Percy can feel Bruce's cautious optimism radiating from halfway across the room.
He and Clarisse stand at a middle distance and exchange a glance. Percy had proposed doing some work on the memories in tandem and Bruce was practically ecstatic (as ecstatic as he could be). The likelihood this shakes anything loose was much higher, especially since Percy and Clarisse shared a history that spans decades. He never thought that his childhood being shoved into the dirt of the training arena by the heel of Clarisse's boot would come in handy, but here they are.
Bruce rubs his hands together as he looks between them with a thoughtful wrinkle on his brow. Clarisse blinks.
"Is he always like this?" she turns to ask Percy.
Percy shrugs. "I don't really know him that well."
"Okay, alright, okay, okay, okay," Bruce mutters to himself. "I think I've got it."
"We're not going to meditate again, are we?" Percy asks. His mind is racing too quickly to attempt to quiet it.
"What do you have against meditation?" Clarisse wrinkles her nose.
Percy looks at her. "You meditate?"
She crosses her arms. "All great warriors do. It improves your concentration in battle."
"I—" Percy open and closes his mouth like a goldfish. "I just didn't expect it from you is all. Uh… cool."
Bruce waits patiently for them to finish. "We're not going to meditate."
"Thank god," Percy mutters under his breath.
Bruce walks around the empty training gym they had chosen and observes the environment. "What is your most salient memory from the time on the mountain?"
"Fighting." They answer in unison.
Bruce claps his hands together. "Then that's what we're going to start with."
"You want us to fight?" Clarisse cocks her head to the side. "I'm alright with that, but I'm not sure it'll help anything—"
Bruce goes to the closet and pulls out the rack of weapons Clarisse saw Natasha access the day prior.
"The way the memories have been suppressed isn't through them being traumatic to your own brains," Bruce starts explaining, gesturing with his hands. "Although they probably are, some other entity has suppressed the memories. But since there's some things you can remember, no matter how unclear, we can pull on that. And like a thread—" He mimes plucking something from the air. "—it will unravel."
Percy turns to look at Clarisse and they communicate silently, falling back into old patterns. It couldn't hurt, and they both liked burning off excess energy against an opponent that could actually fight back.
"I'm game," Percy says. He rolls his shoulders. "What weapons?"
"Which ones do you remember using?" Bruce asks.
Another glance shared. Clarisse speaks this time.
"It was mostly mortal weapons," she says. "That's weird for us because we fight with celestial bronze: it's a metal that'll hurt monsters, but not mortals. We had these—things. They had little touches of celestial bronze in them, enough to hurt a monster but also enough to hurt anything else. Demigods included."
Bruce nods. "What kind of mortal weapons? I know Percy fights with a sword, but he also uses a gun."
"Guns, but— I don't think we used those in sparring against each other." She worries away at her bottom lip, thinking. "Things like billy clubs, modern hunting knives, rifles, knuckledusters. No swords or javelins— nothing like we usually used at camp."
She remembers better than he does. He only recalls the weight of a rifle in his hands, the swoop of victory when the paper target came back with striking precision. It's in the after that he remembers using the more modern weapons, supplied by the messengers the gods used to relay their requests. Each one glimmering with the faintest amount of celestial bronze; enough to wound, enough to kill.
"Grab what feels familiar to you," Bruce says. "Don't overthink it. Hopefully muscle memory will help carry you back to that state."
Percy shakes out his limbs to help warm him up. "Don't overthink it." He exhales. "I'll try."
Clarisse looks over the rack of weapons and picks up a billy club. It wasn't the same as her spear, but it called to her the most of the weapons before her. Percy gives her a sidelong glance and tries to choose his own. He struggles to feel drawn to any one weapon on the rack and turns to Bruce.
"Do they have rifles anywhere here?" he asks. "Not loaded, obviously."
Bruce pauses and holds up a finger. "I'll be right back."
Percy falls back into his normal warm-up routine while Clarisse tests the motion of the club.
"Rifle, huh?" she asks.
"It—" He tries to untangle his thoughts. "It's the only thing I really remember using. The other stuff was there, and I had Riptide, but— I really remember the guns." He takes in a breath. "It's all I really use now, but not a rifle anymore. Too many bad memories."
She considers him a moment, about to open her mouth, when Bruce returns. Tony trails after him, absentmindedly picking at a bag of trail mix. One of his many robots pushes a cart into the room.
"Heard you wanted a gun." Tony loudly chews on a peanut. "Thought you had some of those."
Percy draws on all the patience he can get. "I don't use rifles anymore, but I used to."
"Mmm, yes. The memory thing." He slaps the top of the cart. "Well, I've got enough in my armory to choke the Punisher. What kind do you want? Semi-auto? Assault?"
"Didn't think you used guns, Stark."
He shrugs. "I don't, but I also used to be in weapons manufacturing and I have several government agents that wander in and out. I like to be a welcoming host."
Percy snorts and approaches the cart. Shiny, expensive-looking guns sat next to each other, as many varieties as he could want. He takes his time looking at each one, but an HK416 catches his eye. Percy holds it up to the light and a ripple of familiarity runs down his spine.
"This is good," he says to Tony. "Thanks for being a welcoming host."
Tony cracks a smile. "Don't get too used to it. Take these back to the armory, DUM-E."
The robot makes a small beep and activates its wheels, pulling the cart back. Tony remains, watching Percy and Clarisse get into position like it was the circus, popcorn in hand.
Percy slings the rifle across his back and sends him a glance. "You staying?"
"Yeah, I'm not going to miss seeing you in action, Aqualad. If that display in the tank is anything to go by, this'll be good. Maybe I'll even call the rest of the team in here."
Percy rolls his eyes. He's fine with an audience but he looks at Clarisse. "You cool with this?"
She shrugs. "More people to witness me kicking your ass."
He snorts. "You wish."
"You picked a rifle with no bullets in it. I'm winning this fight."
He grins. Just like old times.
"So— what rules do you want to do this by?" Bruce steps in.
"First blood?" Clarisse suggests.
"First yield," Percy says. "Or you're going to end up bludgeoning me to death with that thing."
She snickers. "Whatever you say, Prissy."
"Hey," He points with the butt of the rifle. "Don't forget who kicked your ass a few days ago."
Clarisse shakes her head, adjusting her grip on the club. "I'll have you yelling for your mama in no time."
"Hey, don't disrespect Sally like that."
"Fine," she grumbles. "I do like Sally."
Bruce looks to Tony. "Should I blow a whistle or—"
The fight begins as Clarisse ducks low to swat at Percy's shins, sliding along the floor and popping back up with surprising speed. Percy jumps just in time, landing in a squat. He swivels the rifle around to hold it as if to shoot and watches Clarisse as she circles him.
He needed to get close, and fast. That's the only way to get an advantage over her when she fights. With the billy club, she'll be better in close quarters, but if he can crowd her, he can crush her under his weight and activate her claustrophobia.
A flicker of anger curls in his chest, expanding outwards. He shakes his head and scowls at her.
"Stop that," he says. "No powers in this fight."
She laughs. "You only say that because there's no water around for your to do your little tricks."
His scowl deepens and he draws enough water from the air to form a whip, lashing her with it. She yelps.
"Fine, no powers. But I wouldn't have gone that easy on you back then."
He shrugs. "This is practice. Loosen up, Clarisse."
"I am perfectly fucking loose, Percy."
He exhales through his nose and is struck again by how they descend into familiar bickering. The rifle slips down from where it rests against his shoulder as he tries to broadcast his vulnerability.
Clarisse takes the bait.
She ducks low, then shoots up, going for a rib, but Percy is right there to anticipate it. Instead of dodging, he rams the rifle full force into her chin. She goes flying, her eyes wide, and eats mat with a loud thud. Percy's grip doesn't leave his gun.
Something in his vision flickers. Another version of Clarisse comes to mind, younger but no less savage, laying on the sand of the training pits in the mountain. Her hair was braided back, traveling all the way down to her waist. He knew she would cut it off when they returned to camp, knew that she liked it better as short as her fuse was at the time. It's long again now, but no longer in that trademark braid.
The younger Clarisse is panting, blood trickling down the side of her face. She has a billy club in her hand and a sneer on her face.
"Thanks for the sucker punch, Prissy."
They say it together, the past and present melding into one. Percy blinks and the younger Clarisse disappears. Older Clarisse stares at him quizzically, but he's slipping into his fighting stance again and she does the same.
Fighting with clubs was an art, fighting with spears was an art. Using a rifle as if it were a multi-purpose tool for melee combat was less of an art, more of a toddler's finger painting project. Sometimes it produced masterpieces, but mostly it was just messy.
Percy parries her with the side of the rifle, using that force to push her back and buy him some time. He left his ribs exposed and she gets a quick jab in that sends pain searing across his side. She catches his next hit by the magazine and attempts to wrench it out of his hand, but he holds fast and she shifts, throwing him over her shoulder instead.
He lands with his feet flat on the mat and clings to Clarisse to hold himself up. Percy uses the shift in weight to turn the flip against her and they both go sprawling. Her billy club skitters across the floor. Faster than he can react, she dives into a roll to avoid a hit and pops back up with the club in hand.
Clarisse's hits land, too fast and furious for him to battle back with the hard metal of the rifle. He pops his elbow up, catching her in the cheek and shifting her off balance. From there, a jab using the magazine and another punch with the body of the gun, the full force of his shoulder behind it. She recovers and catches the billy club on the shoulder holding the gun and spins to land a hit on the back of his skull.
He sees stars.
His vision shifts again and it is now Clarisse standing on top of him, silhouetted by the sun. She smiles crookedly down at him, more than a little haughty, and turns to talk to someone out of his line of sight.
"See, dad?" she shouts. Her chest swells with victory. "I told you I wouldn't disappoint."
Percy pants, trying to concentrate on the memory. A voice responds.
"Good." It's gruff. Ares. "Just don't try that next week. Zeus wants that one alive; anyone else is fair game."
Younger Clarisse grins, teeth bared and gleaming. She leans down to pull him up and whispers harshly in his ear.
"I might not be able to kill you, but I'm sure as hell making it so you don't leave this mountain intact. Got it?"
Percy scoffs, an involuntary thing. The younger version of him in this memory feels nothing but growing hatred towards her; it festers in his lungs, pushing to spill out.
"You might not be able to touch me," he says. "But I can touch you. How would you like dear old dad to carry you back to camp in pieces, huh? I'm not losing this fight."
Clarisse clenches her jaw. "Then you better hope that boyfriend of yours is willing to play defense, because I'll be the first one to that summit, rest of you be damned."
"He's not my—" He shakes his head. "Nope. You're not worth it. Have your prize, Clarisse. I already turned it down once, I don't want it again."
She shakes her head, crossing her arms stubbornly. "You're the stupidest person I've ever met."
Percy takes in a deep breath and lowers his voice, his tone serious. "Trust me, Clarisse, you don't want it. It won't make Ares love you more. It will just make your life harder. You do not need it to be great."
"Easy for you to say. You've been the center of two prophecies already." She scoffs and pushes him away. Her clothes are stained with sweat and blood. "Watch your back next week. When that horn sounds, I'm not going to play nice anymore."
"Percy!"
The sharp sound cuts through the memory, bringing Percy back to the present. He gasps and sits up sharply.
"Jesus fuck, man." Clarisse is squatting down, looking at him with worry on her face. "You scared the shit out of me."
He takes a moment to collect himself. "I saw it."
"Saw what?" Clarisse steadies him into a sitting position.
"Us. At the mountain. We— we were training." He rubs at his temples as pain shoots through his skull. "You had just beaten me in a fight, but your dad said something. It— it made no fucking sense."
She rolls her eyes. "That's dad for you."
"He said you couldn't kill me because Zeus wanted me alive." He tries to claw the memory back. "But that you could kill anyone else, just not me. And that you would."
"That doesn't sound like me." She frowns.
"You called Jason my boyfriend."
"That part sounds like me."
"It was all for that day. The day on the mountain." He swallows, his throat dry. "There was a prize and we all wanted it. I could feel it, deep within me. But I didn't want it, because I'd been offered it before."
Clarisse's hand tightens around his forearm. "What was it, Percy?"
His voice catches in his throat as he looks at her. "Godhood."
—
Clint made him go to the infirmary.
Percy tried to tell him all he needed was some salt water, but he was worried about the potential of a brain injury from the whack Clarisse gave him. He said he'd only go if Clarisse also got checked out, seeing as he clocked her pretty good.
So there they sit, on opposite examination tables, staring at each other. The bandages on their foreheads mirror each other, an additional butterfly stitch holding Clarisse's chin together.
"Godhood, huh?" Clarisse says into the silence.
Percy rubs his jaw and looks to the side. He doesn't want to talk about it; the mystery that was put in front of him is slowly unraveling and he doesn't like where it's going.
"I should've known you wouldn't want it," she continues, her feet kicking aimlessly off the side of the table. "I don't even know why I would want it. Sounds fucking miserable."
Percy levels a look at her. "I know why you wanted it. You always needed to be the best back then. You worked so hard, to the point people would have to hold you back. To us, godhood was it. The farthest you could go."
Clarisse casts her gaze downwards. "Glad I grew out of that, I guess."
"Yeah, me too." Percy exhales. "But that's the thing."
"What?"
"You don't have godhood, neither do I." He pauses. "So what happened? Who got it if we didn't win?"
"Big head you've got there, Prissy."
He rolls his eyes. "You know what I mean. We were the best fighters next to Jason, and we know he didn't have it either."
She shrugs. "Maybe they never rewarded anyone. It's not like all of us made it out of there alive."
They're quiet for a single, sobering moment.
"Yeah," he says softly. "But I know one who did."
"Care to share with the class?"
Percy bites the inside of his cheek as he thinks. "I've been in contact with Travis Stoll. I know he hates talking about it because of his brother, but—"
"Travis won't say anything," Clarisse says bitterly. "He made sure camp knew where he stood when he left."
"Come on," Percy says. "He's pretty well-adjusted now. I bet if I get him drunk, I could loosen him up."
"Very classy of you." She smirks. "Congratulations on joining the villain side of demigodom."
"I've been on that side for a long time, Clarisse." His gaze flickers to the security camera nestled in the top corner of the room. "Want to come?"
She shakes her head. "Travis and I… let's just say it wouldn't be pretty if he saw me again."
Percy raises an eyebrow, but doesn't question it. "Don't cause too much trouble while I'm gone."
Clarisse hops off the examination table, her bravado back like a suit of armor. "Don't worry. You'll just come back to a few fresh tattoos on Flora and a nose piercing."
—
The bar Travis suggests is as much of a dive as the ones Natasha likes to frequent. The lighting is dim, with warm, bare bulbs scattered around to add to the ambiance— or lack thereof. The bar top is sticky with spilled beer and corn nuts, but the music playing is good and the clientele seem to keep to themselves for the most part.
He claims a booth for them and leaves Percy to guard it while he goes and gets a pitcher. Travis sets it down and Percy gives him a look.
"How much are you planning on drinking today?" he asks.
"You said you were stressed." Travis shrugs. "It takes a little more than a pint to knock us off our feet, or do you not remember senior sunset?"
"Fuck." Percy puts his head in his hands. "I wish I could forget that. My first blackout."
"Simpler times, my dude." Travis slides a glass across the pock-marked table to Percy. "What's up?"
Percy had to act fast when he thought of calling up Travis. In truth, he just wanted someone to hang with that wasn't fifteen, his boyfriend, or a former love. Travis felt neutral; he didn't have the baggage of Annabeth or the sadness of Jason. He was just a friend from before. He didn't have many friends anymore, but he guesses he can count Travis among the few. It was nice.
"Work stress," he said, taking a large gulp. "And—" He groans. "I did something stupid."
Travis leans back against the booth. "This oughta be good."
He grinds his teeth. "I may have— accidentally, might I add— told Clint I love him."
Travis blinks. "And?"
Percy glares at him. "And it was during sex. Like during during."
"Oh…" Travis nods thoughtfully, sipping his beer as if he was going to spout some kind of sage wisdom. "Not the worst thing that could happen. Did he say it back?"
Percy sags a bit in his seat. "Nope."
"Oof," Travis reaches over and pats his hand. "That's rough, buddy."
He gives a self-pitying chuckle. "That's all you've got? 'That's rough, buddy?'"
Travis shrugs. "What else do you want? I can't exactly talk to the man for you. But if I did, I would definitely hype you up. Percy Jackson once saved a litter of kittens from a burning building and all that."
Percy groans and lays his head down on the sticky table. "You're not helping."
Travis flicks the back of his head. "Beer will help. Drink the beer and you'll forget it was ever awkward."
Percy pulls himself up begrudgingly and unhinges his jaw like a snake, chugging the rest of the glass. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and grabs for the pitcher to pour himself another.
"Besides my… well, everything, how are things with you?"
Travis smacks his lips thoughtfully and sighs. "Pretty alright, to be honest. Work is going good— well, as good as working for Stark Industries can go. My partner is having a gallery opening next week; she's so fucking talented." He looks at Percy. "Speaking of, you should come. Bring that boyfriend of yours; I'll talk you up so much he'll say the L word on the spot."
Percy rolls his eyes. "Try not to embarrass me, please, but I'll see if his schedule is open or not. With the way this case is going, we might have to miss it."
"If you're free, there's a spot for you on the guest list. I'll send you the details."
"Oh, a guest list, huh? How fancy. Should I wear a suit?"
"Fuck off. But yes, wear a suit or she'll kill me."
They settle into companionable laughter. Percy spies a pool table in the corner where a game is finishing up. He indicates it with his glass.
"Want to play?
Travis turns to look. "Winner gets fifty bucks."
Percy smiles. "You're on."
—
It isn't as if Clarisse really has anything to do while Percy is gone. Flora sequestered herself in her room for what she called "corpse time," which can only be her version of taking an afternoon nap judging by the lack of sound coming from behind the door. She finds herself wandering again and is drawn to noise happening on the common floor.
"You're just pissed because you got to pick the movie last week."
"Yeah, and I have good picks, not this shit."
"You only suggest esoteric Czech films!"
She leans against the entryway to the living room and observes for a moment.
Tony is there arguing with a man sporting a metal arm. It's devolved into throwing pieces of popcorn like children. Natasha sits to the side, idly browsing something on her phone while keeping an eye on the argument. In another chair is Clint, the mysterious boyfriend that she has yet to meet, with Captain America to his right. Clarisse is suddenly very grateful she chose a different shirt today.
"How about we let our guest pick?" Natasha says, not even looking up from her phone.
All heads in the room whip around to look at her. She manages not to balk at that alone.
"Hi." She waves. "Clarisse. Percy's friend."
There's a moment where they stare a her in open fascination, then all appear to accept this at once. She glances at Natasha for guidance.
"What kind of movies do you like?" Clint asks. "Because these two keep going at each others' throats like nobody's business."
"Uh—" Clarisse scratches the butterfly stitch on her chin. "I didn't really watch a lot of movies as a kid. Something with action, maybe? I dunno what's popular now."
Tony narrows his eyes at her. "You're just as weird as Jackson, you know that?"
She barks out a laugh. "That's where you're wrong: I'm infinitely cooler. You saw me kick his ass."
"Yeah, because he went into a fugue state. Pretty sure it's a party foul to kick the crap out of someone in a waking coma."
Clarisse hums. "Fair, but when we were kids I kicked his ass all the time."
The man with the metal arm turns to look at her, his eyes narrowing. He's assessing her, but she doesn't quite know what for.
"So…" she looks around the room. "Movie night? What about—" She plucks a choice off the shelf under the TV at random. "—this one?"
Groans come from those assembled.
"What?"
"That's the cinematic version of the Steve and Bucky adventures." Natasha laughs to herself. "Do it. I love the part where they stare into each others' eyes too long."
"That is not how that happened and you know it," the man shot back.
"I tried watching it once but it was too uncanny," Steve says. "I'd rather have to go on another blind date Tony sets up for me."
"Excuse you," Tony says. "Pepper sets those up, I just pick the women."
Their bickering is interrupted by all of their phones going off at once. A flurry of "hellos" echo around the room and the atmosphere becomes deadly serious.
Natasha swears. "Fucking AIM at it again. Movie night is going to need a rain check."
Steve stands. He adjusts the watch on his wrist. "Suit up, everyone. We'll meet at the rendezvous point in ten."
The team breaks to get their respective gear with routine uniformity. Clarisse stays rooted to the spot, not wanting to interfere. Natasha breezes past her.
"You should come with."
Clarisse pauses, then follows her.
"That's not exactly legal, is it?" she asks.
She follows Natasha to a hallway where she presses a button. Her suit slides out of a hidden compartment and she immediately begins dressing.
"Doesn't need to be," Natasha says. "You're not representing SHIELD. But you're good. I saw that fight with Percy."
"But— you beat me." It sounds more like a question than she likes.
"I beat a lot of people. Doesn't mean they're not good." Natasha zips the suit up and attaches her bracers. The long red hair is swept up into a tidy bun. She looks Clarisse up and down. "You'll need some protection."
"I have some," she replies.
She forms a fist and pounds it against her chest, saying a quick prayer to Ares. A red haze engulfs her, snaking around her limbs until she's shrouded in the darkness. When it dissipates, it reveals a set of armor, red as blood. Her spear is in one hand, the boar helmet in the other. She wills the helmet back to where it stays until she needs it. It'd be the worst PR if she was given any boar-related nicknames by the press.
Natasha hums thoughtfully. "That'll do."
—
Percy owes Travis fifty bucks, but he's planning on winning it back in their second game of pool. He's been trying to pepper in questions about the past, but Travis dodges them easily. Those memories hold too much pain in them.
They're on their second pitcher, cheeks ruddy and mouths smiling, when Percy's phone buzzes in his back pocket.
"Gimme a sec," he says when he sees it's Clint calling. "Hey, what's up?"
"Uh, how fast can you make it to Time's Square?" Clint's voice is shaky and he can hear roaring in the background.
Percy suddenly feels much more sober than he should be. "As fast as you need me to. What's happening?"
Clint grunts, then swears. The sound of his bowstring being loosed echoes in his ear. "Just some regular old monster mayhem that require your skills. I'm up on a roof, mostly safe. You'll need to assist Nat and the others on the ground."
"I'll be there in five." He looks at Travis and attempts to convey the gravity of the situation. "Don't die in the meantime."
Clint laughs. "Not planning on it."
Percy slips his phone into his back pocket. "How would you like to fight something big and stupid, just like old times?"
Travis seems hesitant at first, but the beer must have been working because he breaks out into a massive grin. "I thought you'd never ask."
—
They skitter to a stop at the edge of the fight. Debris litters the street, broken and melted portions of the screens that dominate the square crushed under unknown feet. Percy spots Natasha before they round the corner of a building and stops in shock.
"Holy fuck."
"Yeah," Natasha says dryly. "I know."
Standing before them, wobbling on its inefficient legs and waving its stubby arms, is a massive lump of sentient lava. A lava monster, if you will. Percy can't believe his eyes, but Clint's call makes more sense all of a sudden.
"Who's the guy?" She asks as she shoots something in the distance. It was a small piece of lava spawned from the monster that was struggling to form legs of its own.
"Friend from camp," he shouts back over the din. "Travis, Natasha."
Travis gives her a little salute and a lazy smile. "Ma'am."
"Can he fight?"
He exchanges a glance with Travis, who nods. "Yes, he fucking can."
It's not until the end of them putting their heads together and making a plan when Clarisse jogs up to Natasha, her armor covered in scorch marks.
"We've held off the other side of the square, but we can't keep it there much longer," she pants. Strands of her light brown hair plaster themselves to her forehead.
"Clarisse?" Travis furrows his brow.
"Travis?" Clarisse says in equal confusion. "What the fuck is he doing here?"
"I could say the same for you, you know!" Travis shouts.
The roar of the lava monster is deafening and Percy groans.
"Just get into position," he says, gently pushing at both of them. "I have a plan."
"He has a plan, he says," Clarisse mocks him, but complies with his orders. She stands to the side of Percy, a few yards away. Travis is at his other side.
Percy closes his eyes, feeling the connection to the water running underneath the square. It was so close. There's a familiar tug in his gut and he opens them.
"Ready?"
He looks at Clarisse. She nods. Travis does the same.
"I really hope you all know how to swim," he says to himself.
The fire hydrants that dot the edges of the square rattle and shake. He holds his hands out, giving in to that tug at the back of his spine. The lava monster swings its misshapen head towards him, beginning to roll his way. Percy grits his teeth, focusing on drawing as much of his power as he can. It's been so long that he forgot how deep that well goes.
Percy takes in a deep breath and lets all hell break loose.
