Mount Justice
July 13, 20:38 EDT
The cavernous hall of Mount Justice hummed with a tension thicker than Tartarus' smog. Percy stood flanked by Red Arrow, Diana, and Zatara, his scars prickling under the sterile white light.
The League's briefing room felt more like an aquarium tank, all glass walls and watchful eyes. Aquaman's Trident glinted beside Batman's shadowed cowl, while John Stewart's ring pulsed faintly green, scanning Percy like an autopsy. Black Canary leaned against the holotable, her gaze softer than the others, but no less piercing.
Zatanna had stormed out minutes earlier at her dismissal, her boots stomping to the zeta-tube. Zatara's sigh still hung in the air after she snapped at him.
Percy didn't know the people who were living in the mountain, but they were equally upset at their dismissal. Though, they covered it up well enough with laughter and sarcasm, Percy empathized with the feeling of rejection.
"The rot isn't just magical," Diana began, her voice slicing through the quiet. She gestured to holographic runes hovering above the table, scans from the lasso session, Percy realized. The symbols twisted like living things, ichor-black and sea-green. "It's parasitic. Feeds on memory, trauma. Remove the source, and the magic destabilizes."
"So this is a… therapy demon?" Percy crossed his arms, Riptide a familiar weight in his pocket. "Cool. New career path: exorcist."
Aquaman stepped forward, the Trident's prongs dripping saltwater onto the floor. "The ocean's grief is your anchor. In Atlantis, we could try to reforgе that connection. Purify what's been poisoned."
Percy frowned. "The last time I entered the ocean, it tried to strangle me. What if the the tides decide to finish what Tartarus started?"
"Then you'll drown," Batman said, his first words since they'd arrived. The cowl's whites narrowed. "But you've done that before, haven't you?"
Red Arrow stiffened. "He's not a lab rat."
"No," Black Canary cut in, gentle but firm. She nodded to Percy. "And this isn't a trial. Trauma lives in the body as much as the mind. Counseling could help you… disentangle the two."
Percy snorted. "You want me to trauma-dump on a stranger while magic cancer eats at my soul? Pass."
"It's not dumping." Canary's voice softened. "It's mapping. So you don't get lost in the dark."
For a heartbeat, the room flickered, Annabeth's voice, "You're not their pawn, Seaweed Brain." Percy dug his nails into his palms. Stay here. Breathe.
"Atlantis isn't a cure," Zatara added, tracing a glowing rune. "But the Old Gods' magic lingers there. If the sea does reject you…"
"We'll know why," Diana finished.
Red Arrow nudged Percy's shoulder, a silent, Your call.
"Fine." Percy shrugged, aiming for nonchalance, but the scars along his ribs pulsed in time with the hologram's eerie glow. "But if I start turning into a crab, I'm booking it."
Aquaman almost smiled. "I'll keep that in mind."
John Stewart lowered his ring, the green light dimming as his holographic scans dissolved. "Nothing new. The decay's spreading slowly, but it's not following any pattern I recognize." He glanced at Percy, brow furrowed. "Whatever this is, it's alive. Adapting."
Batman stepped forward, his cape pooling like ink at his boots. For a moment, his gaze lingered not on the holograms, but on Percy's face, a flicker of something almost human beneath the cowl's steel. "The League will monitor the decay," he said, voice low but devoid of its usual edge. "Daily check-ins. Voluntarily." A beat, deliberate. "From what I understand you've survived worse than our scrutiny, Jackson."
Percy blinked. Was that… respect? Before he could dwell, Diana moved, not the calculated stride of a warrior, but something older, a prowl that made the holograms dim in deference. Her gaze held him like the edge of a blade, sharp but purposeful.
"Walk with me, Perseus Jackson," she said, not a request. Themyscira's queen lingered beneath the diplomat's tone.
The Mountain was gigantic, and base inside was similarly huge, she navigated the corridors like they were etched into her bones, past reinforced bulkheads and empty training rooms that smelled of sweat. Diana rested her palms on a railing overlooking a hanger bay, her bracelets glinting like shackles. Percy mirrored her stance, sea-green scars pulsing faintly.
"You carry your grief like armor," she said. "My sisters once did the same after Hippolyta, my mother, fell. We built pyres from our rage, thinking it would keep us warm." Her smile was a blade's edge. "It only burned what little peace we had left."
Percy's jaw tightened. "This isn't a therapy session."
"No. It's a choice." She turned, the ghost of old battles in her eyes. "Themyscira's shores are littered with heroes who fought because they had no other language. But you? I saw what you've experienced through our ritual. Some of it." Her lasso glowed, not in threat, but invitation. "You've always known other tongues. Loyalty. Sacrifice. Stubborn, reckless love."
The words struck deeper than any blade. Annabeth's face flashed behind his eyelids. Smirking, bleeding, gone. Percy's hand flew to his pocket, Riptide a familiar weight. Annabeth's pen, unfamiliar, but comforting. "Love gets people killed."
"Love is why we fight," Diana said, softer now. "Or do you believe your battles were for nothing?"
"When I was twelve," Percy said softly, "I marched into the Underworld to save my mom. Traded my life to Hades without blinking. And it worked. She's alive. Happy." His thumb dug into Riptide's grooves, the pen's edge sharp as the truth. "But the Fates ripped me here. Now I'll never…" The words curdled. Never hear her laugh. Never taste her blue cookies. Never be her son again.
Diana's lasso flared, its golden light weaving their shadows into a single silhouette, a boy and a warrior, both forged by mortal women who'd spat in destiny's face. "Your mother's courage is not a chain, Perseus. It's the sea that carries you. Let it."
Suddenly, Percy felt a call from the ocean, the first in what felt like a millenia. A storm over the Atlantic that only Poseidon's son could feel churning in his marrow. Percy's hair stood on edge, his scars flared, not with Tartarus' chill, but something warmer, older. The sea's heartbeat, distant but present.
"Your Amazon sisters," Percy said quietly. "They pass down stories about Heracles?"
Diana went still. "They did."
"He razed your cities. Took your queen's grace as a trophy." Percy's laugh was bitter. "My family tree's full of guys like him. Maybe I'm just another branch."
Diana's hand closed over his wrist, not restraining, but anchoring. Her grip burned with the same fire that had forged her lasso. "You bleed for strangers. You bargain with gods to spare your enemies. Heracles knew only hunger." She leaned in, her voice a forge's roar. "You are not your bloodline."
Along the shores, somewhere, a fisherman's daughter was waking, a single mother was pulling out packed lunches, a boy was laughing and playing in the waves. Mortals. Fragile. Worthless, Tartarus hissed.
Worth everything, Annabeth's voice countered.
Percy closed his eyes. "If I do this… it's not for your League. Or the gods. Or…" His voice broke. "Or because I'm trying to outrun her ghost."
Diana's thumb brushed his pulse point, a warrior's benediction. "Then let it be for the boy who crossed the world to save his mother. Let it be for you."
The storm above the Atlantic stilled. Not obedience, choice.
When Percy met her gaze, his eyes weren't the Pit's void-green, but the shade of breaking waves at dawn. "Alright, Diana. Where do we start?"
After his meeting with Wonder Woman, Percy leaned against the holotable, the glow of Atlantis' trenches flickering across his hollowed cheeks. "So," he said, too casually, "Am I just going to be haunting your wizard's tower until further notice? Place gives me the creeps, and I've slept in a Cyclops's sock drawer."
Batman's cowl tilted fractionally. "You're free to stay here at Mount Justice. The Team's roster is good people, they're–"
"Kids," Percy interrupted, not unkindly. He nodded to the hallway where the young heroes' laughter still echoed. "Red Arrow's talked about them. Good things, but they've got enough to handle without a demigod trauma bomb." His fingers brushed Riptide's pen, a nervous tic Roy hadn't seen since the alley. "I'll take the tower. Maybe redecorate. Add some seaweed curtains."
Roy's glove creaked as he gripped the edge of the holotable. Coward, he thought, but the word wasn't for Percy. Mount Justice's walls seemed to press closer, the air thick with memories: Ollie's hand on his shoulder after his first mission, "You'll get there, kid," Robin and Aqualad's wary stares when he'd missed a shot, again.
He'll drown there, Roy realized. Alone. Like I did.
"You'd last a week before Fate kicks you out for breaking the toilet with your water magic," Roy said, too loud. Percy raised an eyebrow.
Batman's gaze sharpened. "The Tower's wards require–"
"He's not staying there." Roy's voice cut through the holographic hum. Diana's head tilted; Aquaman's trident stilled. Shit. He hadn't meant to say it like that. To say it at all.
Percy straightened, wary. "Got a better idea, Speedy?"
Red Arrow, he almost snapped. It's Red Arrow now. But the old name hung between them, brittle and raw. Speedy. The kid who'd once begged to sleep on Ollie's couch after nightmares, only to wake to an empty penthouse and a note: "Emergency meeting. Pizza in fridge."
Roy's throat burned. "My couch… is available." The words tasted like broken glass. "Temporary. Till you stop smelling like a dumpster fire."
Percy blinked. "Your couch."
"It's a noun. Flat, cushiony, usually sat on." Roy crossed his arms, defensive. "You'd know if you'd ever seen furniture that wasn't dragonhide or something."
A beat. Percy's smirk faltered, his gaze darting to the exit like he expected a trick. "Thought you had a 'no strays' policy."
"I'm revising it." Roy's pulse roared in his ears. Stupid. Reckless. Ollie would– He crushed the thought. "Consider it community service. You're clearly little short of functional."
The silence thickened. Even Batman seemed to lean in, his sensors whirring faintly.
Percy studied Roy, really studied him, like he was deciphering a prophecy scrawled in bone. "What's the rent?"
"Dishes. And no stabbing people before coffee."
"Deal." Percy's smile was grateful. Genuine. Roy let go of a breath he hadn't realized he was holding in.
Aquaman cleared his throat. "If this… arrangement jeopardizes–"
"It won't," Roy snapped, then stiffened. Since when did he vouch for people? Since when did he care?
Diana's lasso glinted as she stepped forward. "A generous offer, Red Arrow." Her emphasis on the name wasn't subtle. "But will your mentor approve?"
The barb landed true. Roy's spine straightened, old scars prickling. "I don't need his approval." The lie came easy. Liar, his traitorous mind whispered. You still text him mission reports at 3 a.m.
Percy snorted, slinging an arm over Roy's shoulders like they were frat brothers. Roy didn't shrug him off. "Relax. We'll keep the property damage under… eh, 70%."
We. The word hooked under Roy's ribs. Since when did they come in pairs? Since when did he?
Zatara chuckled, dispelling the tension with a wave of his hand. The holograms dissolved into stardust. "For what it's worth, Percy… the fact that you're standing here, bargaining with kings and laughing in the face of magic?" He nodded, almost to himself. "That's not the mark of a man who's lost."
Roy's glove creaked around his bowstring. Laughing? All he saw was the way Percy's thumb kept worrying Riptide's cap, a metronome of dread. His own thumb brushed the arrowhead in his pocket, edges worn smooth from years of restless orbits. Same tic, different weapons. But Zatara wasn't wrong. There was a ferocity to Percy's defiance, a wildfire even Tartarus couldn't smother. Familiar, Roy realized.
Diana clasped Percy's forearm, her grip battle-calloused but tender. A mentor's touch. Roy's gut twisted. Ollie had gripped him like that once, after Roy's first solo mission went south. "You'll get it next time, kid." Empty words, but he'd clung to them like scripture.
"Themyscira's gates remain open to you," Diana said, and Roy wondered if she felt the lie beneath Percy's smirk. "But this path… it must be yours."
Yours. The word hung in the air, a rebuke. Roy's path had been carved by Ollie's arrows, every milestone measured against his legacy. Even the name Red Arrow was a scar, not a choice.
Aquaman stepped forward, saltwater sluicing from his armor. "I look forward to seeing you in Poseidonis."
Percy's grin turned feral. "Just keep the lobsters off the guest beds."
Roy catalogued the tremor in his voice. Fear. Not of Atlantis, but of hope. Of belonging somewhere, only to lose it again.
As they turned to leave, Roy caught Batman's reflection in the holotable's glass, not staring at Percy, but at him. The cowl hid the man's eyes, but not the tilt of his head, the faint nod. Pride.
Ollie had looked at him like that once.
Percy's arm still hung over his shoulders, warm and weighty. Alive. Roy let himself lean into it, just a fraction, as the Zeta-tube's light swallowed them whole.
Let him try to belong, Roy thought, the ghost of Speedy howling in his chest. Let's both try.
The Zeta-tube's hum faded as Percy and Roy disappeared into the glare, leaving the briefing room colder in their absence. Dinah Lance lingered by the holotable, her gaze fixed on the empty space where Roy and Percy had stood moments ago. Two boys running from legacies, she thought.
Footsteps echoed, too light and to hesitant to belong to the League. She turned as the door hissed open.
Kid Flash leaned against the frame, goggles shoved into his disheveled hair, arms crossed tight enough to crease his sleeves. Behind him, Robin stayed withdrawn, out of uniform, hands in his pockets, a shadow even in the sterile light, while Aqualad stood rigid at the threshold, his posture diplomatic but his eyes storm-cloud dark.
"So, when were you gonna tell us?"
Dinah folded her arms, her voice calm. "Tell you what, Wally?"
"That Speedy's got a shiny new project." The words were sharp, but the old name was indeliberate. "Someone who makes Bats do his creepy stare-into-your-soul thing. And you were just gonna… let him nest here? No Team vote? No 'hey, maybe don't adopt the human hurricane'?"
Robin's birdarang froze mid-spin. "We're a part of this," he said, quieter than a breath. "If there's a threat bunking in our home, we deserve to know."
Aqualad stepped forward, the Atlantean steel in his voice fraying at the edges. "Roy has not answered our calls since he stormed out almost two weeks ago. Now he parades this stranger into our halls, and the League…" His fists clenched, knuckles bleaching white. "They treat him as one of their own. And us as if we are children playing hero."
Dinah studied them, Wally's jittering leg, Robin's too-still shoulders, Kaldur's tight stance. They were brilliant, reckless, and so young, their armor stitched together by inside jokes and shared near-deaths. They think they're being replaced, she realized. By him. By the League. By the ghost of the Roy they used to know.
Batman materialized from the shadows, his voice low but deliberate. "Jackson isn't a liability. He's someone with a responsibility." The hologram flared to life, projecting Percy and his scars, ichor-green veins pulsing like a second heartbeat. "What's inside him is volatile, but it's not him. Not yet. Until we understand it, everyone here is at risk. Including Jackson."
"So we bench the Team? Keep us out of it?" Wally's laugh cracked. "What's the criteria, huh? 'Sorry, kids, adults only, oh, unless you're Roy's shiny new fixer-upper'?"
Dinah stepped forward, her tone softening. "This isn't about sidelining you. It's about giving him space to heal without an audience. Percy's not a villain, but he's…" She glanced at the hologram, the rot writhing under his skin. "...someone whose survived Hell. He's had his heroes journey, but it didn't end like a fairy tale would. Right now, his trust is a privilege, and he doesn't hand those out lightly."
Kaldur's fists clenched. "And Roy? Does he not trust us either? We grew up together. If he cannot trust us with his struggles, what does that make us?"
"Roy's afraid," Dinah said, her gaze lingering on the empty Zeta-tube. "Percy reminds Roy of himself. And that mirror scares him."
Robin's birdarang stilled. "So we treat him like a grenade with the pin half-pulled?"
"No." Dinah's voice sharpened, protective. "You treat him like a person. One who's earned the benefit of the doubt, same as you did."
Wally scoffed, but the edge had dulled. "By doing what? I'm all for giving people that, but what'd he do to earn that?"
"He survived," Batman said, the hologram zooming in on Percy's scars. "He fought a war that it would take the entire league to put down. The rot isn't his fault. But containing it?" His gaze swept over the Team. "That takes more than power. It takes trust, something he's still learning to give."
Kaldur's posture eased, the storm in his eyes receding. "And if he cannot?"
"Then we'll be there," Dinah said firmly. "Not to contain him. We follow Roy's lead. Try to remind him he's not alone."
Wally frowned, his anger softened. "So what do we do? Keep an eye on him, make sure he doesn't hurt Roy?"
"No." Dinah's hand finally settled on his shoulder, grounding him. "You let him prove he's more than his pain and insecurity. Just like you did after Cadmus."
The name hung, a grenade pin pulled. Wally flinched; Robin's mask hid a wince. Even Kaldur's posture softened, the memory of imprisonment and cloned fists bridging the silence.
Finally, Kaldur exhaled, the storm in his eyes receding. "We will respect the League's judgment. But Roy…" His voice thickened. "He is family. We will not let him drown alone."
Robin hopped down, the ghost of a smirk tugging his lips. "Tell him he owes us pizza. Extra Pepperoni. And a patrol debrief. No hiding in his sad-boy loft."
As they filed out, Wally lingered, his vibrato stilled to a whisper. "He's really that… raw, huh?"
Dinah met his gaze, "I only know what Wonder Woman and Zatara saw of his grief. I hope he can prove himself, I believe he can. Would it kill you to wait?"
He ducked his head and his cheeks reddened slightly, a flicker of the kid beneath the speedster. "Yeah. Probably."
The door hissed shut, leaving Dinah and Batman in the hollowed quiet.
"They'll push," she said, to him, doubting herself for the first time.
"They always will." He erased the hologram with a swipe, Percy's scars dissolving into stardust. "Our job is to make sure they grow through it. All of them."
Roy's Apartment,
July 13, 20:18 PST
The couch groaned under Percy's weight as he flopped onto it, a half-eaten burrito in one hand and a neon-green Hawaiian shirt he'd fished out of a thrift store's "$2 Mystery Bin" dangling from the other. The shirt's radioactive paisley print clashed violently with the apartment's dim lighting. Roy leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching crumbs rain onto the cushion like edible confetti. "That shirt's a war crime. I'm legally obligated to burn it."
Percy grinned, kicking his feet up on the coffee table, an old IKEA relic Roy had salvaged from a dumpster behind a sushi place. One of the table's legs was duct-taped on, and the surface bore a suspicious stain shaped like Greenland. "Your couch's already a crime against spines. We're even."
Roy snorted. The couch was a thirdhand disaster, upholstery frayed to threads, springs poking through like the bones of a long-dead beast. It had survived crossbow misfires, Ollie's bourbon-fueled "heartfelt" pep talks, and the time Roy had accidentally set it on fire during a poorly planned gadget test. Now, Percy sprawled across it like a barnacle on a shipwreck, already claiming territory.
The lamp Percy switched on buzzed like an angry hornet, casting jaundiced light over the shirt. "C'mon, Red. It's vintage." Percy held it up, squinting at a hole in the back of the shirt. "Bet your archery rivals would tremble."
"They'd tremble from laughter. Which, actually, not a bad tactic." Roy lobbed a diet soda can at him. Percy caught it one-handed, crushing the burrito wrapper with the other. "Ground rules, since you're squatting here. One: no flooding the shower. Two: no sword fights in the apartment. And three–"
He hesitated. The name sat on his tongue like a live round, heavy and dangerous. He'd practiced this in the mirror once, after a particularly bad night.
"It's Roy," he said, too fast. "Not Red Arrow. Not Speedy. Just… Roy."
Percy paused mid-bite, guac smeared on his chin. For a second, Roy thought he'd laugh, crack a joke about secret identities or Shakespearean drama. But Percy's smirk softened, his sea-green eyes sharpening like he'd just decoded something. "No secret identity crisis? Bold move."
"Says the guy with no ID, no Social Security, and a sword that glows." Roy tossed him a throw pillow embroidered with "World's Okayest Archer", a gag gift from Dick that he'd never admit to keeping. "You're a walking red flag."
"Touché." Percy saluted with the burrito. "So, Roy. What's next? Group therapy? Sword-shopping? Or are we gonna stare at your tragic DVD collection?" He nodded to the shelf of dusty cases, Die Hard, Die Hard 2, and a bootleg copy of Die Hard With a Vengeance labeled Ollie's Midlife Crisis.
Roy grabbed his keys off the counter, jingling them like a challenge. "Better. Tomorrow, we're upgrading you from Bargain Bin Odysseus to… mildly functional adult."
Percy arched a brow. "You're telling me there's a store that sells 'functional adult'?"
"Mall's got a 60% off rack and a food court. Close enough."
As Percy shrugged into the Hawaiian shirt, god, it was worse with the sleeves rolled up, Roy's phone buzzed. A text from Dinah: How's the stray?
He typed back, Still breathing. Still a fashion disaster.
His thumb hovered over Ollie's contact. Don't Answer. Roy pocketed the phone before he could cave.
Outside, the city hummed, indifferent. Roy wondered if Percy noticed the arrowhead-shaped coffee stain on the couch arm. Or the dent in the drywall where a Roy had thrown a punch after storming out of the Hall of Justice. Probably not.
But when Percy tossed him the burrito wrapper without looking, sweeping up crumbs that fell on the couch, "Trash can's to the left, right?"
"Yeah", Roy said, frowning as he watched Percy's smirk fade as he eyed the dent in the drywall behind him. A fist-sized crater, edges splintered and yellowed with age.
Percy's fingers brushed his own wrist, tracing a scar Roy hadn't noticed before, jagged, deliberate, the kind left by shackles.
Roy tossed the wrapper into the bin. "Rule four: No psychoanalyzing the decor."
"Wouldn't dream of it," Percy said, but his gaze lingered on the photo of Speedy and Green Arrow, the cotton candy stain blooming across Roy's old uniform like a bruise.
Outside, sirens wailed. Percy tensed, a reflex Roy recognized. The split-second freeze of a war dog hearing the horn, torn between teeth and flight.
Roy walked past him, patting Percy's shoulder. "Relax, Sleeping Beauty. You're off the clock."
Percy cracked the soda in his hands open, foam fizzing over his scarred knuckles. "I wouldn't talk, you look like you've got a caffeine IV drip in here."
Roy's coffee maker gurgled in agreement, and for the first time in years, the apartment didn't feel like a tomb. Roy felt something unclench in his chest.
Maybe strays recognized their own.
