"Just to make sure I've got this whole thing right, you're telling me that the Greek gods—"
"And Roman," Rose adds, helpfully.
Dennis pauses. "Yes, and Roman. You're saying that they're all… real."
Annabeth and Percy fidget in their chairs. They have been to Dennis's house before, have sat at this exact dining table before, but that time, they had been role-playing court testimony scenes, not dropping life-altering information. Back then, Annabeth had been the prosecutor. This time, she feels like the witness, her entire life story laid bare.
It's been almost a week since the trial, Annabeth and Percy deciding to make the house call now, as opposed to spilling the beans at the after party so that everything was a little calmer. Now that Annabeth has moved out and back into the Jackson-Blofis apartment for the remainder of the summer, and Dennis has returned to his quiet life in the suburbs, his daughter and grandchildren visiting again from their own place thirty minutes away, the timing has proven to be perfect. The lack of an extraneous peanut gallery (Leo) had definitely not also been taken into account.
Over the course of the last hour, they've given Dennis a little more exposition than necessary about their hidden world and gone on several tangents about the complexities of demigod life, but Annabeth sees now that it may have been a little too much information for an initial discussion. It's quite fortunate the two adults in the room have summed it up nicely into a single sentence. Annabeth still thinks they should start to put together an orientation film catered toward parents and other mortal family members despite Chiron's hesitations. (He still refuses to share what went so wrong during the creation of the first one.)
Percy scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. "Um, yeah. Pretty much."
"Your father is Poseidon, and your mother is Athena?"
Dennis looks between Annabeth and Percy a few times, as if ensuring that's the story they both would like to stick with. Annabeth nods.
From the Bryants' living room, Ethan jumps out from behind the couch and lets out a playful snarl and a "Boo!", making Clara giggle at his antics. Estelle, on the other hand, impishly bares her teeth and sits on him. Maybe Percy has been letting her watch one too many of their spars.
Dennis and Rose both ignore the horseplay and continue staring back at them from across the dining table. The man's jaw is twitching like he's still trying to figure out if they're being serious, while his daughter just looks plain thoughtful.
"We could prove it?" Annabeth offers, because that's usually what comes next in this sort of thing, and gestures to the glass of water before her, "Percy, could you—"
Suddenly, Dennis makes eye contact with her.
"Goddess of wisdom, and what was it, battle strategy?" he asks.
Again, Annabeth nods.
He huffs, shifting his weight to the back of his chair and letting his arms rest comfortably on the table.
"Then I believe the last two months is all the proof I need."
Annabeth's face suddenly feels very, very warm. Percy props an elbow onto the placemat before him and turns his face to look at her dopily.
"That's my wise girl," he grins proudly, green eyes flashing with a look that makes her blush deepen just a little.
Annabeth's lips twist, trying to keep the embarrassed smile off of her face. She tries to school her expression, but every single muscle twitches upwards, refusing to come down.
Rose clears her throat. "I believe you, I do," she says hesitantly, "But I'd still like to see the magic trick."
Percy laughs, and without turning his face away from Annabeth, flicks his hand. The liquid from the glass floats out, hovering a few inches above the table and she hears two soft exclamations of surprise. Then, Percy's finger twitches and the water forms a small wiggling heart.
"Seaweed brain," Annabeth says, fondly, and out of pure reflex. Her cheeks feel permanently pink.
Rose stares at the small display, wide-eyed and silent for a minute before holding out a hand, palm up. Dennis sighs gruffly and reaches into the back of his pants. He digs two worn-out bills from his wallet and forks them over with another dramatic sigh.
Annabeth raises an eyebrow at them.
"I guessed alien or meta," he says glumly, as Percy returns the water to the glass.
"And I said anything besides those two," Rose adds with a small grin, as she pockets the two hundred dollars and winks, "Don't worry, I'll make sure the kids know who really paid for their new toys."
Annabeth thinks Rose then catches the ever so slight look Percy sends her at that statement, because the woman frowns, turning slightly serious.
"Is there… something else you want to tell us?" she asks.
Annabeth sighs and tucks a stray curl away from her face. No matter how many times she does this, although the process becomes smoother, it never really becomes easier.
"Your kids saw through the mist, that veil I mentioned, that hides the mythological world, and while that's not exactly a guarantee, I also noticed that you don't talk about their father or have any pictures," Annabeth explains, almost apologetic, "I'm not trying to pry, but there's a chance that Ethan and Clara are demigods themselves."
She lets those words hang for a minute, trying to gauge their reactions. Neither of them looks very much surprised, but Dennis's gaze wanders to the children, now showing Estelle their toys, trying to outdo each other on which stuffed animal's name will make the girl laugh the most. Annabeth can imagine what Dennis is thinking: how these kids, with their playful innocence, could be descended from beings with such complex and violent histories. We grow up fast, the silent answer comes to her without much thought.
Rose, on the other hand, purses her lips, clearly conflicted.
"But—," she starts, then pauses, thinking hard, before finally asking, "Is there a way to know for sure?"
"They're still pretty young to be officially claimed, but yes," Annabeth replies, then turns her attention to the living room and raises her voice, "Stella! Can you come here please, and bring your friends?"
Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Percy reach into his front pocket, and elbows him sharply in the side, procuring a small celestial bronze needle instead.
"Yeah, that's probably better," Percy mutters, shoving Riptide back into his pants.
After shooting him a fondly exasperated look, she holds the thin needle up to the light, and demonstrates how it passes harmlessly through Dennis's hand, then Rose's. They tense, expecting the sharp pain but jump when they see the metal come clean out the other side.
Estelle emerges from the doorway with a chain of clasped hands, tugging the twins along like train cars. She deposits them in front of Annabeth with a beaming smile and then climbs into Percy's lap.
Annabeth gently asks Ethan and Clara for their hands, and after turning to their mother who gives them an encouraging nod, they watch curiously as Annabeth presses the needle gently to the tips of their fingers. Twin pinpricks of blood bubble up, and she lifts their arms for the rest of the room to see, before brushing the red away.
Percy whistles. "Oh yeah. The little munchkins are demigods alright." He makes a face at them, and they giggle in response.
Not every mortal parent is like Sally or even her own father, who had come around eventually, a fact that Annabeth knows far too well. She looks up, worried about Rose's reaction, but the woman shakes her head firmly, as if she can sense the hesitation.
"I wouldn't have had kids if I wasn't capable of loving them no matter what," Rose says, looking over the twins adoringly, and Annabeth feels the relief like a sharp stab.
Dennis gives a harrumph of agreement, an expression on his face that mirrors his daughter's, and Percy nods approvingly, or as best he can with his chin tucked into Estelle's shoulder.
"So," Annabeth starts, eyeing Ethan and Clara under a more analyzing lens, "Their father, did he give you a name?"
Rose trades a hesitant glance with Dennis, and says, "No…"
"Do you remember what he looked like?" Percy cuts in.
Annabeth hums. "Percy and I have met a good portion of the gods, so we may be able to recognize a description."
While some half-bloods get features directly from their godly side like Athena's grey eyes, others aren't carbon copies of their parents. Unfortunately, Ethan and Clara don't have those extremely identifying features, and aren't exactly old enough for them to make assumptions based on personality or interests.
Rose slowly shakes her head. "No, actually—"
"That's okay," Annabeth frowns absently, "They're a little too young for any specific hobbies that might help us figure it out."
"And even then, there's still time before they would need to go to camp," Percy adds, shrugging, "So it's cool if we don't know just yet."
"Guys," Rose says, loudly, to get their attention, and, with another look to Dennis, continues "There isn't a father, I—"
Annabeth and Percy both see her mouth form the rest of that sentence, hear the words loud and clear, but it's too ridiculous to process. Percy's jaw hangs dumbly.
"Oh," Annabeth says faintly, "That's a problem."
Percy brings his hands out from around his sister and buries his head in them.
Annabeth blinks herself out of shock. "At least," she pauses, "I think we've narrowed it down to two options." She looks over at Percy. "Yeah?"
He just groans in response.
Dennis scratches his stubbled chin, not exactly looking confused, but like he doesn't really understand the issue. Annabeth doesn't blame him. He's only learned about the mythological world two hours ago and doesn't really have all the details about how it works. In that moment, Annabeth wishes she were in the dark.
Finally, Percy pries his fingers off of his eyes and looks over to her, utterly miserable.
"Should we iris message them, or is this more like a house call kind of situation?"
After Lex Luthor, Annabeth doesn't really know what she wants.
Months ago, before all of this, she had a purpose, a very specific goal. And then, Luthor happened, and Annabeth had never been one to just ignore a major problem, especially not when she was in the perfect position to actually do something about it. So, for weeks on end, she had focused on exactly one thing, the destruction of Luthor, and almost nothing more. Still, she'd never forgotten about her original intention, the thought collecting dust in the back of her mind like a trophy waiting to be claimed, but somewhere along the summer, her plan had become less about herself and more about Lana and LexCorp and making sure Luthor could never ruin lives again.
Mostly justice and a bit of personal satisfaction, is what she had told Dennis.
It surprises her just how accurate that ratio has become.
But where exactly does that leave her?
Sitting at the Jackson-Blofis kitchen counter, staring into a plate of cut-up fruit and wondering if what she had wanted all the way back in April is still what she wants now. And the worst part is, she doesn't know.
What does she want? That's the million-drachma question. What does Annabeth Chase want?
A few months ago, she thought she knew. An internship at one of the most well-known companies in the world would have done wonders for her resume, not to mention all the cutting-edge technology she would get to play a part, however small, in developing. Except, that's exactly what LexCorp had provided. Despite all the stressful times she had endured, she had had fun, real fun during her summer in Metropolis. The issue lies in the fact that most of what that fun had revolved around is currently sitting behind bars in federal prison.
The internship itself had been eye-opening and the source of a wealth of knowledge, but it hadn't really felt like her. She had thought she wanted to get into tech, and now she realizes how much she has missed architecture and the familiarity of her half-blood community.
Annabeth warily eyes the opened envelopes on her counter. The unfolded re-enrollment forms for New Rome University are somewhat taunting. There are still a few weeks left on the deadline, which is generous by mortal standards, but as a largely demigod university, they understand the speed at which circumstances might change. Annabeth wonders if she should just fill them out and call it a day.
She misses the ease she feels amongst fellow demigods, the way she doesn't need to hide her scars or filter her words, doesn't need to make excuses for the gold dust in her hair like she has had to several mornings at work, doesn't need to behave, by mortal standards, perfectly normal.
Some demigods flit easily in and out of the mortal world, but Annabeth has been a year-rounder since she was seven, and any stints at regular school since then have been rudely interrupted by quests and prophecies and wars.
Annabeth sighs, fingers plucking the forms off the counter and reading through them like she hasn't done it twice already. She really could just sign and be done with them. But, her brain nags, what about the plan? It's all set up, she just has to—
"Have you decided yet?" Percy's voice sounds, a sweet relief among the self-conflicted thoughts she's been marinating in for possibly over an hour.
"Have you?" she deflects.
Percy blanches. "Yes! No. I mean, I filled it out, but I just have—" he sputters, then hangs his head.
"To mail it?" Annabeth snickers.
Percy grins nervously, but she assures him he still has the time.
"You didn't answer my question," he then prods, leaning his back against the fridge.
"It's weird not knowing," she says, pursing her lips, "I mean, I'd be happy, going back to NRU. I already have my list of classes picked out if I do, and I'd enjoy it, but…"
"You wouldn't be satisfied," Percy finishes for her when she trails off. He scrunches his face in thought. "Then maybe you should see it through to the end?"
"I think I was wrong," Annabeth sighs, the words bitter but all too freeing, "The technology part was cool and all, but really, I just miss designing."
"And I thought a civil war cannon at a museum couldn't actually be loaded, but I, too, was wrong," Percy replies, with a dramatically sullen tone. Annabeth knows exactly what he's doing. The problem is that somehow, it works. She snorts softly, and Percy drops the act, shrugging, "But seriously, if you've gotten this far, you could probably just ask for something more up your alley. I doubt they'd say no."
Annabeth tilts her head, considering. "You're right," she says, folding up the re-enrollment forms for now and tucking them back into the envelope, "Who says I can't negotiate?"
"So," he replies, watching her movements with sharp eyes, "What now?"
Annabeth picks up her previously abandoned fork, spearing half of a strawberry on the end, and smiles.
"Now we wait."
Annabeth's phone rings in the middle of dinner, just a soft buzzing against her thigh that barely interrupts her conversation with Sally about the character development in her new novel. Percy hears it, and directs his mom's attention towards him instead, so Annabeth can take the call in the kitchen.
She peeks at the caller-id before placing the device to her ear.
"Would you like to explain to me why Lois just called me saying she received another anonymous packet of evidence?" Lana's tense voice filters through the speaker, "She wouldn't say what was in it, but she sounded rabid, Annabeth. Even Clark is concerned."
Annabeth presses her lips together from coming off amused. There's no need to keep up pretenses anymore, so she answers honestly. "Luthor's got a secret lair at an art museum called Caesar Contemporary. Tell Lois she can get in by shaking the hand of the Caesar statue, and she'll find much more than what was just in that envelope."
"How do you know that?" Lana sounds like she's being strangled over the phone. "Annabeth why do you know that?"
She bites her lip harder. "Luthor's lawyers needed a very good reason to not defend him in court, so I gave them one."
"Right," Lana says faintly, as if just now remembering, "That was you."
Annabeth does laugh now, a short snicker that makes Lana sigh exasperatedly over the phone.
"And what am I supposed to say to Lois?" she asks, and Annabeth can practically hear the raised eyebrow and the hint of a smile.
"To make desk space for her Nobel prize?" Annabeth jokes, then more seriously, "I mean, I would prefer if you kept this to yourself, but if you really want to tell her and Clark, I won't stop you."
It's Annabeth's genuine opinion. Having Superman and Metropolis's most ambitious reporter know about her would probably put her under intense scrutiny, but at the very least, Annabeth knows they are good people.
Lana is silent for a few long seconds before finally speaking up.
"I'll keep your secret," she says, tone softer, "But later, when things here aren't as hectic, I want to know how you did it, as much as you want to tell me."
Annabeth rolls that proposition around in her head. It's open-ended, share as much as you're comfortable with, not a bad offer at all.
"I'll do it," she decides, and promptly feels the full force of Lana's smile when she says thank you.
The next morning, Percy has the morning off from the swimming lessons he's been giving over the summer to the kids at the nearby community pool. He has the free time and Annabeth decides they've been putting off their visit for too long, so she has him throw on some relatively appropriate clothing and leave the apartment with her. She has to practically drag him to the empire state building, but she understands the reluctance. She feels it too, just hides it better.
The elevator up to the six hundredth floor is longer than usual, and Percy spends the entire time glaring at the speaker in the ceiling, blasting some horrendous acoustic rendition of a pop song. Annabeth, on the other hand, keeps her eyes closed, gathering courage for the conversation to come.
Zeus appears in a shock of bright light the moment they step foot into the throne room, as if he has been following their movements since the elevator doors opened.
"Jackson and Chase," he thunders, eyes flashing, "Your status does not permit you to enter Olympus uninvited. How dare—"
"Call them."
Percy taps his foot impatiently.
"Who?" Zeus snaps back, irritably, metaphorical feathers thoroughly ruffled.
Her boyfriend turns to look at her as if to say, 'Can you believe this guy?'
"You know who," Annabeth sighs.
The king of the gods narrows his eyes at them, and at one point Annabeth thinks they might actually have to be more specific, but then Zeus sets his lips thin, deeply displeased. His hand tightens around his master bolt and the weapon cracks twice, making the thrones shake.
The room brightens painfully, Percy and Annabeth shutting their eyes in preparation. When they peel their eyelids back open, Hermes walks forward grinning good-naturedly, and Apollo raises his hand in casual greeting.
Annabeth glares at them, and Percy takes a deep, tension-charged breath.
"Which one of you absolute idiots donated to a sperm bank?"
Faces instantly pale, Apollo and Hermes point at each other.
Sally's living room is an utter mess, colored pencils strewn haphazardly across the carpet. Estelle is laying on the ground, stomach against the carpet and red crayon against a piece of paper with a black outline of a horse. Annabeth is sitting on the floor inches from her, legs splayed out, with her back pressed to the bottom portion of the couch, scratching precise lines with a sharp pencil into the sketchbook in her lap. Above her shoulder, Percy sits on the sofa noisily slurping on a juice box and making the odd comment about Estelle's drawing or Annabeth's blueprint in progress. As it turns out, it's Hermes's cabin, not Apollo's that needs renovations.
(In terms of emotional trauma, Percy had ranked the council meeting following that revelation fairly high in their list of past experiences, saying that he would rather they vote on his execution again than participate in another argument about the moral implications of subjecting half-bloods by artificial insemination to a life of constant fighting. Annabeth had agreed, vehemently. A new decree had been passed that very same day forbidding it.)
Percy hums, and Annabeth sees one of his fingers enter her field of vision, pointing to where she had added extra bunk space to the end of the south wall.
"Don't put them there. It's kind of far from the rest of their siblings," Percy muses, "And there's a chance they might feel distant already, you know, being demigod donations and all."
Annabeth chokes, her pencil leaving a surprised streak across the page that is definitely not part of the design.
"Oops," he mutters, grinning wide when she tilts her head to meet his eyes. It's not funny. She glares at him, but then a musical ring echoes from the entrance of their apartment.
"Saved by the bell," he says, laughing, and gets up to answer the door with his juice still in hand.
When Estelle sits up and stares at her, Annabeth tilts her sketchbook so she can see the angry line.
"Percy messed me up," she informs the girl, and Estelle gasps, looking offended on her behalf.
From down the hall, Annabeth hears the click of the lock and the creak of the hinges as Percy pries the door open.
"Hello." The tone is strange, deceivingly light for how deep the actual voice is. "I'm looking for Annabeth Chase."
"Hey wise girl," she hears Percy more clearly, probably turning away from the door to address her, "Wayne's here."
Annabeth is standing on her feet before she knows it, striding towards the front entrance with a curious Estelle at her heels.
Bruce Wayne is already looking at her when she comes into view from around the corner, hands casually resting at his sides. He's a lot rougher in person than she had expected. It seems most of the media-circulated pictures have been slightly digitally altered to smoothen out skin texture or tone or both. Closer up, she can see faint wrinkle lines across his forehead and a few gray strands of hair combed back with gel. Age does not deter from the hardness of his features, however. As she approaches, Annabeth has the vague impression of being examined, like she's being picked apart at the seams by a careful surgeon.
"Oh, good," he says, "You know who I am."
Wayne doesn't smile, but his face maintains a murky sort of pleasant expression. He isn't tense either, but he holds his body almost carefully, as if he is deliberately staying very still. The feeling of being watched doesn't dissipate, so Annabeth watches him back.
Percy sucks noisily on his straw from his place at the door.
Wayne blinks first, shifting his gaze a few inches. "Cute baby," he says, mildly, and Annabeth fights the urge to hide Estelle, "Is she yours?"
Percy double takes, spraying apple juice all over Bruce Wayne's no doubt expensive shoes. The man glances down, something ticking in his features before it's replaced by a slight grimace.
"I didn't mean to offend," he offers.
"She's my sister," Percy insists, scandalized.
As he walks over to take Estelle's hand, he murmurs a 'be nice' into Annabeth's cheek before leading his sister back to her room. Annabeth smiles involuntarily, before schooling her expression.
"May I come in?" Wayne asks, after Percy has disappeared around the corner.
"We can talk in the kitchen," Annabeth says, wordlessly beckoning him to follow.
At the dining table, Wayne tells her to call him Bruce, and then folds his hands on the placemat and falls quiet. The silence between them is strange. It's not the lack of conversation that puts her on edge, but the way she cannot tell what the other man is thinking as he observes her. Annabeth is usually the one that analyzes first and talks second, but this time, it feels like Wayne is doing the exact same.
"It's kind of funny," she says finally, because they cannot play this game of mental chess forever, "Earlier this year, I thought of applying for a WayneTech internship, and now Bruce Wayne is sitting in my house."
"WayneTech doesn't offer internships to students currently pursuing their bachelor's degree or lower," he replies, like it's a rehearsed answer. Practically word for word from the website, it probably actually is.
Annabeth hums, disappointed. "I know."
He ponders those words for a few seconds. "You went with LexCorp then," he remarks. Annabeth nods, but she's just confirming something he no doubt already knows, "I heard that you attended Luthor's trial. What did you think of him?"
Annabeth can't help the way her lips twist downward, like just the thought of Luthor is distasteful. "A psychopath masquerading as a god. He thought he deserved to rule the word. I thought he needed a reality check."
Bruce tilts his head considering. She can't fully tell, but she thinks he might be surprised by the hostility in her voice. Annabeth stares at him coolly, refusing to take her words back.
Instead of waiting for a more verbal response, she continues. This time, it's her turn to ask a question she already knows the answer to. "I was under the impression the trial wasn't televised, and it's a little early for them to release the judicial proceedings."
"My son expressed interest in attending," Bruce says, but pauses, and doesn't explain further.
"Timothy," Annabeth replies, suddenly understanding what game he's playing.
She remembers that black-haired boy very clearly, having recognized him at first sight. LexCorp and Wayne Industries being intense rivals, especially in the technology department, Annabeth had known that someone from the latter company was going to be at that trial. She hadn't known precisely who, but Timothy, the alleged business prodigy, had been a lucky surprise. More so when she had realized that he and Clark knew each other. The reporter had written a few fluff pieces on the Waynes years ago, but Annabeth hadn't known that they had remained close enough to sit beside each other and make conversation at murder trials.
"Yes, Tim," Bruce nods, getting the confirmation she had already known. "He said something interesting about you, that you seemed to know one of the witnesses," he continues, eyes narrowing just fractionally, "What's your relationship to Dennis Bryant?"
"We're not related, no, if that's what you're asking," Annabeth replies, "I just happened to meet him, and ended up helping him out."
"With what?"
"Gathering the courage to do something he couldn't for a while."
Bruce stares at her, hard.
He's also a little more serious than she had expected. He regards her with a strangely stoic façade, despite all the things she's read about his past as a somewhat ditzy playboy. Perhaps, over the years, all of his many kids have worn him out. She doesn't know much about them besides Timothy, or Tim, as Bruce had called him, but somewhere on the internet she had seen the unconfirmed count, and it had rivaled that of some of the minor gods.
Bruce presses his lips together briefly.
"I also heard that a large chunk of the evidence used to arrest Luthor was anonymously dropped off to Clark Kent," he says, with the same oddly light tone.
If Annabeth closes her eyes and ignores the way the man refuses to even blink, lest he miss something in her expression, it's almost as if they're having a pleasant, run-of-the-mill conversation.
"Clark wasn't home," she corrects, a corner of her lips twitching up, "Lois was the one to receive it."
"Miss Chase," Bruce says, the lines in his forehead creasing in the way it looks like they have been doing for years, "What you've done here—"
"Hypothetically."
He pauses, thinking hard, then restarts.
"Let's just say that Luthor's been a thorn in my side for quite some time now," Bruce pauses again, so briefly that someone other than Annabeth would have dismissed it as simply taking a breath, "What with all of his recent tech contributions to the market."
"And all the immoral criminal acts and other general human rights atrocities," she can't help but add.
"Right. Those too."
Bruce stares, even harder this time. It never quite works up to a glare, though, so maybe he's not actually trying to intimidate her. Even so, Annabeth just narrows her eyes slightly in response.
"What I'm trying to say is," he finally sighs, one hand coming up to rub at the permanent creases in his face, "Perhaps Wayne Technologies would be able to bend the rules a little and make an exception. Miss Chase, I'd like to offer you a job."
Annabeth doesn't react at first, too busy processing the words that she's been waiting, planning, to hear for months now. There's still so much to discuss and so many details to hash out, but that one sentence makes her skin prickle with excitement at the thought of what's to come. She still doesn't know exactly what she wants out of Wayne Technologies, but something about Bruce and Tim and the way they had picked up on more clues than she had originally dropped for them, makes her insatiably curious. And that's more than reason enough.
"If that's of any interest to you," Bruce continues, taking her silence as confusion or hesitation, "You don't have to decide right away, we can set up an interview—"
Annabeth can't help it, she snorts a little, the tension leaving her face. She folds her hands on the table to match his and leans forward with a small smile.
"Haven't you realized," she says, fixing him with the full weight of her gaze, "This is my interview."
A.N.
I just wanted to say thank you to everyone who has read, followed, favorited, commented, whatever, thank you so much for supporting this story, I had such a fun time writing it. There's still a loose end or two that will be fleshed out in another part, but for now, I hope you guys really enjoyed this last chapter !
Also, the 'getting an artificial insemination and suddenly popping out demigod children' came to me in some sort of fever dream and like yeah, I could've written a separate one-shot, but I set it up too well in this story so enjoy? I guess?
Annabeth: I'm tired of reading project reports and sitting in on meetings, I want to design a building. But also work at WayneTech. But I can't do both. How can I get this to work in my favor? How do I get Bruce to do what I want?
Percy: just ask him :))))
Annabeth:
Annabeth: blackmail or bribery?
PS. Bruce was so ? hard ? to write from the perspective of someone who is just as observant/calculating as he is. Like Annabeth has some sense that something's up, and so does he, but neither really knows exactly what the other is thinking. And I'm pretty sure their conversation makes little sense to anyone watching from the outside. Anyways, I was debating on which version of him to run with, and I've settled on Tired Dad Bruce