Chapter Text
“How late am I?”
Jason looked up from his phone. Annie’s Diner was a quiet spot for a luncheon, damn near abandoned most times except when a local visits for a bite of nostalgia. Percy collapsed into the booth in front of him, a disorganized sprawl of limbs and ill-fitting clothes. He wrinkled his nose, catching the lingering scent of the sea.
“Wasn’t timing you,” he said though he’d counted thirteen minutes since his plus-one was supposed to arrive.
“Have you ordered yet?”
Given a moment to take in the other, Percy Jackson looked especially unkept, hyper even, almost maniac; a sugar rush on top of a dopamine high.
“Yeah, but they got my usual order so…feel free to take your time.”
“Got any suggestions?” he asked, eyes going over the laminated menu without truly reading a single entry.
“Everything here’s pretty good. Except the personal pizza and clam chowder. Both come from a box.”
“Clam chowder in a box?” the other joked before putting down the menu and waving for Loretta to come take his order. “I’ll take a double cheese burger with onion rings, please.”
“Onion rings don’t come as a side,” Loretta, the waitress who’d been bustling tables here since Jason was leaning his ABC’s.
“Oh. Got curly fries then?”
“Nope. We got fries with ketchup and we got fries with ranch. Which one will it be?”
“You got hot sauce at least?”
Loretta and Jason glanced at each other before the older woman rolled her eyes before making note on her pad, “One double cheese with ketchup and hot sauce. You want a drink with that, hun’?”
“Coke, if you got it.” Jackson looked a little sheepish.
“We got it,” she said before striding away from their table.
Jason took a moment to get a read on Jackson; his wide eye expression, the excitable flush on his cheeks, the way he couldn’t sit still, snuggling into his seat like there was a cushion spring right under his ass but he was determined to get comfortable.
“Are you high?”
He giggled maniacally.
“Me? Oh, no, can’t stand the stuff,” well, now that Jason was looking a little closer, the dock worker’s green eyes were much more aware, much more vibrant than usual, “but, uh, I’m just, you know, happy—I guess. Feelin’ good. Visited a friend of mine in Uptown and it went great.”
Something squirmed in the pit of his stomach. Jason locked down the sensation, refusing to analyze it as he studied Jackson. Happy flush. Sparkles in his eyes. Being so fuckin’ smiley at him.
“Are you and she…” he trailed off. He didn’t have to finish his question because the other picked up what he was putting down.
“Oh, ew, no! Gods, no, she's way older than me and my dad’s ex-girlfriend—wait, that sounds really strange, that I’m friends with my dad’s ex but she’s pretty cool. Gave me helpful advice and shit.”
The squirmy feeling in his gut went away. Red Hood took note to analyse the strange reaction later and he put that note at the very bottom of his immediate concerns.
“That’s cool,” he said, leaning back against the plush seat of the diner booth, relaxing finally. “Can’t imagine getting along with any of my dad’s ex’s.”
“There’ve been a few?” Jackson asked, just before Loretta came around with their drinks.
Coca Cola for the New Yorker and Jason always ordered the root beer at Annie’s Diner. It was from a brand with an old school recipe, the good stuff rumored to be made with columbian sugar.
“One was a jewel thief,” he said, chuckling at the other’s expression of disbelief, “Oh man, you should’ve seen the look on the Ol’ Man’s face after a party; sporting new jewelry she never owned and teasing how she’d been his arm candy all night and he’d never even notice his own pockets filling with diamonds and rubies.”
“Damn,” Jackson uttered with no little respect in his voice. “That’s…big league stuff. I’ve got a friend who can hotwire a car in under thirty seconds and another who can just…charm the White House right out of the President’s hands.”
“You got one more,” he said with a smirk, scar pulling at his lip the way he knew looked menacing. “A friend who could steal the tires off the Batmobile.”
The other didn’t react, not even comprehending the string of words uttered in that order and when it finally clicked, his entire face transformed, that rare light in his eyes now because of Jason.
“No fuckin’ way,” Jackson said in a whisper, as if the Bat would overhear their conversation and swoop in, “For real? Stop playin’.”
“I ain’t playin’,” Jason promised, taking a sip of his rootbeer, “Managed to take off all four of his wheels before the Bat came back around but what was I supposed to do? It’s just a car, and Batman was stupid enough not to bolt down every inch of his ride before I got to it.”
Percy laughed.
One of those laughs that threw his head back, the entire expanse of his neck in obscene display, his head rolling against the seat backing as his entire frame shook with outrageous joy. It was a good look on him. Made Percy less of a gladiatorial jackass and more like…ugh, he could only think of that one quote–
“Unconsciously he defines for me the lines of…all the passion of the romantic spirit, all the perfection of the spirit that is Greek.”1
He couldn’t think of anything else. Like a song stuck in repeat in his head before he could get it out. The little mental note he’d left for himself seemed a little more important now.
“Here we go!” announced Loretta, “One double cheese burger and one chili cheese hashbrowns with bacon chips. I got your hot sauce right here in my pocket and your side order of cucumber salad is ready for your desert.”
Percy stared at Jason’s plate in shock, not even looking down at his own burger currently melting cheese and grease on top his fries when there was a lake of chili supposedly on a bed of hashbrowns with nacho cheese slathered over, whole slices of bacon acting as a garnish.
“Holy Hades, that was on the menu?” he asked, tilting himself in his seat as if he could catch a better angle.
“Yeah, there’s a couple of other heart-attack-inducing options, but I’m one of Loretta’s favorites so they make it extra special for me.”
“I should’ve asked for chili cheese fries!” Percy revolted, upset at the lost opportunity.
“You could’ve,” Jason agreed, now asking a question that he’d thought before, “Did you not see it on the menu?”
Jackson’s face twitched, his astonished expression at war with something that looked embarrassed-ashamed and impassive. He said, “I’m dyslexic and ADHD so the neuro soup of my brain just…it’s better if I just ask for something I know is already on the menu—like a cheese burger in an American diner—than to trip over every word because the letters keep switching.”
“Oh,” he couldn’t help his own response even though he really shouldn’t be so surprised. ADHD and dyslexia weren’t exactly rare conditions, though they must’ve made Percy’s formative years hell to go through. Huh, that actually might explain the other man’s impressive student records. “Isn’t there education programs in New York to help with that?”
“I was an IEP kid,” Percy admitted, picking up his own burger to start eating, “But I was always getting into trouble and alot of my teachers thought that I’d be better off being taught to behave than to read in serif fonts and write without the letters flying away from me.”
He took a bite, leaving Jason to just sit there with an uncomfortable feeling in his chest. This emotion he knew well.
It pissed him off. Percy Jackson was just one of the thousands of kids Jason knew who grew up in a system that failed him. One of many, not even a special case, but a symptom of a much larger conspiracy against kids who didn’t make the cut.
Jason Todd had seen both worlds. He’d been enrolled within the Gotham’s public school system and no matter how little they tried to keep track of him, a boy from Crime Alley wasn’t a high priority. When he’d been taken in by Bruce and enrolled into Gotham Academy, it’d been…a different experience than he thought Bruce and Alfred wanted for him. Kids are nothing more than perpetrators of the cultures that raised them and no matter how sophisticated Gotham Elites pretended to be, when scummy Jason took up a seat in ‘their’ Academy, they damn near rioted.
Percy…every kid deserved an education. They deserve the help they need and then some. How many kids did Jason know that fell through the cracks? How many of them smoke crack? Sold crack. Stuck in a cycle inherited by just being a street kid. How many of them are in prison? Are dead? Did Percy drop out of university because he struggled with the course work? Did he sign on as a Camp Counselor because he had nowhere else to go? Is he a dockworker in Gotham because there was nothing else he could do?
Despite every difference between them, Jason couldn’t help but see the similarities more.
“It’s not so bad,” Percy said, confusing Jason’s inner social commentary for discomfort or even worse, pity, “turns out, my special form of dyslexia makes reading Ancient Greek and Latin about ten-times easier.”
“Oh, have you read the original Illiad then?” he asked the first thing that came to mind, having to put aside his thoughts of an unjust system to instead eat his own food.
“Don’t even get me started,” Jackson grumbled, talking with his mouth full, “The stupid Apollo Cabin would put on plays every summer and recite in Ancient Greek. Have you ever heard Homer as a cover for Kendrick Lamar’s ‘Humble’?”
“That sounds fascinating,” Jason tried to sound sarcastic but it came off wrong. He was actually pretty interested in hearing a bastardized Homer stanza.
Percy pointed at him with a fry, “No. I don’t know what you’re thinking, but no. I promise you, it’s not worth it.”
“Try me.”
The other man frowned, knowing a challenge when he heard it. Rubbing the excess salt from his fingers, not even minding the smear of hot sauce that remained, his jaw moved from side to side as if testing the weight of his tongue against the sound needed for ancient greek.
He recited:
ἄνδρα μοι ἔννεπε, μοῦσα, πολύτροπον, ὃς μάλα πολλὰπλάγχθη, ἐπεὶ Τροίης ἱερὸν πτολίεθρον ἔπερσεν:πολλῶν δ᾽ ἀνθρώπων ἴδεν ἄστεα καὶ νόον ἔγνω,πολλὰ δ᾽ ὅ γ᾽ ἐν πόντῳ πάθεν ἄλγεα ὃν κατὰ θυμόν,5ἀρνύμενος ἥν τε ψυχὴν καὶ νόστον ἑταίρων.(Tell me about a complicated man. Muse, tell me how he wandered and was lost when he had wrecked the holy town of Troy, and where he went, and who he met, the pain he suffered in the storms at sea, and how he worked to save his life and bring his men back home. )
He didn’t know what it was.
Magic, maybe.
The way Percy became Perseus, his ancient greek tongue finding a harmony that danced and jived. He said it differently, like…like it was meant to be music and not poetry. Oh, sure, what are songs if not poems but there’s a difference between reciting a poem and singing a song so old that your very soul knows the chords.
“No, wait,” said he, Percy returning from his past life with a discontented frown, “That was the Odyssey, not the Illiad.”
He laughed.
That is just…too good, really. There was this undeniable earthliness to Percy alongside the parts that made him divine. The extraordinary made better by these unchecked moments of humanity. Jason knew that he’d come face-to-face with someone whose mere personality was so fascinating that, if he allowed, it would absorb his whole nature, his whole soul, his every moment in being.1
“God forbid you get it right the first time,” he teased with a lopsided smile, “‘It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.’” he paused for effect, citing the quote as, “Love Island.”
Percy cackled, listing sideways in his seat.
Jason shouldn’t be so…distracted.
Last he saw—or last Red Hood saw—Percy Jackson had been in an alleyway with a zombie corpse. Actually, he’d been the one standing over a zombie corpse, with Jackson having stumbled upon him. But ain’t that just the thing?
Jackson claimed he’d only been out walking through dark alleys because he’d been following smears of still wet paint from a vandal. Except, why the hell is a dockworker interested in a paint trail? Why was he so calm and cool about a pulverized, rotting corpse like he’d seen worse in Gotham waters? Add it all up with Red Hood's various interactions with him, something fishy was afoot.
It begged Jason to remain vigilant, suspicious, to believe the very worst in Jackson because it never hurt to be disappointed when his expectations were already so low. But…looking at Percy now, his laugh trailing off before taking a bite of his food, amusement still lingering in the corners of his lips now stained with the house sauce and…well, it was simply inevitable.
“What about you then?” Percy asked after Loretta had come back around to refill their drinks, “You have any funny stories growing up around you and your brothers?”
Jason paused, his mind flitting through prepared script after script of censored story he’d often shared with his dates. But it didn’t seem right. There was just something wrong with offering Percy the same as he would a dating partner, the same scripts Batman had Jason prep for in case of this exact scenario. Instead he tried, “My…older brother was part of a circus.”
“No kidding?” the other asked with genuine surprise, “Huh, you know, I’ve never been to a circus. Thought they all died out except the one in Vegas.”
“Nothing really dies in Gotham,” Jason said with a private little smirk, “Well, except for parents.”
“Apparently,” Percy interrupted with that little witty quip, deserving of the flick of ice water from Jay.
“As I was saying,” he ignored Jackson’s immature giggling, “So I come in and he’s all, ‘How do I deal with an angsty teenager?’ cause he’s always been an old man, never an angsty teenager himself, so here’s this weirdo who gets in my face saying, ‘Hey kid, wanna play a game?’ and turns out, the century old European chandelier with Swiss cut crystals is not as great a place to teach your newly adopted brother some easy gymnastics.”
“Swiss cut crystals,” the other suddenly questioned with a raised brow, “and a chandelier?”
Jason grimaced, understanding exactly what Percy was thinking, “Yeah, I was…kind of adopted by this eccentric rich guy who was picking up a charity case. Turns out the man made a habit of it.”
“Okay,” the dockworker easily accepted, “So your older brother figure is from the circus and you’re from…what? The North Pole?”
“How dare you,” Jason said, pointed a fork dripping cheese, chili, and hashbrown at him, “accuse me of being Will Ferrel.”
“Wakanda, then.”
He groaned, much to Percy’s delight, realizing that the other would just continue suggesting more and more outlandish origin stories. So instead he offered, “Nah, nothing so exciting. Born and raised in Park Row and now…well here I am.”
“Doing what, exactly?” Percy asked, taking a bite of his cheeseburger.
“Um,” quick, he needed a civilian job, “I’m a priest.” No!
“A priest?” the other man repeated, his cheeks bulging, eyebrows raised high enough to touch the stratosphere.
Goddamn it! Why did he even say that? Once—only once—did he ever pretend to be part of the clergy. It was back during his training days with the League of Shadows, at the Vatican learning the ins-and-outs of dogmatic hypocrisy; a politician, a swordseller, and a priest walk into a bar but only one made it out alive.
“Yeah.”
“Like…” Percy looked genuinely confused, “Catholic or…”
“Catholic,” he confirmed.
The other man’s eyes darted over him, brows pulled together in confusion. Jason could guess where his thoughts were going and he scrambled to fill in the gaps with a believable lie.
“I’m in my civies,” he said, gesturing over the leather jacket and simple T-shirt he wore and not the white collar, black button up that Percy must be expecting, “Not clocked in.”
“Huh,” he mused, taking a bite of his fries, “And it’s what you want? Your life calling or something?”
“Saving lives,” Jason said, a half-remembered memory of the flap of Robin’s cape echoing in his ears, “looking out for the forgotten. It’s what I do.”
Percy huffed. They’d both stopped eating for a moment, the conversation deemed too important to be interrupted by awkward swallows and half stolen bites of fries. He said, “That’s hard work, looking out for people no one else seems to look out for.”
That’s an interesting thing to say. He shrugged, “Someone’s gotta do it.”
Percy Jackson nodded, looking down at his food, lost in thought as he repeated, “Someone’s gotta do it.”
Jason didn’t think Percy was taking it quite how he meant it.
He meant it as part of the ruse; a Catholic priest who worked in the bottom rungs of Gotham City, looking out for the souls of the innocent and those redeemable (even those irredeemable by Red Hood’s standards). But Percy’s gaze was too far away, reminiscing on the thankless task of managing care and safety of others before yourself.
What was Percy thinking about? What was he comparing it to?
Suddenly, Percy Jackson blinked, leaning to the side, his gaze focused out the window at something. Jason turned around curiously to see someone there.
A young man—dark hair, dark eyes, lifeless skin, carrying an umbrella, and clothes better fit in a depressing memory—stood across the street, staring right back at them.
“Gimme a moment,” Percy murmured, getting up and out of the booth.
“You know ‘em?” he asked, squinting for a closer look.
“Yeah, family-friend,” he said before patting Jason on the shoulder, “I’ll be back. When I return, I want your food.”
“You can’t have any,” Jason said, curling an arm protectively around his Hash-chili, much to the ridicule of Percy’s laugh.
The other left the diner and made a beeline across the street, barely stopping to look both ways for oncoming traffic.
The entire time, Jason Todd watched.
The two met but…didn’t shake hands. Didn’t hug. Percy was taller than the other and—oh wow, are all of Percy’s friends unfairly gorgeous?
The other young man had to be…nineteen, maybe twenty years old. Long, dark, tossled hair the color of raven wings and large dark eyes that could stare straight into the soul. His face…it was hard to describe; almost ageless, timeless, a classic beauty like you’d see in old movie posters from the 1940’s. With his dark hair, clothes and pale skin, he’d better fit in a black-and-white photograph than surrounded by the saturated colors of the modern era.
Standing side-by-side, Percy Jackson and this “family-friend” made art obsolete. The crooked, sultry lines of Percy’s smile, the mischievous twinkle in his eyes, the daring tilt of his jaw and the cocky slouch of his shoulders all in compliment to his friend’s softer edges; the delicate curve of his mouth, the soft flutter of his lashes, the pale moon of his face, turning up to the other like he was the entirety of heaven.
They spoke quietly, with minimal gestures. It was their expressions though that Jason paid full attention to. Because where Percy had been happy, his friend could not have been more grave. And where Percy’s joy had slowly drained away, his friend could not have looked more mournful for the sun to hide behind a dark shade.
Percy nodded his head, said something, and turned around to walk back to the diner with Jason. His friend reached a hand out, looking to stop the other, maybe offer some form of comfort, but he stopped himself, only gazing at Percy’s back forlorn before shaking his head with regret and moving off down the street and out of sight.
Jackson came back, his face twisted with bitter emotions, distressed. He didn’t take a seat, stopping only at Jason’s shoulder to say, “I gotta go.”
He frowned, “Need to pack up your food first?”
“Nah,” Percy said, attempting to smile bravely, “I’ll be heading out of town for a week. Bit of a family emergency.”
“Damn,” he said, completely thrown off by the quickly escalating events, “Duty calls then. Everything okay?”
The other man shook his head even with a smile fixed upon his face, daring to look Jason in the eye to reassure, “It will be when I get there. They’re calling in the calvary and…well, that’s me.”
‘That’s me.’
Why did that sound so heavy? The weight of the world falling back on Percy’s shoulders, Jason didn’t relaize just how free the other sounded until now, witnessing some invisible yoke fall around Jackson’s neck, calling him to duty.
It had the same weight as, ‘Someone’s gotta do it.’
‘Somebody’s gotta do it. Might as well be me.’
“Call me when you get back,” Jason said, hating how much he didn’t know and how this felt like saying goodbye.
Percy only smiled and said “See ya around.”
He left the diner then, throwing forty dollars on the counter for Loretta, making his way across the street and down the same block that his family-friend disappeared to. Jason got up out of the booth and very quickly made to follow, slipping out of the diner and trying to catch sight of Percy before he could completely disappear.
But when he turned the corner, looking down the street with no alleys or hiding places, he saw no one.
Percy Jackson was gone.
It might have been his imagination, but Jason Todd felt a shiver roll down his spine, an uneasy roll of his stomach familiar and uncomfortable; like someone walked over his grave. And maybe, just maybe, he let the superstition linger in his thoughts a little too long.
He made his way back to the diner to pack things up and clear things with Loretta before moving on; thoughts, suspicions, and now baseless imaginations plaguing him all the while.
Percy Jackson was raised in a single parent home, unclaimed and unsupported by his biological father. Except…apparently he was unofficially claimed by his father, enough to have met the cousins, uncles, and have birthday parties with a homicidal grandparent. Percy dropped out of University. He went missing for years. And when he came back on the digital grid, he was looking for work in Gotham’s ship yard.
And now…he’s being called in for a “family emergency.”
This…nothing about this sounded good. It sounded like Percy Jackson was here in Gotham for more than just a job during the school year. And whatever he was involved with, had something to do with that summer camp he always talked about.
Delphi’s Strawberry Service, was it? At least, when Jason looked into it, that was the name of the farm that the summer camp was hosted at. On the website, there’d been exactly one entry even talking about the camp and mentions of a rigorous application program. It wasn’t even purporting to be a camp for neurodivergent kids like Percy said. So…how did Percy even hear about it? How did he get in?
Or…was he only able to get in because of his father.
Was the Delphi Strawberry Service a front for an organized crime family?
Shit.
Jason tried to look further. He shouldn’t make assumptions off of an unsubstantiated hunch. But the website itself was completely clean, its only real use being an order form for restaurants in New York City to have a fresh supply of locally grown strawberries. Satellite imaging of the area didn’t show anything suspicious either, a grand farm house, a couple of cabins in which the camp must be hosted, the strawberry fields, a barn, and what looked to be a small soccer field probably for the kids during the summer months.
There was no internet, no calls, nothing digital that Jason could find in the surrounding area of the farm. The closest thing they had was a pay phone not two miles away at a gas station. Which was confusing because, why would a camp be so cut off that not even the camp counselors or managers would be able to call for an ambulance or a camper's parent?
Unless…the camp had no need or desire to call for emergency services or a camper’s parent. That they’d want to keep it secret from oversight. And the parents don’t need to be kept up to date about their children because it’s not a traditional camp, but some sort of family headquarters or bootcamp.
Great, so now either Percy Jackson is involved with an organized crime family or a cult.
It was suspicious. The whole situation was getting more and more suspicious everyday, not even including the recent mess in Gotham. But Jason couldn’t help but think that maybe, they’re much more related than he thought.
Maybe Percy Jackson had alot more to do with the zombie Corpse with Lazarus Water than previously thought.
Again, he couldn’t act on his suspicions. He needed more information.
So Jason Todd finds himself breaking into Jackson’s apartment.
It’s…well, it’s a shit hole, not gonna lie. The carpet hasn’t been replaced since the 70’s. The walls were stained with cigarette smoke. There’s a singular light and revolving ceiling fan to cover the kitchen, dining room and living area. Off to the side is the singular bedroom, a coat closet, and a tiny bathroom where it’d be more comfortable to shit standing up.
He searches the place methodically, checking first the usual spots for concealed weapons and drug contraband before going over the same places for Percy’s personal effects.
His kitchen had one sauce pan, a wooden spoon, a single plate, cup, and a set of silverware. His fridge contained a single takeout box from Marko’s, a cartoon of eggs, blue food dye, and a Reese’s peanut buttercup. His livingroom was the bare minimum of what to expect, Jason had seen prison cells more homely than this. In fact, the only evidence in the living room that there was anyone living within the space was a singular dirty sock stuck underneath the couch.
But if not the kitchen, dining, or living room, there was sure to be something more in the bedroom.
First, he needed to take a quick look in the coat closet.
If memory serves him well, Percy kept his first aid kit there. But when he’d looked around for a concealed weapon, Jason also spotted a sort of Go-bag that was sure to tell him something more about the man he was investigating.
There was a thump at the front door.
Jason takes out his handgun, aiming the nozzle at the door unwavering. He waited a bit, carefully listening for anything on the other side.
Percy said he’d be gone for a week.
It’s been four days.
Which means that whoever is on the other side of the door isn’t a welcome visitor.
He remained silent and still. There was a muffled shuffle on the other side, the quiet rustle of cloth. The door knob jangled and the sound of keys sloppily inserting itself into the lock.
Shit, Jason had three seconds, whoever was breaking in had a key. Could be the landlord? Not likely. Jackson did make Morrison and his band of fools aware of him, so it’s possible that his key was copied and Jason Todd is about to send Black Mask’s foot soldiers to the hospital in body bags.
The door swung open.
Jason put his finger on the trigger—more than just an idle threat—about to send whomever to heaven for St. Peter to deal with when-
“Jay?”
