Flora doesn't dream in English.
She hasn't. Ever. Her innermost world was always in Spanish, her best friends at camp spoke Spanish, hell— even her current mentor (if you could even call him that) spoke Spanish to her. He calls her ishta like her mother did. He makes her caldo. He feels like home.
So when her dreams come to her that night in English, she immediately knows something is wrong.
The air around her swirls thick and misty, obscuring most of the forest within her line of sight. She turns, trying to see an end to the trees and the fog, but nothing appears.
"Stop."
Flora turns and comes face to face with a tall, blonde figure.
She had never met Jason Grace. Despite being at camp since she was five years old, she was more than a decade younger than the upper echelon of campers that he belonged to. She never went to Camp Jupiter— she still has two years before she can go on an exchange— and the only memories she holds of him are watery at best. A snapshot seen from too far away to make an image coherent enough to understand.
And yet…
Here he is.
Jason Grace is tall. He is blonde. These were facts she already knew; everyone did. She didn't know about the scar over his lip, the moles dotting the space next to one of his eyebrows, the way his eyes shone whenever light hit them. He has a dimple in his chin, like Captain America does. She can sense a resemblance to Clint, but it was all wrong. The right parts jumbled in the wrong order. Jason Grace was a jigsaw puzzle where the pieces all fit together, but were cut from different scenes.
"We don't have much time," Jason says.
Flora's lips part; she blinks. She knew ghosts existed— they had to in the reality she inhabited. Romans had them, why not Greeks? She'd never had a demigod dream before and wonders if this was what they were like. If they lent the ability to see someone who was so long passed that he was nothing more than a smudged memory in her waking mind.
"What?" Her own voice sounds hollow, far away. Her eyes glassy and dazed. She can't help but be entranced by him.
"Focus." Jason snaps his fingers in front of her face. She startles. "You need to listen."
"Aye, aye captain," she replies.
"Gods," he swears and looks to the side. "You're just as bad as he is."
Flora knows who he's talking about and she gets a little thrill out of hearing it from his lips.
"The killer is still out there, but he's closer than you think," Jason says. "You need to help Percy. He's looking in all the wrong places."
She frowns. "What do you mean?"
"He can't see the forest for the trees. He's never been able to. You need to help him."
"I—" She blinks. "I can't."
Jason grasps her upper arm, forcing her to look at him. "Yes, you can. You have to. Only you know who he is. You were there. Think, Flora."
"You know my name…" she mumbles.
Jason swears again. "You're waking up. I have to go. But remember what you saw: you know more than you think you do."
He lets go of her and takes a step back. Flora can feel herself being pulled away from him and holds out a hand.
"Wait!" She grasps his wrist. "Did you love him?"
For all of her childish teasing of Percy and his former lover, she wants to know. There's a hurt so deeply embedded in him that she knows will never go away, no matter how much he's loved. But she needs to know. That he was loved, once.
Jason's expression softens. He nods. "Yes. More than anything."
She releases a breathless laugh and smiles at him. "Thank you."
The corners of Jason's eyes crinkle. "Wake up, Flora. It's time to go."
She gasps awake at the break of dawn.
The light outside her window is gently rising above the sharp edges of the skyscrapers that dot the landscape. She can see cars moving through the streets like ants, swarming and retreating in equal measure. If she squints, she can just make out the charred remnants of Times Square encased in obsidian following the events of several days ago. She remembers eagerly pumping Percy for information following the fight, hanging on his every word as he relayed it to her in the fastest Spanish she'd ever heard, words tumbling over each other as they fought to escape his mouth.
He had to repeat it to the others in English, but he told her first. She's wearing down his defenses and it makes her feel a little bit victorious, like she's reclaiming a family she never really had. Flora never met her father and she barely remembers her mother. Watery memories ebb and flow when she tries to recall what she looked like. It used to terrify her; the fact that she couldn't remember anymore. It still does, but it hurts a little less now.
Exhausted, Flora flops back onto the bed with a groan. She stares at the ceiling fan, watching the blades go around and around as she fights to reclaim a scrap of her sanity. She thinks over Jason's words, but can't decide whether that was real or a fabrication of her own mind.
The forest for the trees, that's what he said. They need to focus on the bigger picture, whatever that might be.
That's something for after breakfast, she thinks to herself with a grimace.
Mr. Stark was probably awake, doing gods know what. She pulls herself out of bed and tugs on a sweatshirt. He might not have the answers, but he does have food.
She enters the elevator to talk to FRIDAY, hoping not to wake the slumbering duo of Clint and Percy with whom she shares a wall. Flora tilts her head upwards.
"Hi FRIDAY," she says. She knows that the AI isn't sentient, not in the way people are, but she can't help feeling a bit of fondness towards her. "Do you know where Mr. Stark is right now?"
"Hello Flora," comes the smooth sound of FRIDAY through the speakers. "Boss is in his new workshop."
"Can you take me to him?" she asks. Talking to FRIDAY makes her feel a bit like a kid, in the best of ways.
She can almost feel FRIDAY nodding. "Yes, I can."
Flora stuffs her hands into the sleeves of her sweatshirt and wraps her arms around herself. It was cold in the Tower, but she didn't mind it. It was always stiflingly hot at camp, save for the Big House.
The elevator dings open and Flora exits.
"Thank you, FRIDAY," she says as she clenches her fists around the sleeves of her sweatshirt.
Flora finds him where FRIDAY said he'd be, in his makeshift workshop tinkering at some project or another as his larger workshop is secured better against… well, her.
"Hey, kid." Tony doesn't even look up from what he's doing. The tinny sound of rock music comes from one earbud lodged in his ear. He has safety glasses on that cast his face with a yellowish glow.
"Hi, Mr. Stark." She sits down on a stool a few feet away from him. The wheels squeak as she rocks back and forth on her heels.
Tony snorts. "As much as I love being shown deference, you can cut the 'Mr. Stark' crap."
Flora tries to stifle her laughter and fails. "Okay, Anthony. Is that better?"
Tony wrinkles his nose. "Just barely." He returns to his work. "Came to hang or do you need something?"
Flora shrugs, spinning on the stool. "I couldn't get back to sleep and figured you'd be awake because I'm pretty sure you never sleep."
"You've got me all figured out, kid," he says. "I'm secretly a vampire."
"If you were a vampire, you'd be prettier."
"Ouch."
"It's true. I've read Anne Rice."
He lets out a groan. "Leave my sight immediately. I can't deal with you teens."
She cackles to herself, spinning in the opposite direction. "Do you have any food?"
"Mmm, now she reveals her true intentions." Tony messes with a seam on the side of his project. "Have FRIDAY order something for you."
"I feel bad exploiting her."
"She's an AI: she can't be exploited."
"I still feel bad."
Tony shakes his head and puts down the sautering tool. "Fine. I'll feed the little beast. I have cereal and… cereal."
Flora pumps her fist in victory. "Do you have coffee?"
Tony stands. "You're fifteen."
She blinks. "And?"
He sighs and shakes his head again. "I'll be having some words with that guardian demigod of yours. You'll stunt your growth."
"I bet you say that to all the kids."
"I've tried with a certain spider, but he gets it from other sources."
Flora trails after him to the common floor's kitchen and helps assemble some bowls and spoons. She rarely heard about the other heroes outside of those who resided in the Tower; the idea that there's ones her age fascinates her.
"How old is he?" She clears her throat. "This spider… kid."
Tony grunts. "A little older than you. Maybe seventeen? I know he's younger than Clint's girl. Kate's nineteen and an absolute whirlwind. She broke two of my windows the last time she was here."
She takes a box of cereal from Tony's hands, pouring herself a bowl. "That's cool. Not a lot of demigods make it past their sixteenth birthday. Although, that's changed a little. Percy was one of the first to pass twenty."
Tony narrows his eyes and looks at her as she goes about adding milk, entirely unbothered. "Hey."
She looks up at him, mouth full of her first spoonful of cereal. "What?"
He tilts his head to the side. "Are you guys okay?"
She swallows around the spoon. "Yeah. Okay looks different to demigods. You get used to it."
Tony, for once in his life, decides to drop a topic he desperately wants to know more about. He pours his own bowl of cereal. "I'll have to gather the other superteens. Usually I want them out of my business, but it might be good for you."
She snorts. "Good for me? Who are you, Percy?" She freezes as she realizes what came out of her mouth and shovels another spoonful of cereal to give her something to do.
"After breakfast, do your homework." Tony watches her carefully.
"I don't have any homework."
"Okay, then do your… what do demigods do again? Spar?"
"Yeah, but I'm a Hermes kid. We do other stuff."
"Elaborate."
"Tomfoolery, mischief, shenanigans, that kind of stuff."
Tony makes a face. "No."
"Alright," she rolls her eyes. "Our dad does a lot of stuff. He takes in strays, mostly, and delivers messages. I could organize your emails."
Tony takes in a deep breath. "Better for you to find Aqualad when he wakes up. He'll entertain you."
Flora scowls. "I don't need entertaining. I just— want something to do. I'm going crazy here."
Tony gives her a sidelong glance. "What do you know about robotics?"
—
Percy finds Flora in the middle of Tony's workshop, surrounded by discarded microchips and scraps of wire. It's not as if he wasn't expecting to find her in this kind of situation eventually, but Tony warmed up to her faster than he'd anticipated. For all the posturing, Tony Stark was about as hardened as a marshmallow.
"Hey." He nudges Flora's position on the floor with the toe of his boot. "What has he been corrupting you with?"
Flora clumsily reaches for the disparate pieces of her creation. "I'm making a robot."
Percy grunts. "What does it do?"
She shrugs. "Haven't decided yet. Maybe it'll hold all my knives."
"What is it with you and knives?"
"The more you tell me not to do something, the more I want it."
He scrubs a hand across his face. This girl— against all odds— was bringing out his scant paternal instincts. He'd have to let his mother say "I told you so" the next time he sees her.
"Don't kill Mr. Stark. We need him."
Flora nods sharply. "Gotcha."
Percy leaves her in he hands of Tony, something he feels a flutter of trepidation about that he tells himself is definitely not related to the aforementioned paternal instincts. It's in the lab that he finds Bruce, conversing intensely with Clarisse.
"Listen," Bruce says, holding his hands out. "It would be in a controlled environment. You'd be monitored every step of the way. There would be no danger."
"That's really fucking easy for you to say. You wouldn't be the one taking it." Clarisse snarls.
Percy approaches them, but keeps a reasonable distance. "Clarisse, try not to piss off the green guy. Not sure if we could take him."
"Speak for yourself." She glares at him.
He crosses his arms, unimpressed. The silence that stretches between them grows until Clarisse breaks.
"He wants us to drink it," she says.
Percy looks too Bruce. "Drink what?"
Bruce sighs. His weary expression says that he's too old to deal with these petty squabbles, but that he is, unfortunately, very used to it in his line of work. "The red substance. We can't study the effects as is, but seeing as you two have taken it before, it would be easier to understand if we could monitor how it affects your body and behaviour."
That felt unethical. Bruce knew it was unethical, but ethics went out the window when it came to godly powers.
Percy steels himself. "Do it."
Clarisse's reaction is explosive. She grips Percy's arm hard enough to leave bruises. "You're out of your mind."
"Think about it, Clarisse," he says. "A small amount, enough to leave our systems in a day."
"No, you think about it," she bites out. "We don't know what that shit did to us. What if it gives us a link to the big guys, huh? It could have been used to channel our rage, but also to gather information on us. Do you want to give them that access again?"
Percy thinks over her words. Her covers her hand with his, the weight warm and calloused. "What can they do to me that they haven't already done?"
She pauses, searching Percy's eyes for anything she can grab onto, but she finds nothing. Clarisse drops her grip on him and steps back.
"Go ahead," she says. "But leave me out of it."
He nods. "Stay. Watch. You might be able to pick up on something I can't."
She gulps. Her feelings are torn between what she wants and what she knows needs to happen. After a moment, she nods. "Whatever, fine. Do what you want. Not like I can stop you anyway."
Bruce looks hesitantly between the two of them. The few interactions he witnessed between them was enough to make him hesitant to engage in their arguments. He waits until the tension settles and speaks.
"How open is your schedule today?" he asks.
Percy looks at Bruce. "Is today enough to gather the observation materials you'd need?"
"It's a now or never kind of situation we've got here," he says. "I have other projects coming up and won't be able to help. You'll have to send it out for analysis with SHIELD's team instead."
Percy shifts his weight from foot to foot. He shares a conflicted glance with Clarisse, a knot of uncertainty coiled in his stomach.
"Do your worst, doc." Percy uncrosses his arms.
Bruce sighs. "This is the last time I do pro-bono work for Tony."
—
It isn't the first time that Percy is hooked up to a mess of machines and wires. He recalls muddy memories of evaluations done to report back to Olympus, a merging of the ancient with the now. He never knew what they were looking for with those tests, or why they were so hell bent on bringing Greek fighting into the modern age, but he didn't question it back then. That wasn't his purpose.
He was the sword and the gods the hand that gripped it. Where they wielded him, he struck.
The adhesive itches. He tells his body to stop tensing and loses that battle in seconds, his eyes flicking nervously to Clarisse's stony expression.
You're the only one to blame if this goes south.
He can almost hear her whispering it in his ear. He doesn't blame her.
Percy was thankful it was just Bruce and Clarisse; there was no need to involve the others unless they returned with findings that proved useful, if they even got anything. He wasn't so sure the potion would even work considering how many times he's taken it.
He gestures for Bruce to hand over the vial and uncorks it. "Down the hatch, right?"
Jason's words tumble out of his mouth unbidden. He clenches his jaw to stop any more coming out.
"Let me measure a precise amount— oh, alright, that works too, I guess."
Percy took a swig from the bottle, swallowing a small mouthful much to Bruce's chagrin. He hands the glass back to a stunned Bruce, who capped it and set it down on the table with a robotic automation.
"It's magic, Bruce," Percy says. "Measuring the exact milliliters won't do shit."
Bruce fiddles with some of the wires attached to Percy. He barely conceals his irritation. "Well, dosage does affect outcome in most cases, but this isn't an exact science. And like Clarisse said, you can do what you want."
Percy smiles grimly, settling back into his chair. "Now what?"
Bruce picks up a clipboard, his glasses slipping down his nose. "Now, we wait. Tell me everything you're feeling."
"Bored."
"You're feeling bored?"
"I always feel bored."
Bruce makes a note of it, checking the machines as they gently beep and hum. It made little sense to Percy, who had done terribly in most technology related courses throughout his life. He was in the hands of the good doctor now, a person he wasn't even sure was credentialed to carry out an experiment like this, but it was better than the other options.
The other options being sticking his head in the sand and ignoring all of his problems. He was done with that.
"We're going to let the potion work its way through you for now. I didn't expect the effects to be instantaneous." Bruce scribbles something on his clipboard and checks the machines one more time.
"Waiting," Percy says sarcastically. "My favourite."
A minute passes in terse silence, Clarisse's eyes never leaving Percy's form, scanning him for even the most minute change.
"Oh, fuck it," she mutters. Clarisse picks the bottle up off the table and uncorks it, taking a long draw. She makes a face and coughs, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
"Clarisse—!" Percy shouts.
Bruce looks pained, his hands white-knuckling the edges of his clipboard.
"Gods, that tastes foul." She coughs again. "Like cherry cough syrup and gasoline were wed in unholy matrimony."
Bruce pulls the bottle out of her hand and puts the stopper back in it. "You! No— stop that!" He glares at her like he's scolding a naughty cat.
"I'm fine, doc," Clarisse says, her throat raw. "Just— wasn't expecting that."
He sighs. "Demigods— After this, I'm only working with Thor. He's at least a bit more logical."
Clarisse approaches Percy and tilts her chin up.
"You're insufferable, you know that?" Percy says.
"We're in this together, even if I'm being an ass."
Clarisse drags a chair up to sit next to him with a beleaguered sigh. She holds out her hand, palm up, and looks at him expectantly.
"Till the end, right?"
Percy looks at the offered hand and a hand clenches its phantom fingers around his windpipe. He swallows and slaps his hand down on top of hers.
"Together. Don't make me regret it, La Rue." He gives her a look of trepidation, the mess of emotions and uncertainty of the past few years swirling behind his eyes.
She grins. "Now, when have I ever done you wrong, Prissy?"
—
It doesn't happen immediately, but when it does, it happens all at once.
A fire burns in Percy's gut and his breath quickens. He goes to tug at the collar of his shirt, regretting putting on something he couldn't unbutton. He needed air, he needed water, he needed—
"Percy?" Clarisse sits up from where she'd been lounging. "Percy."
Bruce looks at the machines and begins taking furious notes.
"I—" He groans, his eyes slamming shut. "Fuck— how the fuck did we deal with this?"
She bites off a laugh. "We were probably used to it. The years have made us a little soft when it comes to godly steroids."
He rubs his forehead, heedless of the sensors Bruce had affixed to his temples. "We must have been gluttons for punishment."
A wave of fire wracks his body and he shudders, curling in on himself. If this was only a portion of the dose, what must the full bottle feel like? He can already sense the edges of his mind curling like scorched paper. He grits his teeth. He tries to brace himself. He wishes the fire to ebb.
He isn't prepared.
Percy's mind is hurtled back to that day. He stands in a line with the others, bottles in their hands. They're empty. The horn sounds, calling them to action, and they're off.
It isn't like it was in his dream. This felt more real, like true memories. The fog in the forest is gone, the ghostly apparition of Jason changed to the flesh and blood form running next to him into the trees. They have a plan, he can feel it. They made it late at night, foreheads pressed together when they thought no one could sense they were awake.
It's fine, at first.
Everyone has a different strategy for getting to the top. They know this is the final test before they're proven worthy of the gods' favour and failure isn't an option. Even in his memories, Percy can sense the ruthlessness within himself and is surprised at how much it shocks him. He doesn't remember ever being this desperate to best his friends, this desperate to win at all costs.
When the pack reaches the halfway point on the mountain, the first demigod is killed.
A boot is placed in the middle of Katie Gardner's back and she's kicked off the edge. He doesn't hear her body hit the ground.
It's the rage that surprises Percy the most. He always had anger, it was innate to demigods in some ways, especially those of his generation. Anger at themselves, at the gods, at the lot they've been given in life. Anger for the lack of a better world. Being angry was easier than admitting how hopeless they felt, it always has been. He is brimming with anger, not at seeing Katie being killed so carelessly, but that he didn't get to do it, that he didn't get to best her.
That's what they all wanted, to be the best. To be the last one standing.
Jason defends him against Drew Tanaka. She wasn't always the strongest fighter, but the potion made them bold and as she swings for Percy's head, Jason slides a knife between her ribs. The sound she makes is pathetic, a small bubble of blood bursting from her mouth before she falls.
They were getting closer, he could feel it.
He locks eyes with Jason and they nod. It takes him seconds to clean his knife of Drew's blood and they returned to the hunt.
It's at the summit that it happens. The missing piece of Percy's memory slides into place and he sees it clear as day.
There, on a pedestal, is a glimmering golden statue, ripe for the taking. The demigod lucky enough to take it first earns godhood, but despite the mess of demigods that had reached the summit, none of them have managed to grab it yet.
A mess of limbs tangles a short distance from the statue, an all-out brawl that makes one fighter indistinguishable from the next. Percy can see the flash of Clarisse's spear, the identical mops of hair of the Stoll brothers. The body of another demigod bleeds onto the stones at the base of the statue. Their heads are filled with swirling red smoke, their eyes shining with the influence of the great rage. He no longer felt like himself; he was another being. He was what the gods always wanted him to be.
He is a god himself. Why shouldn't he take what is rightfully his?
His fingers are inches from grasping the statue when he's pulled back and has the air knocked out of him by the arm of a spear.
Clarisse stands over him, her face a terrifying snarl as she stabs the ground near his face. He twists out from under her and draws his own sword. Their fight is a flurry of limbs and metal; he can't see where he ends and she begins, the energy pulsing between them. He can't see what ends the fight, but suddenly, he's on all fours and looking at the Stoll brothers grappling with each other.
Travis and Connor never fought, not like this. Their weapons of choice were sharply-tipped barbs, lobbed at each other in the heat of arguments or volleyed over heads as part of a never-ending joke. But now, they scrabbled in the dirt like the deepest of enemies. He can see a red smoke pulsing through them, red smoke within himself. Like recognizes like.
Percy joins the fight. He isn't even sure why.
The red behind his eyes spills out over his hands, using them as tools to choke Travis Stoll until he leaves bruises. He can vaguely feel Connor pulling at him until he succeeds in wrenching Percy's hands off of Travis and throwing him into the dirt. They fight, fingers scratching and hitting without finesse or purpose. Connor gains the upper hand and looms over Percy, but Percy grabs a discarded sword in the dirt.
A blade spears Connor Stoll.
Percy wakes up.
He can hear the others shouting his name, the cacophony of machines whirring in the background. Clarisse tugs on his hand and eventually resorts to punching him across the face.
That works, at least, even if it earns her a dirty look.
"Fuck, Clarisse." He rubs his jaw and glares at her. "Was that necessary?"
"Yes, you fucking idiot!" she roars at him.
It's then that he realizes where he is, his fingers wrapped around the neck of Bruce Banner.
Percy scrambles backwards and looks at his hands. "Bruce— I… I'm sorry."
Bruce coughs and sits up gingerly. "You weren't yourself. That potion is more powerful than you described." He rubs at his throat. "You're lucky the big green guy didn't make an appearance."
Percy nods and takes in a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself down. "Yeah. Sorry again, it— I don't even know what it was." He looks up at Clarisse. "Did you see it too?"
For a moment, he worries that Clarisse doesn't know what he means, but the unending sadness behind her eyes betrays her. "Yes. I did."
"What did you see?" Bruce asks. He grabs a hold of his clipboard again.
"We killed them," Percy says. "It wasn't a monster or a god or some new threat; it was us. We killed them all."
—
Percy tugs at the collar of his shirt. He's so unused to the tightness, the tie around his neck, that it makes as if to strangle him. But he'll endure it, if only to support his friend supporting his partner. He thinks about how strange that is, following what he saw in his visions. Travis probably doesn't remember the tragedy of the mountain. He wishes it had stayed hidden himself.
He never thought he'd step foot in an art gallery, save for the ones Rachel shows her paintings at. Sculpture was somewhat lost on him, but he assumes he can simply nod and hum and everyone will think he's as well-versed on art as they are. If anything, he's learned how to play pretend better than most.
Clint strides up next to him after paying the cab that brought them there. The gallery is providing those tiny plastic cups of wine and they had a bet going as to how much they could drink between the two of them without being noticed.
Percy thinks they'll be caught at twenty-five. Clint says twelve.
"Ready?"
Clint offers Percy his arm. Percy snorts.
"What a gentleman." He pats Clint's arm and takes his hand instead, hooking their fingers together. He tugs Clint after him. "Let's get this over with."
Clint rolls his eyes. "What a wonderful thing to say about something you're doing for a friend."
"I'm just not an art person." Percy shrugs.
"Colour me surprised."
"Oh, like you're any better."
"I know art things." Clint tries his best to look erudite and well-mannered. "Nat tried teaching me once."
Percy laughs. "Alright. Dazzle me with your expertise."
The gallery is a narrow building, tall if only to match those around it. He'd asked Rachel about it and learns it was a fairly prestigious place to have a showcase, which gives him some talking points when he meets Travis's partner. He couldn't say he's met a lot of friends' partners over the years. Different people in their demigod class dated and broke up all the time, but their love lives were a mystery outside of camp. He'd seen Annabeth's new husband from a distance, but never spoken to him.
Andy, he thinks, trying not to sound bitter in his own head. What a stupid name.
A crowd is gathering in the gallery as people mill in and out. The air is hot, mitigated only by what appears to be a very overworked air conditioning system.
"Perseus Jackson and guest," Percy says to security at the door.
They flip through a long list pinned to a clipboard and nod. "Enjoy."
There was something a bit thrilling about going to a more upscale event like this. While he was a sort of secret agent in the way Clint was, Zeus wasn't exactly sending him and Jason to charity balls and state dinners. He thought himself a bit above being dazzled by high society, but he was adult enough to admit when something left him awestruck.
"I— wow." Clint looks around the space with wide eyes. He grabs them two small plastic cups of red wine from a passing tray without even looking.
"Yeah." Percy gulps. "Are we artsy enough for this?"
He shakes his head. "Definitely not."
Percy nods and scans the room again. Clint presses lightly down on his arm.
"All good?" Concern shimmers in his eyes. "Just, with what happened with the potion yesterday—"
Percy nods. "Yeah, I'm fine. It's all out of my system, probably. I can't really tell, but I don't feel the same as I did then. Besides, we need to do more normal couple things. This feels… relatively normal. Sort of."
Clint snorts. "Normal couple things? Is what we do so abnormal?"
"Most of our dates consist of killing something."
"Touché."
Their small cups of wine empty, they exchanged them for two new ones.
"Down the hatch," Percy says with an edge of competition.
Clint grins. "I hope you're keeping count."
The wine is sour, worse so than the shit Mr. D would have at camp. He should have known better than to trust wine in plastic cups, regardless of how upscale the gallery is. He wrinkles his nose.
"Absolutely. That's four. We have a ways to go before we can catch up."
It didn't take long for them to busy themselves drinking the gallery out of house and home, surveying the various sculptures on display with wine-muddled brains. Alcohol greatly enhanced their understanding of art, if not their confidence in explaining it to each other as if they knew what they were talking about.
"Enjoying yourselves?" Travis comes up behind them and claps Percy on the shoulder. He jumps, just slightly, but the sight of his friend's smiling face puts him slightly more at ease.
"I don't get art, but this seems pretty impressive," Percy says.
"Yeah, she's a cool lady, my girl." Travis is grinning ear to ear as he slings an arm around Percy. "Now, introduce me to your guy, Perse."
Percy rolls his eyes. "Clint, Travis Stoll. We used to go to camp together. Travis, Clint Barton. He's an Avenger."
"Oh yeah!" Travis snaps a few times. "You're, uh… Iron Fist, right?"
Clint groans. "I have to find Danny Rand and kill him. The amount of people who mistake me for Iron Fist is ridiculous at this point."
Travis drops his hand. "So… not Iron Fist?"
Percy chuckles. "He's Hawkeye."
"Oh, yeah!" Travis nods eagerly as if he knew that already. "The archery guy. You were there with the lava monster."
"Fat lot of good the arrows did against a lava monster," Clint grumbles into his cup of wine.
"Don't worry, buddy." Travis claps Clint on the back this time. "Take a night off. Enjoy some stupidly complicated art that none of us understand."
Clint snorts into his drink before finishing it off. "Thanks."
Travis takes his arm off from around Percy's shoulders and turns to fully face Clint. "Now, you probably don't know this about my friend Percy, but one time he saved these kittens from a burning building—"
"Travis," Percy groans.
"No, no," he waves Percy off. "Let me steal him for a moment."
Percy locks eyes with Clint for a moment and he shrugs. "I'll come find you later."
"That's my man." Travis grins again. He steers Clint away, prattling on about different stories that made Percy seem like an absolute saint.
He sighs and turns around to look at the other exhibits. They were mesmerizing in their complexity, made up of thousands of different gears and metals, bent to form the shape of different figures. Angels, demons, people lying in repose. The soft overhead lights glint off the metal, making them seem as if they were moving. He moves from one sculpture to another that is covered with a large tarp. The plaque at the bottom titles the piece, "Fallen from Grace."
"You'll have to wait a bit until you can see this one," a woman speaks from beside him.
Percy looks at her. "Oh? Any reason?"
"All great artists like to keep an element of surprise to their work, do they not?" She tilts her head to the side, eyes twinkling with mischief. After a moment, she holds out her hand. "Ava, the artist. You're Travis's friend, aren't you?"
Percy takes her hand. "Percy Jackson. He speaks highly of you."
She laughs, the sound like wind chimes. "God, I hope so. I'm surprised I haven't run him off with all the strangeness yet."
Percy smiles a small, private smile. "We're very used to strangeness, don't worry."
"You are, aren't you?" The question begs no answer. Her smile is equally as magnanimous and a moment of knowing silence stretches between them. She breaks it by turning back to the covered artwork. "I think you'll like this one."
"I've likes all of them so far," he says. "You're very talented."
When she smiles, she smiles like a cat stalking its prey. "Thank you. I must find Travis; he's likely holding your beau hostage and we can't have that, can we?"
Percy holds his hand out for her to shake, something strange creeping into his bones. "Nice to meet you, Ava. I hope to see you again."
She shakes it. "Likewise, Percy Jackson."
Ava disappears into the crowd, a slip of a woman that blends into the throng of people as easily as wind. He watches her go, then turns his attention back to the shrouded sculpture. It is minutes later as he's trying to discern what might be inside when the curtain begins to rise. Slowly, inch by inch, the sculpture is revealed and Percy's blood runs cold.
Metal encases a body, a real body this time, with bright blonde hair and eyes shut in endless slumber. A gun crafted from twisted metal gears like those in the other sculptures is pressed against the boy's temple. Out the other side comes a spray of gears, coated a blood red. He's dressed in demigod armour and it's with a dark realization that Percy recognizes that armour.
Jason. This was Jason Grace's death.
Before he could react, Percy's phone buzzes in his pocket. With numb fingers, he opens it. A text from an unknown number is at the top of his notifications.
Bang.
His mind works sluggishly to comprehend the sculpture before him and the text. That's when the bomb goes off.
