

“Percy,” he said, voice only slightly horse-like around the rc . “I know this might be difficult, but I believe it is in our best interest to-”

“Observe Jason before telling him anything? Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that. I don’t want him to worry, one, but you have to promise to tell him if-” Percy faltered. “If something goes wrong and I can’t. And, like, he’s a vigilante crime lord in Gotham, so that could be an issue, you know? But also I care about everyone this could potentially affect and I don’t want to hurt anybody’s feelings, and-”

Percy was about to cry in front of Chiron . He sniffed and tried to ignore the burning in his eyes. “I just- I think I trust him, and I want to, but I don’t want to put anyone in danger, and I do trust you and Annabeth and Grover, and taking a side on this feels like betraying someone.”

Chiron pulled Percy into the best hug he could. 

Percy sniffed again. “I hate betrayals.”

Chiron released him and patted his shoulder. He looked tired; the kind that was bone-deep. “Me too, Percy Jackson. Me too.”

And with that, Chiron sent him off. 

He stayed till the sky started to darken. It wasn’t the best idea, at this point he’d have to walk through Gotham at night to get to crime alley, and then walk through that at night, alone. But by then the Red Hood would be out—unless he was waiting up—and Percy could always call for help. 

Percy grabbed his backpack and debated swimming to Gotham. 

Pro: he gets there sooner, which means he eats sooner.

Con: the water was really polluted. He’d have oil in his hair for weeks.

Percy grimaced and ran a hand through his hair. He’d take a granola bar or something from Annabeth. Grover was out right now, be he kept a stash of not-authorized, non-allergenic, eco-safe sourced, completely humane energy bars at camp. The nymphs even approved of it. 

They tasted good, too. 

Percy took the train back to Manhattan so that he could eat his little snack while he waited for the train. He got halfway through and decided to pocket it until he got to Gotham, because it was always a good thing to look busy when you were walking. Percy figured he’d act like he was calling someone too. 

He got off of the Helltrain to Gotham, and immediately swerved to avoid a group of drunk shady guys. Yeah, this city must be hell for monsters. Only ones around were the human kind. 

Percy came across a nymph being followed  by a guy in a tie, and promptly waved her down. 

“Ma’am? Are you alright?” He asked, because the business man seemed to be harassing her. She sighed. 

“I’m fine, it’s nothing I can’t handle,” she said, and knocked the guy out. When the woman stared down at her unconscious foe for a moment, Percy stepped forward. 

“Do you want something to eat? How long has this guy been-”

“Since I left my house,” she answered, disdain clear in her voice. “I hate men,”

And Percy nodded, because that’s typically the right answer to the statement, and also because some people were assholes. Annabeth told him she’d been catcalled before, and they were twelve .

“I’ve got a protein bar if you want it? It’s the l’Arbre kind? I think that’s just the word tree in French, but I might be messing up,” Percy dug through his backpack for the box of bars, but it wasn’t there. Someone must have nabbed it on the subway when he wasn’t looking. Instead, Percy took the half-eaten bar out of his pocket and offered it. “Sorry, I thought I had a box, but someone might have stolen it. I’ve got this left, you can have it if you want.”

The nymph in the green dress sighed.

Percy was a little confused, though, because her aura thing didn’t even read like she was myth, but almost that she was normal? Odd . 

The woman glanced down at his hand and took the bar, a small smile on her face. “You’re a good kid. What’s your name?”

Percy frowned a little. Should he give her his real one or his fake one? Everyone on the downlow world called him by his real one, but he didn’t know if she was one of them or not. 

“It’s Percy, ma’am. What’s yours?” Problem solved! No last name. Lastname-less Percy. 

The woman gave him a confused glance. “You don’t know?” Percy shook his head, and she shifted her weight. “My name is Pamela, I’m an advocate for women and the planet.”

“Wow,” Percy said, going to shake her hand. She pulled away and grimaced. Percy brushed it off and kept talking. “That must be difficult here, there aren’t many plants. I have a friend named Grover who’s an advocate for nature too, I’ve seen him punch people for littering. Did you know that I set a warehouse on fire three weeks ago because it was pumping discharge oil into the water? It was only a little property damage, just enough to put the company out of business, but it saved three square kilometers of clean water from being polluted, and that’s a lot of fish lives. Did you know that there’s a whale migration route that hits Gotham? They’ve been migrating here for hundreds of years, but in the past few decades, problems with the water are injuring the newborns. I’m going to camp out at the docks around the time that they’ll get there and convince them to hopefully change their migration paths a little. A group of whales is called a gam or a pod, but it should be called a harmony. Whale songs are really pretty.” Percy froze, coming out of his critique of whales and seeing the expression on Pamela’s face. 

“Oh, sorry! I’m just taking up your time.”

“Warehouse 27?” She asked, and Percy nodded. “I thought Croc did that?”

“He was there too. Apparently the oil’s been going to the sewers too, he was really upset about it. We’re friends now, I think.” Percy nodded, the movement almost regal. “There’s a certain bond in committing property damage with someone.”

Pamela almost seemed proud, and Percy felt a little proud of himself too. 

“Well, you’re my friend now, so he can find a new one. You’ve got my approval, Percy.”

Percy made a face. “Can’t I be friends with both of you?”

Pamela shook her head, “People around here are protective. I can’t risk someone hurting my new child-friend.”

Percy tilted his head some, frowning. He heard footsteps behind him, then, and he turned to see the what had Pamela’s eyes widening. Jason!

Or, well, Jason in full Red Hood getup. 

So, the Red Hood, essentially.

Chapter Text

So, the Red Hood, essentially.

There was a hand on his shoulder; it was undeniably Jason’s, even with armored gloves. Pamela reached out and pulled Percy behind her, and he perked around her side to see the stare-off between the two. Or, Pamela glaring at Red Hood. Jason-as-Red Hood was looking around her at Percy. It was clear even with the helmet because he was leaning his entire body over to see around. 

“Get away from my kid,” Jason-as-Red Hood ordered, and Pamela bristled. The bar’s wrapping crackled in her hand and granola fell onto the cracked road. 

This time, Jason-as-Red Hood addressed Percy. “Are you hurt? What happened?”

Percy stepped out from behind his new friend Pamela and lied. “I was not discussing private property damage. That did not happen-”

“You’re a horrible liar,” Pamela said, and Percy gave her a pointed look-glare. She laughed a little bit, and Jason-as-Red Hood relaxed, but only a bit. He turned to Percy’s new friend. 

“Please don’t be a bad influence. I’m trying not to get Ducks involved in crime.” Jason-as-Red Hood said, his voice discombobulated through the helmet’s voice interface. 

Pamela raised an eyebrow and put her hands on her hips. She looked between Percy and Jason-as-Red Hood. “Alright, well… a word of advice, keep a loose leash. I want to see what this one gets up to.”

Jason-as-Red Hood’s shoulders tensed, and he carefully gathered Percy closer to him. There was a beat of silence as they stared for real, and then Jason-as-Red Hood picked Percy up and tossed him over his shoulder. Percy called to Pamela as he was briskly carried away. 

“Bye Miss Pamela!” The green woman laughed a little again and waved to him.

Red Hood carried him all the way back to their apartment, which wasn’t too far, because they’d been on the street, standing outside of it.

Jason made dinner, Alfredo, and Percy helped him, but he seemed like he had something on his mind. They sat down, because they’d started to have dinner at 6:30 on the dot, and ate for a bit before talking. 

“How was your day?” Jason asked, and Percy smiled. 

“I had a great day! I met a girl named Rachel, and she’s nice, and a girl named Cindy, who’s also nice, and an asshole—sorry—named Adrian, but I punched him. And my Latin teacher doesn’t actually know Latin, which is a bummer, but at least I can do homework in that class! At camp we played chess and learned some Russian, which is weird, because they don’t have “the” that I know of yet, but some languages are like that? I want to learn Sanskrit.”

Jason seemed to buffer. “Sorry, you punched someone?”

:::

Percy, after Jason asked his question, found the wooden grain of the table interesting. Jason found his shoulders rising a little; who had pushed his duckling to violence? The kid had come face-to-face with Ivy and brushed it off like water. Percy shrugged, picking around his pasta. 

“He was a prick. He leaned over me and used my shoulder to hold himself up while he said a crude comment about Rachel at seven-thirty in the morning. He deserved a light punch,” Percy said, and then tilted his head in the way he did when he was thinking. “Rachel didn’t appreciate it, so I told her she could get him back later. I dunno, I made some flimsy excuse. It just- it reminded me of Gabe and- he was a prick, and he got what he deserved.”

Jason took a measured sip of his water. Percy watched him carefully. 

“I will reiterate: no kill lists, he deserves a black eye, not a bullet through the skull.”

Jason raised an eyebrow at his kid. “I don’t kill for fun, there’s a certain amount of high-level people in a specific combination that I incapacitated to create a small power vacuum and end up controlling 51% of Gotham’s mobs.” Jason saw Percy’s look. “And yeah, some people also got what they had coming to ‘em.”

Percy shrugged and kept eating. “Can you explain power vacuums to me?”

Jason could, but this was too good of an in to pass up. 

Ivy had implied that Percy wasn’t a normal kid. She could be referencing his impeccable character, but Jason couldn’t risk it without considering all the possibilities.

Of course, Jason’s first thought was she thinks he’s a meta.

Because that might be worst-case. Not Percy being a meta, but that the kid would have to deal with that scorn, with he discrimination that came with that title. People using it like a slur, finding ways to paint his kid as a villain. That was worst-case; Percy’s huge heart being taken advantage of by a world that hated metas. 

And Jason’s finally starting to work out some insecurities. With his childhood, some other shit too, probably, but also getting angrier at the Bat at the same time, because he loved this kid to the end of the world, and Jason thought he might just die again without the kid. Not before avenging him, after. Yikes, no time to unpack all of that. 

Anyways, there’s just certain shit he’d have to do to accommodate Percy’s powers, like a new security system, or getting them the fuck out of Gotham. Or moving up the timeline on busting that meta trafficking ring Black Mask was running. Hell, Jason would probably do that anyway. 

Also, there was a categorically low chance that Percy was meta. Really low. So it didn’t make sense that Jason should be so worried, so ready to pack up and move them to a safer safe house. Percy didn’t act meta, and they’d been in the same house for at least three weeks, and nothing inherently strange had happened. 

So Jason used a tiny little interrogation trick. One little one, for the good of his kid. Did normal brothers do this? 

“I don’t know if I can, kid. Are there things that you can do that you can’t explain, either?”

Percy seemed to consider this, fork swirling in his pasta and moving it around thoughtfully. He looked embarrassed when he answered.

“Uh-huh,” Percy said, frowning and furrowing his eyebrows. Jason tapped the table, going tense with nerves. “Fractions. I can do fractions, but I know nothing about how they work. Can you explain fractions to me?”

Jason let out a long breath and tried to explain fractions. It turned out that he couldn’t. 

He set Percy up with some math website. 

“Sorry Percy, but I’ve always been more of a literature guy,” Jason said, fiddling with the Hood. It probably was time to take the bomb out, now that Percy very clearly knew who he was. Had Jagger told him that too?

“Don’t you have to know fractions to graduate high school?”

Percy’s question was perfectly innocent, but… Jason couldn’t help tensing at the thought. Couldn’t help dipping—being pulled—into light green memories of English class and the shit rich school bullies said and that time he punched a kid in the jaw.

“Yeah,” Jason said, and Percy grimaced at the roughness in his voice. Jason’s throat was closing up. “You do have to know fractions.”

Jason took a deep breath, massaging his throat and pausing at the angry red scar. “I didn’t get to finish high school, though, bud. I got hurt and.. and I had to be homeschooled.”

Percy frowned, tilting his head at Jason, and nodded. Nodded like he could see through the lie, even though Jason knew he couldn’t. 

“Okay,” Percy hummed, and they looked at each other for a moment. “I know a really nice teacher that can help you get into college,” Percy said, and Jason wanted to believe that. He wanted to believe that but he knew from experience that twelve-year-olds held too much trust for authority and Percy could be inadvertently lying. 

“Sure thing, Kiddo,” Jason responded, feeling a little out of place. Hopeful. Jason crushed it; he had no time for that. “I’m gonna go out. You call Jagger if you need anything, okay? He’s legally obligated to do whatever you tell him to.”

Percy gave Jason a Look. 

“We both know that’s not true.”

Jason wondered who Percy had met that made him rational. It certainly wasn’t him. 

Jason exited via the roof. He’d been changing it up, now that they were stuck in one safe house. 

He beat up three sober men hauling around very drunk/drugged girls, shot a guy with a chain cornering an alley kid—shot him in the leg—completely ignored Ivy’s attack on an oil yard—besides for running into her and having a stare-off. It was very clear to the both of them that it wasn’t over crime, but he was sure Eddie Nygma had no clue. 

Or, he was. Until Ivy opened her stupid mouth.

“Hood over here thinks he has some claim over Half-Pint,” Ivy said, and Riddler huffed, shoulders dropping.

“Sorry?” Jason asked, suddenly aware of the new Robin watching them. What was he doing away from the Bat? “What the fuck is a half-pint?” He couldn’t let the fucker behind him know anything, and Ivy seemed to figure out what was happening. Riddler did not, bless his soul. 

“Clearly he doesn’t, if he doesn’t know the moniker,” Riddler told Ivy, and the woman face-palmed. 

Jason threw his hands up and walked away, leaving the conversation—and hopefully the child the green wanted to slaughter—behind. 

It did not work. The child was following him, and a violent, acidic green called him Pretender and offered up all the ways for Jason to hurt him. Jason shoved it aside. He was fucking tired of that color tonight, and from what he knew of the Pre-of the new Robin, the kid was only like.. a year older than Percy. Pitiful . 

He turned a corner into the bad side of the Narrows and kept walking. The little fucker was still trailing him. It was two PM. Didn’t he have curfew? 

After five more minutes of hearing almost-silent footsteps and breathing—which was getting heavier—Jason spun on his heel to confront the kid. The kid in the same colors he’d died in, who Jason had plans to break when he got out of the League. Who he’d been resolutely ignoring. 

“If you don’t go home I’m going to shoot you.”

The new Robin—just Robin, not new, not a pretender, because the suit had changed and that was just enough to keep Jason from seeing green. The Bat— Bruce —was endangering another child, even though Jason was proof of the consequences—stared at him. Just… stared. White eye lenses wide, shoulders slack and posture unguarded like he didn’t expect Jason to do anything. Jason checked the area again. Surely the Bat wouldn’t let a Robin alone after what happened, surely this kid was being protected, and this was an ambush. 

Nothing. 

“Go. Home . ” Jason barked, and the kid sprang back to the present. 

“You aren’t angry anymore,” Robin stated, like Jason wasn’t actively to his throat in green acid, about to go shoot Batman between the eyes for daring to let history repeat itself. 

“I’m damn pissed that you’re bothering me,” and this had a reaction. A reaction, but not the one Jason wanted. Robin took a step forward—what an idiot—and Jason very obviously put a hand on one of the guns on his thigh. It had rubbers. He was keeping those now, in case there was a kid involved and he didn’t want to expose them to death. He’d be livid if someone exposed Percy to bloodshed this early. 

Robin’s eyes flicked down to his gun. Jason could tell through the lenses; he’d worn them once. “You’re.. less angry now. Rates of violence in Park Row have gone down steadily since your appearance, but they’ve taken a drastic drop in the last two weeks. You’ve stopped shooting assholes with real bullets when kids are involved.”

Jason took a hand off his gun. It wasn’t doing anything, and the kid’s Bristol accent was pushing the green to his chin. Jason shoved it back down. 

“I don’t think you’re actually going to shoot me,” the kid said, and it was easy to think kid and forget Robin and focus on how young Robin was. A year older than Percy, who had admitted earlier that he couldn’t do fractions. “And not just ‘cause you’re less angry. Because.. because you’re good, and-“

“Kid,” Jason said, interrupting him, and Robin stopped, stood stock-still, and Jason felt a pang when he realized the kid was lopsided—his right leg was injured. The leg he’d been following Jason on for thirty minutes. “I am not good, I am a crim- what happened to your leg?”

Jason didn’t mean for it to slip out, but the mantra of just a child he was internally repeating broke the balance of anger and pity that was stopping him from killing Batman won when he noticed the injury.

The green came back with a fury when Robin stumbled back—eyes wide again—and told Jason not to worry about it. 

“No, you’ve been running around on a hurt leg all night, you can’t even stand straight. What happened?”

Robin—he could think that now, he could probably even say it out loud if his throat would comply—frowned. 

“Nothing happened, I just ripped some stitches from Penguin’s umbrella,” Robin said, and Jason resisted going to redo the fucking stitches or at least wrap the wound, disguising his lurch forward as pacing. 

“While you were trailing me?”

“During training.” The kid said, like that didn’t mean anything. Like he was fine with it, like Batman was oblivious. 

“The Bat didn’t notice?” Jason asked, suddenly aware that the only reason the kid should’ve been able to stay injured was if the world’s greatest detective didn’t know he’d injured his new kid. 

Robin seemed confused. Jason pinned him with a look. Did he not know how the bat was when it came to this shit? Did he not know that shouldn’t be possible? Jason was one thing—he’d done bad shit—but this was a child. A thirteen-year-old, just barely a teen. 

“Of course he noticed,” the Robin said, and Jason froze mid-step, foot coming down hard and making the kid jump. 

Batman— Bruce —had known. He had known that Robin—his child —had been majorly injured, gotten stitches, and then, what? Beat him up in training and left him to deal with broken stitches on patrol?

“Sorry?” Jason said, and the helmet couldn’t hide his voice crack. “He let you go out alone with ripped stitches, fully aware of the vulnerable state that put you in?”

Robin shrugged, as if it wasn’t a big deal, and Jason couldn’t—green, green everywhere, dark and shaded and sickly, tinged with streaks of blue and the splotch of crimson spreading on Robin’s green tights—Jason couldn’t do nothing. 

The green cleared, and Jason was looking down at Robin, who he was holding down by the chest. He sprung back, worried he’d gone and hurt the kid more , a vision of a Robin bleeding on the dirty ground of a warehouse.

They were in his house. Robin was sitting down on the couch, shaking, because Jason had probably kidnapped him and dragged him to some apartment in Crime Alley without a word. Jason was still wearing the hood, too, so he held his hands up to the kid in a placating manner, slowly bringing his hands down to unarm himself. 

——

Tim hadn’t meant for this to happen; he hadn’t meant to be detected by Notorious Crime Lord Red Hood—Tim was tailing him as a personal project; he really was getting less violent—and he certainly hadn’t meant to give away the ripped stitches on his leg, and he hadn’t meant to have a conversation with the Red Hood that pertained to him.

That was also confusing. Red Hood had sounded confounded and concerned and Tim was terrified. Not that the Red Hood would follow through on his threat to shoot him; Tim had seen him use that gun on a drunk earlier. It had rubber bullets. The Red Hood had also never raised a hand to a kid. 

Tim knew that that might not apply to him; most rouges that protect kids had beat Robin up. 

But Tim had not meant to end up in one of the Red Hood’s apartments.

 The apartment was nice, and even though Red Hood had dragged Tim with him while he made Robin a water, Tim didn’t trust any of it. Didn’t trust Red Hood’s shushing sound when he tried to call for help or sound an alarm. 

Or, he didn’t, until Robin saw unfinished sixth grade math homework sitting on the coffee table. 

And that was interesting . 

Robin gave the room another look around, seeing a kid’s roller skates in the corner and three pairs of small shoes by the door, and a blue hoodie slung over the couch, and an ABBA record on a shelf that held various Shakespearean, Austen, and Shelley works.

Tim lost focus of all of those things as Red Hood roughly pushed him onto the couch. Robotic movements further pointed to his theory that the Red Hood was a cyborg or an android. 

Suddenly, Red Hood jumped back. Away from Tim, from Robin, like he’s been burnt. 

“Shit, shit shit shit, this isn’t-” Red Hood took a few more steps back, and held his hands up to Tim like he’d hurt Robin. 

Slowly, oh so slowly, as if Tim was spooked, Red Hood took off every weapon on his belt and placed them in front of Tim. 

Robin could take one. A knife, something, even take his staff because Robin hadn’t been unarmed, and get out. 

Tim sat patiently on the couch, watching and waiting and rethinking his assessment of the Red Hood. 

“Okay,” Red Hood said, and it sounded like he was reaffirming himself. “Really gotta figure out how to stop doing that.”

“Doing what?” Robin asked, and kept his voice down, because there was a kid sleeping somewhere nearby. Red Hood didn’t answer his question.

“Stay here, I’m getting the first aid kit,” and then, apologetic even through the Hood, “and.. sorry for just— just kidnapping you. I wasn’t exactly thinking.”

Robin just bobbed his head, and Red Hood stared at him for a moment before nodding sharply and turning on his heel. 

Red Hood was back a moment later with a box with a Red Cross and little blue stars on it. He seemed momentarily stunned that Robin was still sitting quietly on the couch. 

Tim stared at Red Hood’s mask for a moment before startling and pulling off his shoe and then his pants to show the—admittedly, large—slice in his calve. 

“Fuck, Kiddo. Penguin got you good,” Red Hood muttered, staring at the pack of pain medication. He seemed to be debating whether or not to give Robin meds. That was fine. He knew he wouldn’t get out of this without some amount of pain, and the wound felt like it was on fire whenever he moved. Come to think of it, Tim didn’t think he had meds back at the Drake Manor anyway.

Tim wondered how being stitched up by a drug lord in said drug lord’s apartment became best case scenario. 

Delicately—like Batman handled guns—Red Hood picked up topical numbing paste. Words came out of Robin’s mouth before he could stop them.

“You don’t have to do that. I’ll be fine. You don’t have to do any of this, actually, I really he will be oka-”

Red Hood looked at him, and Robin could feel the glare through the hood. Maybe not a robot, then. That was a little disappointing. 

“Robi—” Red Hood’s voice broke a little. “Kid. I have a kid a year younger than you two rooms down. If I were your guardian, I would be worried that you were in a criminal’s apartment, more so if said criminal made you—a child—go through a particularly shit stitches replacement without meds.”

Tim blinked. Red Hood’s shoulders slumped. Robin stared at how Red Hood was cautiously holding the pain meds. 

“Okay,” Robin said, and the Red Hood relaxed. “But I can put it on, if you want me to.”

“I.. thanks, kid,” Red Hood said, and handed him the packaged ointment. Tim rubbed it in carefully, trying not to aggravate his wound more. He’d at least been able to take the broken stitches out after Bruce was done. 

He’d had a bad day today. It was his parents’ death day tomorrow. Tim would not be allowed into the Wayne Manor, but it was completely fine because he had no intention of going, if not to check up on Mr. Wayne. 

Red Hood did the stitches more carefully than Tim had ever done them; more carefully than maybe even Alfred had that one time. He had to take off his gloves to do it; revealing human hands. Just an ordinary crime lord that patched up wayward sidekicks in his living room. 

Red Hood started to express his expectations as he wrapped the new-stitched wound with clean bandages. 

“Please don’t tell your vigilante friends about this,” Red Hood said, and Tim but his tongue to stop Robin from telling Red Hood that technically he was a vigilante too. “I don’t want them staking out my apartment and my kid.”

Robin nodded. 

“You’re welcome to show back up or- or reach out if something like this happens again, as long as you tell me honestly how you got hurt.”

Robin nodded. 

Tim panicked. 

“Is Batman going to question about your fixed boo-boo?”

Robin shook his head. 

“He won’t. I don’t think he’ll notice, I won’t be around him the next few days, besides maybe if he requests me to help with something to do with the riddler.”

Red Hood paused, his hands stilling abruptly. 

“What do you mean, you won’t be around him? I thought that—” Red Hood’s voice faltered. “—That Batman and Robin were a Father-Son duo?”

Robin shrugged casually, but Tim grimaced. 

“Maybe in the past,” Robin explained, “I’m just his partner.”

“You don’t live in- with him?”

Robin snorted, and Tim worried if that gesture was too bold when Red Hood’s body language went Confused-hurt-worried. 

“He doesn’t like me much, funnily enough. I got a little to bold today with my words on the wrong day, and… he’s mad at me right now. I don’t know if I’ll be allowed to continue after tonight, actually. I hope I can, my job isn’t done yet.”

Red Hood seemed to be experiencing an error. Tim didn’t know why he’d let Robin give that much away. It definitely wasn’t true that Robin and Batman’s relationship was public knowledge, but the knowledge that they were fighting could inspire Red Hood to use him for a vendetta or something. 

Red Hood’s voice modifier wasn’t working well. Tim could hear the distress in his voice even without Robin. 

“That doesn’t… that doesn’t make sense . What could you have possibly said to make him kick you out?”

“I made a mistake. My- parents. They continued a trip they were on, and I made a comment about it to Batman. He didn’t react well, but I should’ve considered that before complaining to him. He was having a bad day.”

——

Jason checked the calendar in the corner from behind a fuzzy green rage. He was trying to push it away. 

This Robin claimed to be a partner, not a son, and.. and Bruce had kicked him out? Because the kid was sad about his folks around the time Bruce’s died? 

Jason remembers, badly, the day Bruce’s mom and dad died and how Jason hadn’t left his side all day. The affection Bruce had displayed. 

Ripped stitches. Ignored injuries. Abandonment. Withdrawn kid. 

Not a good picture. 

Jason thought that Batman was taking the toll of his death out on the wrong person. He wondered if killing the Joker would have been cathartic. Surely it would have been better than treating a child like this . 

Jason wanted to punch something. 

“He shouldn’t do that, you know. It’s not right.” Jason knew his voice was tense, that the emotion leaked through his helmet. Robin shrugged from where he was on the couch. It was supposed to seem careless, but Jason had done that once too. He knew the pain the kid hid in his motions. 

They sat in silence, staring each other down. 

“Thank you,” Robin said, “I’ll get out of your space now, and I won’t tell anyone.”

Jason walked him to the roof. 

“Don’t for get that I’m free to help you out, kid. No strings attached.”

Robin gave Jason one more meaningful glance before he jumped off of the edge. The green cleared away when Jason saw Robin catch himself with a well-placed grapple. 

Jason sighed, hands on his hips and a bloody bandage thrown over his shoulder. What was happening to him?

Chapter Text

Percy woke up, drowsy from a dream on fractions where Chiron explained fractions to him and then they played guerrilla chess. Percy didn’t know what guerrilla chess—or chess in general—was supposed to teach him, but Chiron said it was important, and last time that happened… well, maybe Percy was secretly half chess piece. That would sure be interesting. 

Congratulations, Percy! It’s time for you to get mauled by a Queen swinging her throne at you!

Er, the thinks that’s the rules? Annabeth had been explaining the Harry Potter books in excruciating detail for the last week. She was in her “fiction era,” apparently, and Percy, somehow, wanted her to go back to her nonfiction books. 

Percy took a shower and brushed his teeth, frowning at the first aid kit that was in his bathroom. Jason must’ve been really out of it last night if he got out the kid set. It wasn’t really a kid set, but it was red-cross certified, and it had little stickers on it. Jason’s was all black, and Percy didn’t know why he kept poison and a gun in his first aid kit, but that was Jason’s business. Percy should probably replace Jason’s exacto knife with… y’know, an actual scalpel. That seemed like a responsible decision.

Percy was a little touched that Jason had thought to grab stickers for Percy’s, because the one in the kitchen had gold stars, and Percy’s had blue stars. He was twelve, sure, but Percy had lost his shame somewhere between apologizing to a poodle and the Love Scarf Fiasco.

Percy pulled his favorite jacket off of the couch, putting it on his chair as he came up behind Jason and peeked around his side to see what breakfast was. Eggs, so Percy got out a pan and tried to help out. 

“Mm-mm. I’ve got this, P. You go make your lunch,” Jason shoved him away, and Percy smiled and started on his task. They did this same thing every morning: same routine, same words, same gestures. Both of them appreciated it. 

Percy ate his eggs, and Jason quizzed him on themes from The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe. Jason didn’t pass by the Christian allegories, even though he was atheist. He’d seemed a little nervous when he told Percy that, but Percy was “pagan” so it wasn’t like it altered his relationship. 

(Besides, if his dad was ignoring him, Percy could ignore him right back.)

“Did you get hurt last night?” Percy asked, between bites of breakfast. “The aid kit in my bathroom was out.”

Jason winced. Odd. Jason wasn’t normally squeamish about this type of thing. Not after Percy glued up a cut on his back Jason couldn’t reach. Percy’s explained the aid training they got at camp, and Jason promised to tell him if he got hurt. Most of the time it wasn’t anything important, nothing out-of-realm for a crime boss/vigilante and his pseudo-normal pseudo little brother. 

“No, Robi-.. Robin got hurt last night. He apparently ripped some stitches in his leg and Batman didn’t do anything. I took him back here to fix ‘em up. I mighta woken you for moral support if it wasn’t past your bedtime.”

Percy nodded. Jason always did struggle with talking about the duo, and Percy had some… theories. Theories that are practically proven, since he knew Jason’s name and he wasn’t actually an idiot. And that Bruce Wayne was the only guy that could afford Batman’s lifestyle and gadgets for as long as he had. 

Percy pulled on his shoes as he ran out the door, and Jason had to call him back so Percy would grab his backpack. It’s not his fault there’s nothing important in there! 

On second thought, both his lunch and the $5.00 he used to buy a $2.78 coffee at the Gotham Spoon were in that backpack, and his phone, and his second-and third-favorite pens. And the knife Hermes gave him, and the pocketknife Jason gave him, and Chiron’s backgammon piece that gave encoded messages-

So yeah, he needed that backpack. 

Percy made a mad dash to the Gotham Spoon, and the guy that worked the counter—his name was Johnathan, but 

 everyone called him Johnny—raised an eyebrow. Percy was three minutes behind. His always-coffee—regular?—was on the counter. Percy handed the Chem-double-jobber five bucks, and Johnny Crane wished him good luck for the day. Percy waved bye happily, if a bit anxious from being behind. 

Percy made the train just in time, and he didn’t get to sit in his normal seat because someone that didn’t normally ride the train was sitting there. Percy frowned; his day had been really disrupted. Aid kit, backpack, late, old man in his seat. 

Percy sighed and sat next to the sad old man. They didn’t talk. It was also disheartening; on Mondays and Thursdays a guy named Benji the modern-day Hippie sat next to him and they talked about music. Wednesdays, Miss Pamela rode with him to “ensure that he was safe.” On Friday and Tuesday, Selina the nice tire-slashing cat lady talked to him about all her cats and the mischief they got up to. 

Today was Tuesday, and Selina was sitting next to him, but she didn’t initiate the conversation like normal. 

“Miss Selina?” Percy asked, and she looked down at him. “How’re your cats?”

Selina shot him a smile. “They’re wonderful. How have you been, Mr. Penn?”

Percy’d made the mistake of introducing himself as Percy Penn, because he thought it was funny, and Miss Selina must’ve thought it was his last name. 

“Today has been absolutely horrid, Miss Selina. It’s all different than normal!” And Percy knew he was complaining, and that he’d been through much, much worse than being a few minutes late, but he was allowed to have bad days.

Miss Selina’s smile became conspiring. She reached into her bag and pulled something out. It was a cat. Percy should 

really expect this type of thing from her. 

Percy bit his tongue. He was really cutting back on bad jokes in front of Miss Selina. 

“This is Beans,” she said, and Percy fought back a smile. Miss Selina raised an eyebrow, and it was clear that Percy failed to hide his amusement. 

“So… the cat’s out of the bag. The Bean is spilled. Now what?”

Miss Selina smiled; she’d been doing that more often now, which was good. Percy always liked it when people smiled; and not the tense, awkward smiles that he used to get from teachers who thought he was troubled. That happened less often now too, because apparently the teachers not expecting Percy to be troubled raised their expectations. Teachers were a lot nicer and deserving of respect when they didn’t have a precursive expectation for Percy to be a bad kid.

Beans licked Percy’s hand and pushed her nose into his palm, and Percy scratched lightly behind her ear. Miss Selina was hiding laughter behind her hand, and Percy beamed at her. 

The subway came to a shuddering stop, and Miss Selina collected Beans. 

“Bye Penn, good luck at school!” She said, and the subway doors closed. Percy waved at her; it was fruitless, but that’s fine. The old man beside him stared into space, and Percy pulled out his history work. He did it quietly; no none else was talking.

He’d met Miss Selina outside of the subway one morning when she was trying to break the windows of a car to get an overheating orange tabby out. Percy had helped her break the window, and he’d been allowed to name the kitten. He named it Bertie, because Bertie is a fun name. Then Miss Selina had slashed the tires, and Percy broke another window. It was a fun little bonding experience, Miss Selina had said. They said their goodbyes as they neared the station, but soon realized that they were headed to the same place. Miss Selina was meeting someone in New York about a robbery, she told him over the ride. Percy started to suspect that she wasn’t going to be the victim of said robbery midway through the second week they sat together.

Eventually she showed up with a leather catsuit in her bag, and Percy just raised an eyebrow at her. Miss Selina shrugged. Percy hadn’t minded the robberies; the guy she was talking about robbing sounded like a twat. And not just because it was very clearly Bruce Wayne’s Manhattan apartment that she was robbing. Miss Selina didn’t name names, but—once again—Percy was not actually an idiot and he’d put together that it would be weird if Catwoman was dating Batman and Miss Selina—as Catwoman—was robbing not-Batman Bruce Wayne. 

Percy had a little mental box of everything he knew about everyone and all his little theories. Chiron and Annabeth had gotten a tad bit paranoid in their trust after Luke stole the lightning bolt and tried to kill him, and some of it was rubbing off on Percy. Percy’s box was big and shoved deep into mind-cavern. The mind-cavern, he imagined, was one of those underwater ones. This was so that only he could get to it—or someone with scuba gear, but he keeps his head free of scuba gear. It would be bad if the gremlins found that. 

Percy would never write the contents of his box down, because that would endanger lots of people. Anyway, here’s the a peek of the Box. 

1. Jason was probably the second Robin. 

• His name is Jason Peter Todd; who was Bruce Wayne’s second son. 

• This is proven further by Jason not liking to talk about Bruce Wayne. 

• Jason has a J carved into his face. So did Robin2.0. 

• Jason does not like talking about Robin/Batman. 

• Batman is Bruce Wayne (see #3) who is Jason’s old dad.

• Jason glares at traffic lights and that’s Robin’s colors. 

2. Miss Selina is Catwoman.

• cats

• Leather catsuit.

• Slashing tires. 

• “Penn, did you know that I’m Catwoman”- miss Selina

• Miss Selina has been seen with Bruce Wayne/Catwoman has been seen with Batman, both often doing various forms of PDA. (See #3)

• Miss Selina deserves better. 

3. Bruce Wayne is Batman. 

• Jason hates Batman. 

• Jason hates Bruce Wayne. 

• Jason refuses to buy Wayne Tech. 

• The Batman and Catwoman thing.

• Bruce Wayne’s ridiculous amount of publicity about how he is/isn’t batman. 

• Bruce Wayne being the only person rich enough to be Batman in both mental illness and wealth. 

• Many people are mentally ill in Gotham but none of them dress like bats. He’s really that much of an idiot. 
  
  

• Most Importantly: Annabeth says he’s Batman. She’s almost always right.

4. Chiron invented all tabletop games. 

• all of them. 

• he knows all of the history and all of the rules. 

• He can recite the rule books by memory. This is probably because he wrote them.

• Chiron literally lives to teach people things and if he didn’t invent All Tabletop Games he wouldn’t have enough things to teach. 

• The only one he didn’t invent was monopoly and that’s because he hates capitalism. 

• Chiron will occasionally buy a new game and read over the instructions, and then go over them with a red pen and correct the instructions like the professor he is. 

• Chiron knows everything there is to know about DnD and Sherlock and Three-Man-Chess and how to combine them and don’t let him start about it because you will miss dinner and breakfast the next morning. 

These are only the first four, of course. Percy has seventy-two mental scrapbooks in that box, and he updates it a lot. Some of them were a little outdated, like the four on Gabe and the seven on his mom. 

He skated through Midtown to get to school, leather messenger held against his side and an ABBA song blaring though his little blue headphones, smiling and waving too-big sleeves at the old man that always sat on his stool outside his townhouse. He’d called Percy a punk on their meeting-day, but Percy stopped to give him a cookie one day and they’d bonded. The old man had once been an Olympic swimmer! How cool was that? Percy had told him that he could hold his breath for ten minutes underwater, and then proved it and Mr. Quince had been impressed before he panicked and pulled Percy out of the water. 

Percy’s blue leather jacket swished behind him a little when he hopped off his skateboard and stalked up to Adrian Blake. 

Blake was backing a boy a little taller than him up against the grey lockers, and Percy  might normally think Blake was gonna finally get his ass handed to himself, but… as Percy got closer, he realized that he was backing a new kid up. Backing a special-ed kid up into a locker school. 

And oh, suddenly everything was a little too much. Percy could feel his bones crack in his fingers as he balled up his fists and he could hear the muscles in his shoulders tense. His shoelace was undone, which was fine a second ago, but it was not fine anymore. The words Blake was saying were blurred, and so was Percy’s snarky little joke and his fist when he gave Blake a black eye. And then another. 

Rachel pulled Percy off of Blake, and he shook his head, tried to clear it, and saw the whole hallway looking at him like he was feral. Who gave a shit? They watched Blake talk shit and push around a kid that might not be able to do anything to stop him and they’d just watched. 

Sometimes Percy wondered if Celestial Bronze worked on mortals that were monsters. 

Percy whirled around—after checking that Blake was retreating with his tail between his legs—and checked on his fellow student, who was staring at him wide-eyed. 

“Are you alright?” Percy asked, carefully. “Blake’s a bastar-bully, and I could tell he caught you off-guard.”

“Tyson,” Tyson held a hand out for Percy to shake, and Percy gladly obliged. Percy fucking hated Blake. 

“Percy,” Percy said, and Rachel waved to them, staring at Tyson. 

“I’m Rachel, who apparently needs to get new meds.”

Percy frowned at her; he knew Rachel sometimes hallucinated, and that her dad kept testing her for schizophrenia, but she’d never told him what she saw. 

“Do you need to take a skip?” Percy asked, and Tyson turned his attention to Percy. “I’ll cover Blofis for you, he’ll understand a mental break.”

Rachel pinned him with a stare. “Percy, you’re going to be off in in school suspension after that scene. I’ll be fine, I’ve done this shit before.”

Percy nodded dutifully at her and Rachel took Tyson’s hand and led him to whatever class he was in. Percy would check on him later, because Tyson might need somebody to keep him company. Percy just hoped that his ISS consisted of spending time helping out the special Ed class; it wasn’t like he hadn’t been in that class in previous schools. He always got along really well with the kids in those classes, they were the nicest of literally everyone everywhere. 

Percy proudly made his way to the principal’s office, happily waving to a sulking Blake. Jason would be here soon, and hopefully Chiron too. He’d put Chiron in as an emergency contact after his mom passed. Percy felt a sharp pang in his chest and tried to push the emotions away. 

He really had thought he was to the acceptance stage now, but Jason told him that gaslighting himself into being happy wouldn’t work forever. Jason had tried to act as a therapist, but it was obvious that he had some issues pertaining to his mom too, so they’d just cried together.

Anyway, Chiron was the first to show up, and he wheeled over in his wheelchair to check Percy over and send polite English-teacher glares to Blake that were carefully hidden under thousands of years’ worth of dealing with people bullying his kids. 

Blake’s parents show up next, both of them in business people suits and they fussed over Blake just the right amount before trying to bargain with the principal. 

Mr. Pareth almost seemed convinced at the donation of 9k that might keep the Blake’s precious son out of detention. At least, until Chiron’s perfected all of you are idiots but I’ll be nice voice was risen to the conversation. 

“Surely you don’t think that it’s the correct thing to do to take a bribe, Benjamin,” Chiron said, and everyone stilled. 

“Sorry, who’s the senile old man speaking for this delinquent?” Blake’s mother asked, and her voice was shrilly and made Percy’s ears ring. Still, he sat back in his chair and relaxed. Chiron was on his case, he’d already won. Not even Annabeth could tell Chiron no. 

Heavy boots signaled Jason’s entrance as Chiron’s voice filled the room. He sat next to Percy as Chiron spun a convincing argument on morality and playing your cards right and how to handle children, from his personal experience. 

——————

Jason was livid. 

Not at Percy; he could never be livid at his duckling. He was pissed at the prick that had been bullying Percy and now some other poor kid too? Percy was right to punch his teeth in. Jason didn’t have time to shower before getting to New York, so he smelled like blood when he stepped into the principal’s office.

That wasn’t his main concern. His main concern was the elderly man’s voice that was politely and confidently and almost condescendingly making a convincing case to Percy’s aid. He heard it before he stepped inside the office, and his eyes were watering as soon as he sat down next to Percy. 

Percy, who was relaxed like he’d already won. Jason willed the tears away and raised an eyebrow at Percy. The kid shrugged.

“Nobody says no to Chiron,” Percy said, and fuck, if that didn’t make a bullet go through his heart. 

‘Cause Jason was getting used to his new life, and getting past the old one, but shit if this Chiron guy didn’t remind him of Alfred. He’d assumed that the Camp Director was a spritely young man, not a capable, polite elder that could probably snap someone’s neck nicely.

The issue of who got what punishment was over quickly after Chiron started talking. Percy got off with what would be the equivalent of a self-defense charge, and the Adrian kid got what was essentially attempted murder. Chiron was good. 

Percy even got the day off; he was required to check on the kid he’d protected often, but Percy had seemed excited at the prospect. 

Jason blinked as Chiron turned to smile kindly at him when the meeting ended. It looked like Alfred’s, and Jason should really stop comparing the two. That couldn’t be good for his self-grieving process.

“You must be Mr. Grady Whitlock,” Chiron said, and Jason thought that this man’s parents named him well; a mythological teacher as the name of a wise old mentor?

Jason nodded, and reached out to shake Chiron’s hand. “And you must be Professor Brunner,” Jason responded. A strange type of mirth filled Chiron’s eyes, and they shined with it. 

“Dear Percy’s told me that you’re looking to enroll into college?” Chiron starts rolling down the hall, and Percy and Jason go to follow him. Jason shoots Percy a look, but Percy just shrugs. Chiron’s still talking, casual like he isn’t laying all of Jason’s dreams and his entire future in front of him. 

“I have influence with NYU and Juilliard as well, I believe that you would do wonderfully in both from what Percy has told me, but I think it would be best to get the facts from you,” Chiron hummed, and the sound of his wheelchair on school tile floors echoed across the hall. “Of course, we could also place you somewhere closer to your hometown, but I believe that NYU has more funding than Gotham University.”

“I don’t have any credentials or diplomas, Professor,” Jason tried to crush his feeble hope with the response, but the offended sound Chiron made had Jason nearly giddy. 

“You’re modest, Mr. Todd,” Chiron said, and Jason’s heart stopped. Again. “I think you’ve got plenty of credibility, and I’ve been teaching for longer than you think.”

Chiron stopped to match Jason’s halt, and turned his chair to face the teen. 

“I despise wasted potential, and I despise leaving struggling kids to suffocate.”

Jason was confident he wasn’t breathing. He’d told Percy his name, but by the kid’s face, he hadn’t told Brunner either. Was Jason going to need a new alias? Would Percy?

But Chiron was just smiling at him softly. “You must understand, Mr. Todd, that I would never do anything to harm you.”

Jason didn’t doubt him, against his better judgement. He didn’t think his subconscious worked like that, actually. 

But this was too much. It was all a little too much: Chiron Brunner acted too much like Alfred, and he knew way too much about Jason, and no one was supposed to know, why did he know-

Chiron was already starting down the hallway again. Percy tugged on Jason’s hand, and he allowed his kid to pull him along. 

Brunner was talking again, just a calm voice that rushed over the crowded-together worries in Jason’s head. The world was a little blurry, but he pulled himself back in time to hear Chiron’s last words. 

“I do hope you take my offer into consideration, Mr. Whitlock. Distinguished young men of your age and intelligence deserve good educations.”

Jason gave the man a hazy wave as he wheeled away, and he stared for a little too long at the retreating figure. Percy tugged on his hand again, and Jason looked down at his duckling, who had gotten bruised knuckles in a school fight. Jason felt like they should celebrate this; Percy’s first fight. 

Of course, he wouldn’t feel that was if it hadn’t been for the good, but that wasn’t the case. 

“Why don’t we go get ice cream?”

Chapter Text

Percy flew upwards, eyes going wide and his breathing heavy.

Darkness, darkness all around him and something soft under him and he was sitting up, sucking air into his lungs like they weren’t filled with saltwater anyways. 

The hum of the A/C brought him back to his body, and Percy squeezed his eyes shut and fell back onto his bed. Gods, he’d been sweating. 

Ughhh, now that he’d made himself aware of that, he couldn’t stand the slickness on his palms, grimy and not how water typically felt. 

That was some nightmare; wedding dresses and Grover and yelling and a storm, in that gauzy texture that was reserved to his more prophetic dreams. He didn’t know when Grover what put on a wedding dress, or why, but the very image of it made him a little queasy. Sure, Grover was some middle-aged thirty year old—older than even Jason—but he still looked like a kid. Percy fan his fingers over his sweater palms again, unbearable, and rose from his bed to wash his hands off with proper water, wondering what it meant. 

At least this dream didn’t include Luke?

Percy turned the faucet on, shoving his hands under cold water and scrubbing all the grimy sweat off. He stared in the mirror, tired and still half-asleep. 

Was there something on the fire escape? Percy squinted at the mirror like that would help with the long-distance, and noted that there was, indeed, a shadowed lump on his fire escape. A very large shadowed lump.

Percy frowned, rubbing his eyes. He glanced at the lump again, huffing when it hadn’t left. He weighed the pros and cons of investigating. 

Pros!

• he had a first aid kit!
• he was awake!
• he was able to help!

Cons!

• the many things that that could be
• the majority of these things wanted to kill/eat him
• he was in a bad mood and didn’t want to be nice
• this was gotham

Percy frowned at his deductions. After some time (anywhere from five seconds to thirty minutes,) Percy grabbed the handle of his Red Cross All-Inclusive First Aid Kit. It was medium and made for twenty-five people! Percy also pulled Riptide from his pajama pocket and held it in the hand he was going to use for opening the window. 

Percy undid the latch—ooh, dangerous! What would Annabeth say? Percy, go the fuck back to sleep! —and set his kit on the bedside table beside him. It was in plain sight of the lump, just in case the lump was one of the small-time criminals working for Jay. It wouldn’t do for one of them to catch anything scary about Percy, so he leaned out of the window and plastered a sleepy, friendly smile on his face. 

When two white eye lenses looked up at him, Percy let his smile drop.

Great. 

Why did he open the window again? To be nice? Percy feels like he doesn’t want to be nice. One second thought, Percy decides, that might be the best idea right now. The word on the street—or what he’s heard from Catwoman and Ms. Pamela—was that Batman was hunting the Red Hood. Still. Seriously, what an obsessive freak. Batman—and the vast majority of Gotham—didn’t know that Notorious, Violent Crime Lord Red Hood had a very small preteen in his house. The vast majority of Gotham would be very surprised to find this out.

Percy could work with this. 

“Oh my gods, dude ,” Percy said, layering on Jason’s thick jersey accent. “You can’t just pass out on somebody’s fire escape!”

Batman opened his mouth to say something, grimacing as Percy leaned a little closer, a little more uncomfortably into his personal space. Batman’s hand was wrapped around his upper waist—bloodstained fabric, an oval gap—he’d been stabbed. His other hand—his right, Batman was right handed—went up to his cowl, pressing a hidden button. 

“Negative, N,” Batman said, aiming another glance toward Percy, as if he was trying to be shifty. “Corner of 34th and 59th clear. Civilian housing.”

Percy wanted to smile; he’d done well. And he’d made the right decision by opening the window. Clearly, Batman was searching for Red Hood, and the appearance of a child threw him off. 

Percy rubbed his eyes again before pulling the Aid Kit onto the ledge with him, swinging his legs over the side. He tilted his head, made it look like he was smothering a yawn. “Ar’ya hurt?” Percy asked, blinking a fraction (He knew those now!) slower than normal. Batman shook his head, glancing down and away. Percy had made him much more uncomfortable than he’d aimed for, which was both bad and good, but at least Batman was leaving. 

Percy watched him go, just like any other kid might, and then looked left and right a little too fast for anything but show before slipping back inside and locking his window.

He slept well. 

::::::::::::::::

Percy woke up, took a shower, brushed his teeth, got dressed…he wore a camp shirt today, with his blue leather jacket and his favorite jeans and his boots. Jason made eggs for breakfast, because he was adamant that Percy needed protein with all of his meals. Percy didn’t mind. He liked any food he was given… and Jason cooked a lot . 

More in the last month than previously; they had an overwhelming amount of baked goods and homemade ice creams and pressure-sealed meals than ever. Jason was cleaning more than normal, doing more laundry than normal, coming home bloodied more than normal. 

Logically, Percy knew it was due to stress. Stress about the Red Hood, stress about Batman, stress about being tailed by Nightwing, stress about Robin—Percy had inferred that one. But these were typical; they were a price to pay for the non-civilian life. Percy worried about his friends, too, and about what Luke was going to do next. 

But it was like Percy said; those were normal stressors. So, the only logical conclusion was that Jason was worried about something else. Something entirely different. Like… hmm, when did the stress baking start?

Oh! After his first (real) fight with that one asshole at his school!

Was Jason worried about Percy starting fights at school? It was logical, it was reasonable… Percy would test it out. 

Oh, gods. Chiron’s training really was wearing off on him. He was going around using words like logical . 

What was the illogical reason? What would have been his first thought last year?

Jason had finished reading Macbeth to Percy and he was worried for Tempest? Jason was worried about college? They’d finished Hell’s Kitchen?

Ding ding ding!

College. Percy glanced back over at Jason, staring darkly at an admissions form. Huh, he was using his drug dealer glare. It was definitely worries about college. It seemed that he was struggling to put his name in the box. Percy wondered if Jason could pass college if he couldn’t spell his name. 

Jason’s brow furrowed, and he hunched further over his computer. Time for a distraction. Distraction, distraction, what could Percy use..?

“Batman passed out on my fire escape last night,” Percy blurted out, and immediately Jason’s head shot up. Warning lights went off in Percy’s head. He really hadn’t meant to say that. 

Jason’s eyes were green in the way Percy had come to associate with a count to twenty, a deep breath, and more cookies. That’s what happened, pretty much, but no cookies because Jason didn’t let him have straight sugar this early in the morning. Also because it was Saturday, and Jason knew he was going to have more sugar than normal anyway, and also because Percy typically had too much unused energy when he ate sugar. 

Whatever. Jason shut his eyes, breathed in for four counts, out for thirteen. He ran a hand through his hair, dragging it down his face when he opened his eyes again. They were less green, but still a little jade-colored. Percy shot him a winning smile; not the cocky, arrogant, troublemaking one he reserved for assholes like Ares, but his more cheerful one that he’d used on a scared six-year-old yesterday who’d just showed up at camp. 

“Don’t worry! He didn’t expect to see me and thought this was civilian housing,” Percy said, nibbling on his bacon. “He won’ be back any time soon.”

Jason’s face was a little crumpled, and he clenched and unclenched his hand a few times. He stared at Percy sadly for a bit before speaking. “I don’t want to seem patronizing, Ducky, but.. it really isn’t safe for you to interact with him—” Before Percy could cut in and say that he really had handled it well, Jason was talking in the inflection he did when he felt guilty. “It’s not your job, either, P. I know I tend to treat you more like an equal than a kid, and yes,” Jason held a had up to stop Percy from protesting, “I know you prefer that, but it’s my job to keep you safe from assholes like that bat furry, okay?”

Percy frowned. He’d done well! And Jason couldn’t always keep him safe; Jason hardly knew how often Percy was in danger! Jay’s lessons on how to throw a punch couldn’t protect him from hellhounds, not always. Besides! Percy was used to taking care of adults sometimes, like when Gabe had been blind drunk or hungover and Percy had to get him water or Tylenol. Not that he’d wanted to. It was just the decent thing to do, his mom said. He had to keep older kids safe, sometimes, like during Capture the Flag or training tournaments. It was why Clarisse kept beating him. 

Jason must’ve seen his turmoil, because he put a hand on Percy’s shoulder and looked him in the eyes. “You did good, Ducks, but ya gotta understand that you should come to me if you’re in too deep, okay?”

Percy nodded, as if agreeing that he could ever be in too deep of anything wasn’t a lie. He’d been to the underworld, how much deeper can you go? Jason seemed satisfied, at least, because they’d had the “I’ll always come when you call,” talk about twenty-seven times now. It was usually paired with the “please let me know if you’re going to do something dangerous in advance so that I can be prepared,” talk. Percy appreciated the effort. He should really talk to Chiron again about telling Jason what his life was like; his dad wasn’t answering any of his prayers about it. Maybe he was just really damn salty about Percy having another positive male figure in his life. Fucking loser. 

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Jason clearly wanted to grill him on his interaction with Gotham’s Bat, but he was holding himself back. 

“I’m gonna go to the park with Rachel today,” Percy said, “And then probably get coffee with Annabeth, she’s in her deranged villain phase right now.”

Jason nodded, stiffly, but his shoulders dropped like he was relieved. “They’re coming to Gotham?” There was something a little hesitant in his voice—Percy had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. 

“They’ll be fine, Jace. I’m from New York too, you know,” he said, finishing off his bacon. 

Jason got an inquisitive look on his face, his eyebrows furrowing. “Yeah, I guess. Where are you from? It wasn’t on your file, and your accent is… wonky.”

Percy hummed. Jason hadn’t searched or interrogated him about his past much, but Percy knew how much he hated not knowing things. Still… the neighborhood he was from back home? It was really all they could afford on a minimum wage salary, and with his schooling and Bastard Gabe’s gambling—it wasn’t very respectable. 

Percy ducked his head a little, grimacing when Jason caught the movement. “Some of the worst parts of Brooklyn, actually. Uh, it might be part of why I acclimated to Gotham so quickly.”

Jason cleared his throat from the other side of the table. Percy shifted in his seat a little. “I’m surprised you didn’t know, actually.”

A hand fell on his shoulder, Jason’s attempt to be physically reassuring. He always was better with words; percy didn’t know how he got the shoot first reputation. “Kiddo, don’t you worry about me ever being rude about where you come from, yeah? I’m from Park Row, after all.”

Percy smiled a little, and Jason ruffled his hair. This, Percy thought, was the perfect time to ask Jason about his college search. After a slightly diffusing question. 

“Why is there a gun on the coffee table, Jason?”

Jason glanced back into the den area, his lips pulling back in a wince when he noticed the .9mm sitting plainly on the coffee table. He’d probably set it there after his meeting last night.  

Jason got up to put the handgun in his weaponry closet, shooting (ehe) Percy an apologetic smile on his way back to the table. Percy glanced down at the printed résumé on the table, knowing Jason caught him doing it. “Have you decided whether you’re gonna go to college yet?” Percy asked it without inflection, without putting any opinion in the question; he wanted to hear Jason’s honest thought. 

“I.. I don’t know. I wanted to, when I was little, but. It just doesn’t seem real .”

So today was a vulnerable with emotions day. It was probably their conversation about where they were from that spurred it on. That, or Jason received another angry confrontation from his estranged brother last night. Percy hoped Jason would have told him that, even if it was a little hypocritical. Jason didn’t even know Percy knew how to hold a knife. Jason didn’t let Percy cut things in the kitchen. 

“Do you want to go to college?” Percy asked, and Jason shot him a glance. He knew what Percy was up to. Still, he tugged on his silly little white streak and exhaled. Jason looked really young, all of the sudden.  

“Yeah,” Jason said, whispered like it was some blackmail-worthy secret. “I think I do.”

Percy did roll his eyes this time, picking up his plate and elbowing Jason on his way to clean it off. “Then why are you hesitating?”

Jason picked at the hem of his tank top. He hunched in on himself a little, even if he couldn’t really do much to look smaller. “I have an entire criminal empire to run, I’ve got you to take care of, and- I mean..”

Jason made a frustrated sound, taking Percy’s half-clean plate and furiously scrubbing all the imperfections away. Percy watched him carefully, waiting for his—older brother?—to finish his train of thought.

“Do I really deserve it?” Jason asked, and wiped at the red scar on his neck with a wet hand. His voice was wrecked, his eyes a little bluer than normal. He didn’t look down at Percy. Didn’t see his absolutely flabbergasted stare. 

Percy wanted to yell at Jason. None of his reasoning made any sense; the Red Hood was the figurehead of his criminal empire, Jagger and Jasper ran everything. Percy could take care of himself, it wasn’t like he hadn’t had it worse. It wasn’t like he needed Jason around 24/7. And- and of course Jason deserved to get an education; he was talking all bad about himself like he hadn’t taken down a trafficking ring two weeks ago. He was talking bad about himself like he didn’t read Northanger Abbey and Lord of the Rings to Percy in his free time. 

Jason’s eyes flicked down to Percy, then back at the sponge grasped in his hand. “I’ve killed people, Ducks. Don’ look at me like that.”

Percy couldn’t resist the urge to scoff. Jason’s shoulders rose. “Okay, and? I had an instrumental role in the murder of my stepfather, and you still think I deserve an education, right?”

There was a shifting sound, Jason leaning a little closer, bracing himself on the counter. “That’s. That’s different, Percy. He was an asshole, and- it’s not like you actually killed him.”

Percy blinked, stared up at Jason until he looked back down. “Apply for college. Take the classes. Chiron wouldn’t help you if he didn’t think you were good enough for it.” Percy knocked Jason on the shoulder. “An’ I wouldn’t tell you to do it if I didn’t think it’d be good for you.”

Jason’s fingers tightened around the plate, white at the tips. He exhaled, long and through his nose, but made a shaky nod. “Okay. Yeah, okay,” Jason said, no more than a whisper. “I’ll fill in the applications.”

Percy grinned, bumped Jason with his shoulder, and then pushed him towards the breakfast table to do his applications. Percy put his plate up to dry, then cleaned off Jason’s, even though Jay really only ate eggs. He had another strip of bacon before putting that away.

Percy patted Jason on the shoulder as he went to put on his shoes. Jason was hunched over his computer, typing rapidly. 

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Jason reread his admissions essay, one of those what sets you apart from other applicants? Questions, following along with Grady Whitlock’s life story. Mother died of cancer, deadbeat dad, raising his little brother on a salary from working in a bookstore and what was left over from their mother’s funds. A passion for baking, pulling himself out of a fighting ring he’d joined to pay for his mother’s cancer treatment. 

Damn, he thought, Grady Whitlock was a good person . Jason laughed a little, shaking his head at the computer. He summed up his essay, fixing the three grammatical mistakes he’d made, ensuring that putting in the professor’s recommendation letter. 

Jason hit submit, pulling on his hair when the thank you from Columbia University screen popped up. 

God, what was he getting himself into?

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