He's there when Clint wakes, and grateful for every second he gets to hold his hand.
"Fuck—" Clint winces and tries to lift his head.
Percy lifts his head and leaps to his feet, pressing Clint back onto the hospital bed. His fingers find the sharp protrusion of Clint's collarbones and rub gentle circles into the skin there. He can feel Clint go slack, a groan slipping from his lips. It's only when Clint stops trying to sit up that Percy lets his frantic breath even out. His shoulders sag and he releases his hold on Clint.
"Morning," Percy mumbles.
Clint grasps his hands and kisses his knuckles, still scuffed and raw from the attack. He looks into Percy's eyes with something that looks half like love, half like tragedy. Percy drags his chair closer so he can sit without relinquishing Clint's hand.
"My leg hurts," Clint says.
Percy laughs. "Yeah, it would. Parts of those stupid fucking sculptures got you deep." He leans his head down to kiss Clint's side. "You owe me a suit jacket, by the way."
Clint laughs, but it turns into a cough. He waves off Percy's concern. "I'll buy you all the suit jackets you want, babe."
"I wish I never have to wear a single suit jacket for the rest of my life." He concentrates on the way Clint's hand feels in his. "They're fucking uncomfortable."
Clint laughs again and leans his head back, sighing. "What do we do now?"
If that ain't the question of the moment.
Percy gives his hand a squeeze and hangs his head for a moment, taking in a breath. 'That's what I'm trying to figure out. I— I don't know if I can do what needs to be done."
"And what would that be?"
Percy worries away at his bottom lip. "Capture him, give him over to Chiron, who will pass him up to the gods for a tribunal."
"Seems fair."
"You don't know what they'll do to him." His voice is rough with emotion, his face drawn and haggard. For all he wants to see Travis punished, he doesn't want to see it be the gods' form of justice. "It'll be worse than anything you can imagine. Kin killers are the worst of us."
Clint looks at him for a moment. "Then what are you going to do with him?"
"I don't know," he chokes out. Percy looks tortured. The typical self-assured, jovial nature drained from him. "I don't know why it has to be me."
He raises a hand to Percy's cheek and strokes over the shallow cut there with his thumb. "It doesn't. You can give him over to the gods, but I know you. You'll take this burden because you're good. You're too good, Percy. Anyone else would make him pay for what he did." Clint searches Percy's eyes with his own. "But not you. You've got too much mercy in you, despite what you might think. If you're looking for permission to carry this out, I can't give that to you. You have to give it to yourself. You have to forgive yourself."
Percy leans into Clint's hand and lets his eyes slip closed. He takes in a deep breath, leaning to kiss Clint's open palm. "I know," he says after a moment. "I don't want it, but I know."
Clint smiles softy, sadly. He pulls Percy in for a chaste kiss.
"You know, it's funny—" Percy chuckles. "I already asked Clarisse, I asked Nico, and they gave me the same answer. You all know me too well."
He grasps the back of Percy's neck, pressing their foreheads together. "Promise me you won't do anything stupid."
That gets Percy to crack a smile. "No guarantees."
—
The air is tense in the tower when they return. Clint is wheeled into the med floor with Tony's nurses to take care of him, despite his protests and readiness to bribe anyone who would listen with promises of food. Percy insists he has to stay for at least another day and the matter is settled.
It's Flora who is the sticking point.
She rushes into Percy's arms the moment the elevator opens, abandoning her hand of cards that Tony was using to distract her until they arrived back from the hospital. Percy staggers back a step at the sheer force of demigod slamming into him and wraps his arms around her in slight shock. He'd seen her hug Clarisse, sure, but they weren't particularly… close. At least, he didn't think so. Something shook loose in his heart and embraces her back.
"It's okay, ishta," he murmurs to her in Spanish. "I'm fine. Clint's fine."
She pulls away with tears in her eyes. "What happened?"
His breath stills in his chest and he feels a conflicting tug as whether to tell her about Travis or not. She doesn't know him, not as far as he knows. Travis had left camp by the time Flora was old enough to know who the older demigods even were; she surely didn't even know about the deaths on the mountain until recently.
He peers over her head at Tony and shares a look with him. Tony nods and stands, leaving to the next room.
"Let's sit." Percy guides her back to her chair.
It doesn't take long for realization to dawn on Flora's face as to what happened at the gallery and who Travis was. He felt like he was a counselor all over again, breaking the news of another demigod death, another demigod betrayal. It struck him that this will never end for them: this was their entire world. Death will always come for them no matter what they do. No matter how much they try to make their world a better place.
"I'm going to get him," Percy says. "This ends here."
Flora runs a hand through her hair and tugs on the ends nervously. "Do you even know where he is?"
He nods. "The mountain. It's clear now."
Look to the flowers, he remembers Jason saying in his dreams. Look to the trees.
Flora was the key; she had been ever since he found her in the Catskills, he just didn't know it yet. The rest came from within, from the memories locked deep inside his mind. It was through Clarisse and the others that he could retrieve them. All this time alone… it had brought him no peace, just pain. Camp was no longer his home, but he could build a new one with what he has now, however fragile it may be.
But he cannot build a home when at the core everything is rotting.
"What about Clint?" she asks. "He should go with you."
Percy shakes his head. "He needs to heal first. This is between Travis and I."
The frown on Flora's face holds a hint of something that Percy can't figure out. "I'm coming with you."
"No." It's the only time he's raised his voice at her. "You're staying with a friend. They'll watch over you."
"I'm not a kid, Percy," she spits back at him.
"I know." He rubs the bridge of his nose. "But he's dangerous. Please, stay out of it. For me. For Clarisse."
He can feel Flora bristle with anger, but she pushes it down, glowering sullenly.
"Fine. Whatever."
Percy sighs. "Pack your things. We're leaving soon."
—
Sally Jackson answers the door with a crushing hug to Percy and a swat at his arm with a rolled up newspaper.
"Mijo!" she scowls at him. "You never call. I haven't seen you in weeks!"
He ducks his head sheepishly. "Mami, I know, I know. I'm sorry."
"Come, come in," she tuts and gestures for him to enter, Flora trailing behind him. "You've brought a friend. Where is Mr. Secret Agent? I liked him."
Percy lays a hand on Flora's shoulder and she shrugs him off with a petulant scowl. "He's at his house. This is Flora."
Sally tilts her head to the side and looks Flora over. She steps closer and tugs at one of her hoodie sleeves. "Tch. Too skinny, mija. I'll fix that. Come."
Flora blinks rapidly as the heavily accented Guatemalan Spanish settles on her ears. Her anger at Percy for shoving her out of the fight fades to a dull throb and she looks between them as Sally goes into the kitchen to look at something cooking on the stove.
"That's… your mom?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.
Percy smiles softly. "Yeah. She's pretty great."
Flora gazes after Sally, dropping her bag on the floor. She takes off her shoes, placing them by the door and steps into the kitchen. Sally takes something out of the freezer and dumps it into the pot, humming to herself. Spanish radio buzzes in the background. Flora hovers by one of the chairs in the cramped kitchen space.
"Come," Sally gestures for her to approach the stove. "Do you speak Spanish?"
Flora nods. "S-si. My— my mother was from Guatemala."
A secretive smile curls across Sally's face. "Good. Then you can taste this. Tell me what it needs."
Flora takes the spoon from Sally and dips it into the pot. Sally steps back to talk to her son.
"Why is this child in my house, Perseus?" She nudges him with her shoulder.
"Mami… can she stay with you for a few days?" He asks.
She studies his face, looking for any hint of danger and knowing better than to look for what is always there. She shrugs. "The house has been too quiet since you left. I suppose I could have her help me clean the place up."
"Mami—" he says, exasperated.
"No, all guests must pitch in. You know this." Sally wags a finger at him. "I will take good care of her as long as you don't tell me whatever it is you're doing."
He raises an eyebrow, but nods nonetheless. "Gracias, mami. She— Flora lost her mother when she was very young."
Sally looks back to the kitchen at the girl and considers her softly. "How do you always find the ones who need you the most?" She pats Percy's cheek. "My beautiful boy."
He reddens. "Mami—"
She tuts and returns to the kitchen to instruct Flora on how to cook in rapid-fire Spanish. Percy backs towards the door.
"Don't give her any trouble, Flora!" He waves her goodbye.
"Aye, aye captain!" Flora turns to salute him with the spoon, sending sauce flying.
"Ay, Florita, no!" Sally grabs a tea towel.
The door closes as they descend into good-natured squabbling.
—
It doesn't take Percy long to find the apartment where Annabeth is staying. They spent so much time together that he still knew her preferences, despite how little he recognized her now. It was the weekend, and he took a chance that she would be home as he knocks on her door.
She opens it with eyes wide. "Percy?"
He walks past her into the apartment, his hands in his pockets as he begins to pace.
"Percy, what's wrong?" Her voice is tinged with apprehension. They'd had more interaction in the past few weeks than they'd had in years and he could tell she didn't like who he was becoming in the wake of Jason's death.
"I didn't—" he roughly tugs a hand through his hair. "I've asked so many people but I still can't—"
Annabeth blinks at his erratic movements and hesitantly places a hand on him. "Sit down. Don't wear a path into the floor— this is a rental."
He lets her push him into a chair numbly, the previous terror gripping him by the throat. Percy lays his hands palm down on her small table and stares at them before speaking; his voice sure, his face unnervingly still.
"It's Travis."
Annabeth sits opposite him. "What's Travis?"
Percy lifts his head and looks at her, finally meeting her eyes. His gaze conveys all she needs to know, the pain she finds there, the torment. Annabeth is at a loss for words as she processes it.
"Oh." She stills. "Are you sure?"
He grits his teeth and nods slowly. "I wish I wasn't."
She tilts her head to the side, a tell-tale sign that she was thinking through a particularly difficult problem. "And you came to me."
It isn't a question.
"Always."
She sits in silence a moment. Her hand inches towards Percy's but she seems to think better of it, letting it lay on the table between them. He takes in a deep breath.
"Do you remember when we were young, when you found out about Luke?" He knows it's wrong to bring that up. Travis was nowhere near the kind of figure Luke was, his crimes worse and his friendship lesser. He winces as the words leave his lips.
Annabeth freezes. She clears her throat before speaking. "Yes."
Percy looks at her hand, his fingers twitching. "I know it's not the same, but—" His brow furrows. "I don't know what to do. I don't want someone else to die like Luke, but the gods—"
She bites at the inside of her cheek. "Do you even have a choice?"
"What do you mean?"
"He needs to die one way or another."
It feels strange coming out of her mouth. Annabeth had never been a shrinking violet when it came to death, but the years of family and mortal life had mellowed her out some. Her mean streak was diluted, the ruthless nature of her past dulled some. It makes Percy's bones rattle. It makes him feel soft.
"The only thing you need to decide, Percy, is whether or not you will be the one to kill him." She says it so casually, as if it would have the same outcome.
"Do you want me to?" His voice comes out as a rasp. "If I do it, they can sweep it under the rug, just like all the others. But if I give him over to Chiron…"
She lays her hand over his with a soft smile. It drips with sadness. "Oh Percy."
"I can't give the gods the satisfaction," he clenches his hand into a fist. "They made us like this. They created Travis. They're just as much responsible for those deaths as he is. They don't get to punish him as if he isn't just like them. If I kill him, they don't get the satisfaction. I'd tell everyone—" He swallows past the lump in his throat. "I'd tell them everything."
She looks at him again with one of those knowing gazes that he could never escape. "Then I think you have your answer."
He doesn't want to do to Travis what was done to Luke. He wanted to save Luke, if only for Annabeth's sake, but he couldn't even do that. He has a chance now to save someone, but Travis might be beyond saving. Luke caused a war, a holy war he believed he was right to champion. Travis believes he has a reason as well, lashing out with senseless violence.
Percy despises this feeling: being judge, jury, and executioner. He hates having to search out everyone's opinion just to hear them say the same thing; what he already knows to be true. Tears spring to life in his eyes. He unclenches his fist to grasp her hand.
"It was a good life we had." Despite it all, a small smile finds its way onto his face, nostalgic and wavering. He blinks away some of his tears. "Wasn't it?"
"Yes," Annabeth says softly. "It was."
He nods, retracting his hand. The tears won't fade, but he nods through them, clearing his throat. His voice is water-logged as he stands. "Alright, I— I see it now."
Annabeth catches his hand when he goes to leave. "Percy."
He stills. "I have to, Annabeth."
"I know." Her fingers curl around his. "Be safe. For me."
He almost wants to laugh. Of all people, she could get him to guarantee that in as few words as possible. Instead, he gives her a short, curt nod, so fast she almost misses it.
"Always." Percy leans over and lays a kiss on the crown of her head. "Goodbye, Annabeth."
—
He doesn't steal Clint's badge this time, but he does steal his car. Natasha calls him when he's halfway to the Catskills and he pushes down every instinct to shut out offers of help.
"For the record, I think you're a stupid idiot."
Natasha's voice comes through speakerphone in the car as smooth as ever, not betraying a single ounce of anger that she clearly holds.
"You already thought that several times," he replies, the corner of his mouth ticking upwards.
"Yeah, but I never thought it this fiercely. Trust me." A pause. "Have you told Clarisse?"
He snorts. "Fuck no. She'd want to come with me. This is between Travis and I: no one else."
Natasha hums. "I figured. I won't tell her, but I won't stop her from leaving either. At least tell me where you're going. You know, in case he serial kills you, seeing as he is a serial killer."
"I dropped Flora off at Mom's, so she should be occupied for the time being. I doubt Clarisse even remembers where the cabin is. If she does, I'll have a head start and will be able to get him myself. She can do anything she wants with him afterwards."
"You make that sound like she's going to make a trophy of him."
"I wouldn't put it past her."
They sit in silence for a moment.
"Percy," Natasha says. "You do know what you're doing, right?"
He takes in a breath and considers lying, but knows better. Even through the phone, Natasha can sense all. "No. But I know what needs to be done. I just have one more person to talk to, then this will all be over."
"Alright." Percy can feel her reluctant approval. "Don't die."
He smiles. "I'll try not to."
—
Percy remembers the first time he met Travis Stoll.
The Hermes cabin was stuffed to the brim with sweaty bodies, the floor littered with campers and the beds not enough for the constant influx of the unclaimed. He had always wondered what the permanent residents of the cabin thought of the transient youths that peppered the space. He wondered if they ever felt lonely in the midst of so many. He would.
Percy had entered the cabin unclaimed, leaving as a son of the Big Three, a target on his back. He remembers how scared he was of it all, and how comforting the realization was that he wasn't the problem. There was someone else to blame. There was always someone else to blame.
But then he grew up. He realized that it wasn't always an external force that caused the chaos demigods were mired in. Sometimes, the monster came from within, and that is the most terrifying one of all. Their pasts nurtured darkness like that in everyone. He saw it in Jason in the months leading to his death, in himself when he was the long arm of the gods.
Those that cannot fight their way through are caught by the winding tendrils of the past. They remain rooted in place, darkness crawling into every orifice. They become it.
Percy parks a way off from the cabin; there were no roads he remembered that lead to the space, only a small trail that barely takes an hour to spit him out on the rolling green.
It looks old. He presumed it would, seeing as it'd been a decade since he was last there. The wood is worn, the varnish cracked and peeling. Several wooden shingles are missing from the roof. A screen door hangs from one hinge, squeaking eerily in the light breeze.
He takes his time approaching it. Travis could have traps set, but his instincts tell him that he's waiting for him and, for some reason, wants him alive. He wants Percy to hear what he has to say. The wood of the steps bend under his weight and he remembers a different time, a time when the one standing next to him had golden hair, soft as sunlight.
Percy lifts his hand and knocks.