"You're insane, Stark."
Percy crosses his arms as he observes Tony's newest creation. The Avengers have training rooms in their section of the tower; it made sense as far as the requirements of the job go. An archery range for Clint, sparring room for Natasha, an indestructible box for the Hulk, and anything else that the lesser recruits would need.
Percy knew there were tens of Avengers members these days, far more than he had previously anticipated, but he was assured that very few, if any, come into the Tower on a regular basis.
A new training room lays before him, half on land and half filled with a water tank.
"Listen," Tony says with his hands outstretched. "Hear me out here. I think you could be an asset, all you need to do is exercise those water chops you've already got."
Percy rolls his eyes. "No. I already told you that after the gala. I don't use my powers anymore."
"You choose not to. You were born with these powers, right?"
"Yeah."
"Then think of it as using your birthright," Tony says. "Use it or lose it, as my doctors always tell me. You choosing not to use your powers affects no one but you. Daddy Poseidon probably hasn't even noticed you've gone dark in that respect."
He shifts his weight from foot to foot. Tony did have a point, but not one that Percy wants to concede to him.
"I'll think about it."
The victory was evident on Tony's face and it made Percy clench his jaw.
"I only said I'd think about it," Percy says, turning to leave the room. "Not that I'd do it."
"Hey, whatever you want," Tony follows him out. "I can make as many modifications as need be, but if the person we're going after on the godkiller case is anything like you, you should probably be in top form."
Percy stills. He has trouble reconciling that the killer was a demigod, but he had experienced enough at the hands of the gods to know that they could be capable of anything. He turns to Tony.
"I will use your training room if you leave me alone when I'm in there." His gaze is hard as steel.
Tony composes himself. "Duly noted."
Percy knew this was going to come back and bite him in the ass.
—
Photos of the second crime scene swim before Percy's eyes. The clock slowly ticks past midnight as he sifts through the materials they collected from across the two murders.
There was something in these photos that was the key, he knew it. He just had to find it and everything would stop.
But these things come in threes. This, Percy knows intimately.
He transcribes the Greek again, combing through the two messages for anything that might be relevant, as his eyelids droop, as his head slumps to lay on the table and sleep overtakes him.
He doesn't know he is dreaming. He never does, not until it's too late.
"C'mon! Wake up!"
Jason Grace slaps him awake. He's in a cabin, not one at Camp Half-Blood, but somewhere else. The mountains. Yes, now he remembers. They're in upstate New York. The dappled sunlight makes Jason's hair glimmer a warm and radiant gold. If he just reached out his hand, he could touch it. He could hold him.
"Get your lazy ass up, Perse! The rest of the team is already outside." Jason rolls his eyes and hefts a pack onto his back, leaving through a warped screen door.
Percy sits up in his cot and stretches, his joints popping, back cracking, until he feels like himself again. It looked to be a sunny day outside, perfect for Jason, and the lake nearby was a bright, placid blue. The air smells sweet carried to his nose through a brisk breeze that tumbled down the mountain.
He smiles to himself. Today is the last day of their training.
Outside, he assembles with the other members of the test team: a variety of demigods from their generation with different skills. No two were alike, save for the Stolls, and all were armed to the teeth, not just with Celestial bronze, but mortal weapons as well.
It's been years since this day on the mountain; some part of Percy's mind knows that the moment has passed, but he cannot shake feeling as if he's swimming through the present-tense. He looks to his right and Jason smiles, a wolfish thing that is half stunning and half terrifying. He looks to his left and sees Connor Stoll.
Percy frowns. Something is wrong… terribly so. Connor shouldn't be here.
Ares stands before them, an emissary from Zeus, and gives orders, but Percy can't quite make them out. He knows what they are, he knows why Ares is there and what he's been tasked to relay to the team. Ares had been with them for the past few months. His methods were punishing, that much was true, but Percy had emerged a better fighter for it. He knows why he's here, it's on the tip of his tongue, but he can't seem to form the words. It's important.
Important, important, important.
It's necessary. It's the lesser of two evils.
"Alright, drink up!"
A small bottle is shoved into his hands, identical to those in the other team members'. It was a dangerous red, swirling with shimmer and moving as if it were alive. Percy hesitates, then downs it with the rest of the team. They throw their bottles on the ground.
"You have your orders," Ares barks. "Get to the peak, or die trying."
The team leaps into action, shooting off towards the woods one by one, but as Percy races after them, they disappear into the darkness of the trees, mere wisps of smoke. He finds himself alone in the forest, nothing around him as he twists and turns, attempting to find the path back.
Even the trees hold their breath.
"It's not done."
Jason Grace stands in the middle of the forest. The edges of his body are unfocused, smudged, like an old photograph.
"This day never ended for them," Jason says. "It ended for us; we were allowed to return. But for them, it's still going. The mountain never let them go."
Percy stills. The forest waits on his question.
"What happened here?" It's said out of desperation, out of a deep place of longing and loneliness.
"I can't answer that," Jason shakes his head, smiling sadly. "Only you can."
He steps closer to Jason, trying to touch him, if he even could. His hand inches closer to the muddled form of Jason Grace.
"How?" Percy's voice catches in his throat. Tears prick at the corners of his eyes. "Please, tell me. I—" His voice breaks. "I can't do this by myself. You—you left me all alone."
Jason's ghostly hand grasps Percy's, pulling it close. He presses a kiss to his open palm, but Percy can't feel it. His breath hitches. He's never wanted to feel something so badly in all his life.
"Look to the trees, little fish." Jason begins to flicker in and out. "Look to the flowers and the trees."
He disappears just as Percy lunges for him.
"Wait!"
Percy shoots upright from the table, photos from the crime scene scattering across the floor. A hesitant Clint stands beside him, hand outstretched just as Percy's was in his dream. Percy balks for a moment, then swallows. It dawns on him just how much Clint Barton looks like Jason Grace, and how much he doesn't. A mirror image, slightly smudged and warped as it passes from one world to the next.
"Sorry, I—" He blinks several times. "I must have fallen asleep. M'sorry."
Clint gathers up the photos on the ground. "Let's get you home."
"No, you don't have to. I can just take a cab back." Percy is lethargic even as he protests.
Clint sighs. "Don't be stubborn about it. I'll drive you back to yours. Where are your keys?"
Percy makes a face and digs in his jacket pocket for them. "Here. Don't crash it."
Clint smirks. "Wasn't planning on it."
He hauls Percy up by the arm, letting him lean on his side. It had been ages since Percy had felt this tired before, ages since he'd had a demigod dream like the ones that plagued him in the recent weeks. He supposes that it's good his powers are working and giving him hints, if only they would be a little less murky.
He wishes that dream Jason was more helpful. He wishes his own mind was more reliable. He wishes, he wishes, he wishes.
"God, you weigh a ton and a half," Clint grunts as he walks Percy towards the elevator.
Percy rights himself and rubs at his eyes. He slumps against the elevator wall. "Sorry. I don't know what's gotten into me."
Clint turns him over and gives his face a few slaps, but there's no fight in them. "Just make it to the car and give me your address. I can take it from there."
Percy leans forward and sets his chin in Clint's hand. It's warm and inviting, it smells like a promise. He gazes into Clint's eyes even as his own eyelids droop again.
"Thank you." It's not what he meant to say, but it tumbles out of its own accord.
Clint's expression softens. "You're welcome, Percy."
It's well past one in the morning when they arrive back at Rachel's apartment. The lights are all off, Rachel having gone to sleep several hours ago covered in paint and the remnants of the iced coffee she spilled on herself. The apartment feels like it was waiting for Percy to return.
Clint opens the door with Percy's keys. Percy, still dead on his feet, stumbles in after him. He hands on Clint's shoulders and nuzzles into his neck.
"Welcome home, idiot." Clint shuts the door behind them. "Fuck me, this is a nice place. How did you score this?"
"A friend is letting me crash with them," Percy says, face hidden in the crook of Clint's neck.
"Need me some friends like that." Clint pats Percy on the back. "Alright, killer, let's get you to bed. Want me to tuck you in? Get you some warm milk?"
"Fuck you," he mumbles.
Percy navigates them towards the guest room where he's set up shop ever since that first day he crashed on Rachel's couch. There isn't much in the way of decoration, and even less in terms of personal effects, but it was softer than sleeping on the ground or in the hammock he'd used while traveling. A means to an end, so to speak.
"Bed time!"
Clint heaves Percy onto the bed. He groans as he lands, making a face as he stands back up, pulling Clint towards him. There's a breath of space between them before Percy's lips crash down on Clint's, his hand wound in the fabric of Clint's shirt. The kiss is sloppy, needy, desperate. It leaves them breathless.
"Not tonight," Clint says, pushing lightly at Percy.
"Why?" Percy nips along Clint's neck.
"Because I don't want you to pass out while I'm halfway through fucking you, that's why."
Percy makes a noise of discontent. "Stay anyway."
That has Clint hesitating. "Just— in the bed?"
"Yeah." Percy lays small kisses on Clint's neck as he slips his shoes off. He gently undoes the buttons on Clint's shirt and the buckle on his belt.
It only takes a moment before Clint relents.
"Alright," he says, slowly pushing at Percy's clothes in kind. "Alright. I'll stay." He lays kisses on Percy's collarbone. "I'll stay."
They tumble into bed, wrapped around each other as sleep claims them: first Percy, and then Clint shortly thereafter.
—
Clint can feel the soft rumbling of Percy's breath against his chest as wakefulness returns to his limbs. One of Percy's arms is slung across Clint's stomach, the dark tan of his forearm a stark contrast to the paleness that Clint often wore underneath his armor. His breath rustles the small curls decorating Percy's forehead, resulting in a twitch of the muscles that almost makes Clint smile.
It is in these small spaces, between dreaming and awake, where Clint can see the years melt away from Percy's face. The careful guardedness is replaced with muscles so relaxed that they were practically dead weight; the alert expression masking near explosive reactive timing was mellowed out. Still— it was there, beneath the soft lips and the long eyelashes. He had no doubt that Percy would spring into action if danger was near.
Huh , Clint thinks. Wonder if he's got Spidey-Senses .
In an entirely different world, he thinks Percy and Peter Parker would have gotten along famously. Perhaps in the years before his war, before he became who he was now. Before he was so tired that he clung to a man he claimed he despised even in his sleep.
Surely, once Percy opens his mouth again, Clint will feel his irritation rise as it normally does. But for now, he can pretend. He does enjoy telling himself lies sometimes.
Percy grunts softly and moves his head. Clint wraps his arms around him tighter, settling further down into the bed, just as the door to Percy's bedroom opens.
"I need the car keys— oh."
A young woman with red hair stops when she notices Percy isn't alone in bed. Her eyes go to Percy's sleeping form, drooling onto Clint's chest, then to Clint.
"Hi." Clint waves.
She blinks several times and turns her attention to Percy. "Wake up, Jackson."
Percy makes a noise and lifts his head up a bit. He says, peering through bleary eyes, "What do you want, Dare ?"
"Keys," she holds her hand out expectantly. "I need to use the car today. Tomorrow, too. Maybe."
He lets his head slump back down onto Clint's chest, closing his eyes. "Yeah, okay. Let me remember where I put them."
Percy begins to shake his arms awake, moving and feeling blindly for the various trinkets on both of his bedside tables. Clint sits stock still, forced to look at Rachel or anywhere else.
"Clint," he says, giving her a quick head nod.
"Rachel." She points to herself in turn. "How do you know Percy?"
Clint blinks. "Uh. We work together."
"Cool." She seems to be mulling over the information, her eyes narrowing a near imperceptible amount.
"Aha!" Percy emerges victorious with the car keys from the depths of one of the end table drawers and whips them in Rachel's direction. "Catch."
The keys bounce off of her open hands and she snorts, stooping down to pick them up. "Thanks for that."
Percy settles back against Clint's chest with a contented look on his face. "Fill her up before you bring her back. Where are you headed, anyway?"
"Camp," she says.
The shift in Percy is small, but noticeable enough to Clint, pressed against him in all his nakedness. As Percy tenses, Clint does in kind, moving his arm around Percy to hold him closer. The protectiveness feels second-nature and the immediacy of his reaction surprises even himself.
"Why camp?" Percy mumbles back.
"Quest time," she says. "Have to go play Oracle for a bit before I get to return to babysitting you."
Beneath the sheets, Percy's fingers dig into Clint's thigh.
He grunts. "Have fun. Bully Nico for me, will you?"
She laughs. "As if he will even be there. Don't have too much fun while I'm gone."
Clint lets out a breath when the door latches, waiting a few more beats until he can hear Rachel leave the apartment. It is only then that he relaxes, a hand going to Percy's to release his grip on his thigh.
"Hey," he says softly, guiding Percy's hand to lay on his chest.
Percy looks up at him, an inscrutable expression on his face. It was as if he was surprised by the tenseness of his own body, as if he were getting used to being alive again.
Clint runs his thumb over the softness of Percy's chin. "You okay?"
He should know better than to ask that. Neither of them were truly okay, not in any sense of the word. But there were layers to these things; this, Clint knew well.
Percy nuzzles his face against Clint's chest and breathes out. "Mhmm. M'just tired is all."
Lie.
Clint runs a hand through Percy's hair, tangling his fingers in the dark locks and marveling at the softness where it meets the back of his neck.
"Then sleep," he says. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."
Percy nods, a hand coming up to lay on Clint's shoulder. He rubs absently at Clint's collarbone, as if he can wipe away whatever seems to be plaguing him. His eyes drift shut again as he slips into the darkness of sleep.
—
"I'm surprised you managed to make time for me, Perse."
Percy knows it's a backhanded compliment— they always are coming from Annabeth— but she just wants what's best for him. The deepening of the circles under his eyes doesn't help portray the idea that he's sound of both body and mind. He honestly wouldn't even know what to tell her if she inquired after his well-being these days; he never could lie to her.
"Likewise." He sips his coffee and points to both her blueprint case and the roundness of her stomach. "Hot-shot architect and all."
She waves him off. "I'm just doing some work for our New York office. You are a government agent now. Pretty cool, Seaweed Brain."
He can't stop the smile that creeps up at the usage of his old nickname. "Government consultant , but yeah, I do work with them occasionally."
"Tell me about the guy I saw you with." She sips her tea as if it's the most innocuous request she's made.
Percy's voice goes flat. "Pass."
"Oh, come on. How did you come to work with your ex?"
He shrugs. "It's not that unusual. I still worked with you."
Annabeth pauses, pressing her lips together, and busies herself with her tea. Percy knows he's made a misstep and he clears his throat.
"I'm surprised you could meet up today," he says, changing the subject. "I'd have thought you'd be at camp."
Her brow furrows. "Why would I be at camp?"
Percy cocks his head to the side. "Rachel just drove there this morning. She said it's Oracle day; quests and all. Thought alumni went back on those days."
"Well, you're not there either."
"Yeah, I guess I'm not."
Silence stretches between them, thick and heavy like the summer air. They don't want to acknowledge their reasons, as different as they may be. It's Annabeth who breaks first, despite her own tendency to outlast Percy in all things.
"It feels… wrong. Celebrating, you know?" Her mouth quirks downward. "All the younger campers are so excited, we have that feast, but— there's chairs missing. People missing. And no one says anything. It weighs on a person after a while."
Percy nods, something traveling its way down his spine. For all that he thought Annabeth had moved on from who she was when they were together, she was still his Annabeth.
"Jason," he says. His gaze is a swirl of pain and defeat. "That's why I don't go back. I can't stand the tributes, and the silence is even worse."
He doesn't mention his missions prior to that, his sleepless nights doing the gods' bidding in the darkest of ways. She didn't need that now, not when her hold on camp was tenuous at best.
"Connor," she replies. "Ever since Connor Stoll was killed, it hasn't felt the same. I know that was seven years ago, but something shifted. It was like when Luke was killed. Connor, Katie, Lou Ellen, Drew… It kept stacking up, and they just wanted to shove it under the rug. They burnt their shrouds and forgot. I didn't want them doing that to me."
Percy doesn't know what to say. He'd thought that Annabeth was still under camp's spell like the rest of the demigods there. She might not have had the same motivations for staying away as he did, but they were more similar than he'd taken into account.
"Is that—" He swallows. "Is that why you married him?"
She fixes him with a watery smile. "No, Percy. I married him because I love him."
He would never understand, he never could. Her love for her husband was as foreign to him as anything.
"They thought you were dead, you know." Annabeth sips her tea. "Burnt your shroud and everything."
He stares at her. "I thought you didn't go back to camp."
"Well, when your ex-boyfriend is proclaimed dead, sometimes you make an exception."
Her smile is grim. His is as well.
"You shouldn't go back," she says, so quietly that he thinks he might be hallucinating.
The breath stills in his chest. He asks, but he isn't sure if he wants to know the answer. "Why?"
Her eyes look down at her tea, reflecting back the dark and glassy surface. Something strange creeps into her posture; the way she's holding herself speaks to danger being near.
"Something's wrong there," she says. "Something has always been wrong, but it's worse now. And it won't stop getting worse. Trust me."
She grasps his hand like she used to. It doesn't feel as full or warm as he remembers.
"Don't let them bury you too."
—
His days bleed into nights, Clint in his bed more often than not. When they're up late at the Tower, they stumble back to Clint's rooms on the team's designated floor. They both like the privacy ever since Rachel walked in on them, but then they had to contend with other Avengers and SHIELD agents knowing their business.
It's something that will take some getting used to, if they ever will.
Percy pads about the Tower as the moon begins to set, relaxing in the silence and light hum of electricity that thrummed through the building. Like a heartbeat, he notes. Or water. A flowing stream. His senses can let go in such silence, undoing the battle-ready knots that keep forming and reforming in his back.
He doesn't know why his mind finds the time after the witching hour so enticing. He supposes the reason isn't his to know.
It takes a few minutes before he discovers that someone else is awake at this hour as he moves towards the ajar door of Tony's moved workshop like a moth to a flame. His bare feet cross the threshold onto a cool concrete floor.
Tony is working on something large and intricate, a welder's mask over his eyes showing a baffling deference for safety while he holds a butane torch while wearing a tank top. A few small lights glisten off of the metal and glass making up the inner workings of Tony's latest creation.
"Evening," Percy says, indicating his head at Tony. "Or— morning, I think. Lost track of time."
It takes a moment before Tony jerks his head up. "Aqualad. What are you doing up?"
Percy smiles to himself. "I could ask you the same. Couldn't sleep."
Tony observes him for a moment with a critical eye then flips his welding mask back over his eyes and returns to work. "Likewise. Wait— you're sleeping here? When did that happen? Fury has to stop putting up his strays in the tower."
He peruses the workshop, his hands ghosting over the edges of various creations. "Not yet. I have an apartment in the Village. Just stayed in Clint's room. Gotta say, these beds are way more comfortable than the SHIELD facility ones."
"Huh. Should've known; those are SHIELD-issued PJs." Tony stares at him for a moment longer. "Glad Barton's finally getting laid. It should do wonders for his disposition. Still— he's not as uptight as the Captain. You ever work for hire? Rogers needs the stick removed from his ass."
Percy chuckles. "I'm not a hooker, Stark. I'd make a terrible one. But I'll keep that in mind when I meet him outside of the star-spangled suit."
"You should meet the rest of the team at some point." Tony fiddles with a piece that didn't weld correctly. "Since you're sleeping with one of them."
"Two," Percy corrects him.
Tony narrows his eyes. "Come again?"
"I'm sleeping with two of them. I'll leave it up to you to guess the second one."
He scoffs. "That's easy. It's the Widow. I don't know what you see in her; she's terrifying."
Percy chuckles to himself. "That's exactly what I see in her."
"If you're going to be in my workshop, you may as well make yourself useful." Tony gestures for Percy to come closer. "Hold this for me."
He reaches for the piece, but is interrupted by a swirling mass of shadows appearing in the room. It forms the outline of Nico di Angelo and solidifies into flesh and bone.
"Fuck me sideways," Tony mutters to himself. "Hey, aren't you the kid from the rainbow FaceTime?"
"Yeah," Nico says dismissively to Tony, turning his gaze to Percy.
Percy crosses his arms. "What is it this time?"
"It's bad," Nico says, his eyes darting back and forth. "You need to get to camp. Now."