Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The sound of clashing swords echoed through the palace courtyard, the spectators gathered in a half-moon shape to watch the ensuing fight. The fighters fought each other vigorously, both with determined looks on their faces. Their movements carried with them almost a rhythmic dance, in which both anticipated and cut each other's moves faster than the audience could follow. It was not even close to the first time they had fought in this way, so seeing them in such harmony and ferocity became a frequent entertainment for those around them.

The youngest, a boy who seemed to be in the peak of adolescence, had hair as black as night, sharp cheekbones and eyes the exact color of the sea. He fought carefree, almost by instinct, with the subtle confidence of a person whose act of fighting for his own life has become as easy as breathing.

The age of the older could not be so easily determined, despite his young face. His eyes, which mirrored those of his opponent, his brother, betrayed the maturity and knowledge that only the weight of years could grant. He had a proud, noble posture, which reflected his heritage and his identity. In short, he could be none other than Triton. A god. The eldest son of Poseidon and Amphitrite. The crown prince of the seas. He wore a smile, moving his sword in quick movements.

And as for his brother... Well, there were many words to describe him. The offspring of the seas. The hero of Olympus. The most powerful demigod son of Poseidon since Theseus. He gave Triton's smile a suspicious look, already imagining what was to come. He narrowly dodged an elbow to the collarbone, only to fall with a last, calculated movement with his sword, in which the god stole the weapon from him, placing it at his neck.

"I surrender," he declared, frowning. "How do you always win? We've been fighting since I was nine! I should have at least one victory by now." He took Riptide back from the immortal's hands, panting. He stabbed it into the ground in search of support. The fight had lasted hours.

Triton laughed.

"No need to complain, Perseus. You're fighting a god, after all, with millennia of life and practice, you can't expect to defeat me in fencing with just a few years of training, especially without using your powers. But, I must admit, your skills are remarkable for a demigod. Kronos wouldn't be defeated by just anyone."

"You know that the one who made the decisive choice was Luke" Percy murmured, sheathing his sword that there, in his father's kingdom, was in its original form, as opposed to the harmless pen shape preferable in the mortal world.  "I don't see why everyone acts like I defeated Kronos alone, it was a collective effort. I barely managed to survive, much less deserve to be declared a war hero."

"And you know that, despite your own struggles and sacrifices by your companions, you were the one who sacrificed the most, had to give up everything the most. You were the one who dove into the river..."

"I know, believe me. I know. But the way the rewards were given is completely disproportionate. The Olympians exaggerated my worth."

The eldest prince sighed, they had had this discussion countless times before.

"Percy..."

"No, brother. We've had this conversation before. It's just... It's best if we leave the matter as it is. I'm tired of trying to argue with immortals. Will you accompany me to the forge? I want to ask Tyson for a new shield."

The god raised an eyebrow.

"Another one?" He sighed  "It'll be what... The third one this month? Perseus..."

"It's not my fault they keep breaking!" He shrugged.

"It's celestial bronze. It's not made to "keep breaking". If you were just a little more careful..."

"If fewer people tried to kill me..."

"It got a lot better after the war" Triton argued.

"Because the apparent title of "hero" makes them, at least, think twice before coming after me."

"After you ascend, everything will get better" His brother assured him, putting an arm around him. "You'll probably even miss these little fights."

"Little fights? Tri!"

He ignores him.

"Anyway, in two years you'll finally have peace."

"Ares could say otherwise."

"In that case it doesn't count" he rolled his eyes, leading Percy to the forge. "It would be a friendly dispute."

"I don't know what world you live in, brother, but there's nothing "friendly" about the god of war."

A commotion in the middle of the crowd interrupted their conversation, when a young mermaid, dressed in servile clothes and holding a pearl polishing pot, made her way through the crowd.

"Your Highnesses!" She approached, alarmed and breathless. "Forgive me for interrupting, but the king requires the immediate presence of both of you in the throne room."

The two looked at each other, startled. The last time their father had urgently summoned them, Kronos had resurfaced. Triton shot off, his blue-green tail stirring the water around him and driving away the people who were watching the scene, curious. Percy swam quickly behind, following the god as fast as his powers and his limited mortal legs would allow.

The courtyard opened onto a concave entrance that led to the entrance hall, which was guarded at all times by two mermen. The guards bowed in recognition and respect as they let the princes enter. The throne room was in the central area of ​​the place, protected from all angles, it was the safest refuge in the ocean. It was no wonder that the other gods did not dare to enter the domains of the god of the seas, nor did they dare to venture into it, which made hiding Percy during his childhood something much simpler.

The throne room was no less impressive. It was adorned with a high dome and ivory tones, clearly referencing the ancient architecture typical of Greek temples. The light seemed to fade as they approached the thrones, where Percy's father and stepmother were seated. Poseidon was visibly restless, his foot tapping against the marble floor. Amphitrite looked at him with a reprimanding look, clearly bothered by her husband's rudeness.

Poseidon stopped with a sigh, finally looking up to face his children's curiosity.

"Father," Triton said. "What happened?"

"Sally Jackson, unfortunately, is what happened," Amphitrite said dryly. "I always said we shouldn't have left a task of this importance to a mortal. They are so fragile..."

"Amphitrite!" Poseidon scolded. He cast a worried look at Percy, who was paralyzed in the middle of the room.

"Is it over?" Percy whispered.  "Is she really gone?"

His caretaker in the mortal world, Sally Jackson, had been fighting a particularly aggressive lung cancer for at least three years. She was Percy's legal guardian in the mortal world, serving as his "biological mother" in the eyes of all the other demigods and the schools he had attended. Percy spent the week at Sally's house and the weekends – besides American and Greek holidays – at Poseidon's palace, this being the only agreement the god could make with his siblings so that he could still care for Percy and not send him straight to his other mortal father or to an orphanage.

"Yes" His father confessed in a serious tone. "I'm sorry, Perseus. She passed away about two hours ago. Her body didn't resist."

Percy's legs suddenly felt like jelly under his feet.

"I..." He managed to say "I know it was expected, that her illness was too advanced for any medical or divine intervention to be effective, but even so..."

A hollow feeling took over his chest. He should have been prepared for this moment, after all, Sally's end was, at least in a way, predictable. Amphitrite, ever since the news of the mortal's illness reached her ears, insisted on the need to discuss the matter, to make plans, to plan and prepare for the worst possible scenario.

Percy didn't even want to know about any plans, he vetoed from his mind all thoughts related to the possibility of one of the only parental bonds, even if not biologically, from his human side ceasing to exist. He didn't want to think about the after. He didn't even want to think about the possibility of there being a after.

He was tired of changes, he just wanted to be at peace in Atlantis and in the house of his caregiver/pseudo-mother-figure, the only places in the world where he felt any sense of order. Even Camp Half-Blood, where he had once felt like he belonged, had become a bittersweet reminder of the suffocating responsibilities and turbulent experiences imposed on him even before he was born.

"I am sorry for your loss, Perseus." His stepmother once again took the lead, restless. "And I know that what I have to say is not fair, but we do not have much time to grieve. We need to make an immediate decision. Tomorrow is the solstice, and after the meeting of the gods, the agreement dictates that you must return to your usual routine and spend the week in the mortal world. We cannot let them drag you off to some orphanage. Those vandals..."

"Amphitrite!" Poseidon scolded again, tired. Triton and Percy just rolled their eyes, accustomed to the queen's manner. "They are innocent orphaned children..."

"They're mortals! Brats on top of that. Not to mention the disgusting caretakers. You may not have prepared yourselves for this... Incident with Mrs. Jackson, but I did my research. The system is horrible, super disorganized. My stepson won't even step foot in one of those juvenile centers. I refuse to allow such an atrocity. We have standards to maintain! He must be under proper care..."

"Mother!" Triton protested "You can't be suggesting..."

The goddess nodded.

"It would be a good option, son, you have to admit" Poseidon argued. "He deserves to know, even if it's sooner than we had originally planned. He'll be able to provide Percy with a comfortable life and routine during the week. Besides, I doubt he won't be favorable to the time allowed for Percy to stay with us."

"My mortal father?" Percy's eyes widened, finally realizing where this conversation was going. "But father... He shouldn't know until I'm 18. How are you going to explain..."

"I'll talk to him" The god reassured him. "In my other form. I'll tell him we had a son. He was out of town at the time, we had a big fight, I'll tell him I only found out about you when I got back to Greece. That, by then, I had already deleted his phone number and lost contact. I'll make up some excuses."

"I'm not sure if this will work" He frowned. "How are you going to explain the custody issue?"

 "I'll tell the truth. I'll tell him I have an old agreement with my brothers, something related to religion, and that I can only see you on the weekends until you turn eighteen and take over the family business."

Percy thought for a moment, weighing his options. He had never thought about it... He didn't even know how to organize his thoughts in a situation like that.

"I suppose it could work. Where does he live? You never got to tell me."

"He lives in Gotham, New Jersey."

Chapter Text

Bruce Wayne was having a good day.

He had even allowed himself the luxury of taking a week off from work. After weeks of sleepless nights, stress, and long phone calls, the Wayne patriarch had finally managed to wrap up his negotiations with Hammings Industries in Massachusetts.

Even Gotham, despite never shaking off its gloomy mood, was strangely calm, almost as if the city sensed that something unusual was about to happen. The news only reported minor crimes—a few thefts and the arrest of some politician—and passersby seemed to take the opportunity to stroll among the park benches and enjoy the open shops. Gotham Academy—the alma mater of the billionaire and his own children—was no different. The young students, all dressed in their characteristic pressed uniforms, were enjoying an unusual lightness, laughing on the steps or bothering one of the hurried teachers.

Security guards were stationed around the area, all dressed in discreet uniforms and armed with ammunition suited to the unusual dangers that had been lurking in the area in recent years. Bruce felt a certain smug satisfaction at the thought that he had been responsible for a significant donation that had increased the protection of the place – and that, in a more personal way, had also warmed his strangely apparent parental instincts.

The previous levels of attacks by “villains” on school grounds had been ridiculous, reaching alarming levels. Bruce blamed himself for not having thought to make the investment at the beginning of Dick’s first year of school. But those were different times. His life was a mess, shaped by strong paranoia and low survival instincts.

The adoption of his firstborn was unexpected, bringing a color that had long been lost in his nocturnal endeavors. He had made countless mistakes, and no matter how much he had planned, based on the saccharine parenting books he had bought and read in secret, nothing seemed to be enough. Things were different now. Clearer, more stable. His priorities had been sorted out. If it were up to him, his youngest son would never have to go through what his brothers had. A difficult feat, especially considering the young man's maternal side and his own rough childhood. He had picked Damian up from school early, his son too caught up in his drawings to make his usual complaints.

When they arrived at the mansion, the younger boy ate and went straight to his room, making a brief gesture to confirm that he had heard Bruce's warning about coming down at dinner time.

Alfred had made lasagna for lunch - one of his specialties - and Dick, whose once weak relationship with his adoptive father had become increasingly peaceful over the past few months, was coming for dinner. All in all, it seemed like a perfect day. He really should have suspected that something was about to happen, that his world would change in a way that hadn't happened since Damian had entered his life.

The vigilante, after complimenting Alfred on the dish of the day, went upstairs to his office, almost humming. Maybe he could finally catch up on the book he had received from Serena for his birthday...

A little over an hour and a half after he had settled down to read, he heard the familiar sound of the mansion's doorbell. He frowned, trying to remember if there were any appointments scheduled for that day, but he couldn't think of anything. He went down the stairs, exchanging a quick glance with Alfred at the end of the banister and shaking his head at the butler's silent question. He had no idea what it was about.

Alfred, much more composed and a fan of protocols than he was, took it upon himself to greet the unexpected visitor at the door. Bruce sat on the sofa and picked up the cup of tea that had already been placed for him on the table, his eyes never leaving the hallway that led to the entrance.

When Alfred returned, he had an indecipherable expression on his face.

"You have a visitor."

Walking right behind him was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life. She was tall, only a few inches shorter than Bruce himself. Her hair – long, black, voluminous and slightly curly – flowed down her back like a waterfall. A sigh of recognition and shock passed through the billionaire as he finally looked into the stunning sea-green eyes of the newcomer.

"Donna" He whispered her name. She seemed like an illusion, a sweet dream. Their years apart had not erased that feeling of enchantment and restlessness, the sensation of looking at something too perfect for mortal gaze.

 "Bruce" She greeted him simply. She was wearing a simple white dress with silver details, the hem of which extended to her ankle. She had not changed at all, she was still the same person who had haunted his best and worst nightmares since he had last seen her walk out the door so many years ago.

Her smile was sad, almost guilty.

“How long.” She stated with a certain solemnity.

“Sixteen years.” He answered more dryly than he intended. “Where have you been?” That question had plagued him almost daily for a long time. Before adopting Dick, he had spent hours in the dead of night, lurking between buildings, passing by the dock... The “what ifs” were one of the greatest terrors of an idle mind. Especially when they involved someone like her.

Alfred had already left the room, giving them privacy.

Donna sighed.

“I’m sorry. I know this doesn’t make up for my leaving, but I had no other choice. I had to go back to Greece. Family problems.” Her steps, as she approached him, were confident. They always had been. He hated it when she answered like that, her tone almost as if she were in a world apart. As if there was information in her words that he could never decipher or understand.

“Family problems?” He raised an eyebrow in disbelief. She had been gone for so many years, without justification, weeks before they were married and when she came back... After countless sleepless nights on his part, in which he had tossed and turned, like a fool, questioning what he had done wrong... The explanation given was...

“My family... Let’s just say they’re pretty traditional.” She sighed, sitting across from him theatrically. “Especially my older brother... Z can be difficult to deal with. I know I haven’t talked about her much, but you know about Amphitrite.”

“Your ex-wife?”

“Current now, actually. We got back together about a year after you and I broke up. Anyway, my family wasn’t very happy when I broke up with her, especially when I started dating someone who wasn’t… Greek. That day, just before I left here, he called me. He demanded that I come home, cut back on my duties, get back together with Amphitrite… In short, leave everything we’d built here. I didn’t want to, obviously, but he threatened to deprive Triton of the inheritance that was rightfully his. I refused to accept him taking that away from my son. So I went back to Greece. I was ashamed to look at you and admit how weak I was. I didn’t have your phone number memorized, the American media said you’d moved and I soon lost contact completely… And then I found out..."

“And you find out…?” He prompted.

She sighed.

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I found out I was pregnant and…”

He felt his world spin out of its axis.

His mind had always been meticulously organized. Each new discovery and invention was like a new piece, fitted into a larger, well-distributed puzzle. He had strengthened this system over the years, so that he was not easily surprised. Each new piece of information was simply placed in the best possible way together with the others and his brain, almost like a GPS, simply recalculated the best possible route, the best action, decision or the best thing to say.

But that... That could not fit together in a simple way. Not after having also lost a good part of Damian's childhood. And now... When he thought his family was complete...

She handed him a photo. It was of a boy, a teenager, with black hair and green eyes, the exact shade of Donna’s. He was tall, athletic, and had a shy smile on his face. His skin was slightly tanned, almost as if he spent too much time at the beach. He was wearing a simple T-shirt, jeans, and what looked like a school swim team jacket. His facial features were sharp, almost aristocratic in a way, with a clear resemblance to some of the features Bruce saw every day when he looked in the mirror.

"This is Perseus, although he prefers to be called Percy. He is your son."

Chapter Text

In his mind, first and foremost, a cold rage emerged. He was tired of losing what should have been the most precious moments of his life.

After his parents died, during his grief, he spent a long time thinking only about revenge. Over time, as he gained experience in this new world of struggle and loss, death became an old acquaintance. That shadow in his life had to be hidden before it became too well-known, and from that, he created the persona of Brucie. A billionaire known for being a fool and a playboy, a mask. The kind of person you wouldn’t entrust with anything important, because he, that character, didn’t "care enough" to take responsibility.

He used this facade to hide his vigilante persona, preserve his identity, and keep those close to him safe, but more than that, it kept him from showing the confusion that caring too much had turned him into.

The Batman, his other life, carried a different weight. He was cold, calculating, and planned everything to the last detail. More than that, he was surrounded by a duty that left no room for a safe path, and that included affecting everyone around him.

What he didn’t expect was for it to affect 'Bruce Wayne' himself. Whether an individual knew him as the party guy or the vigilante, he would still be labeled and deprived of the countless joys of an ordinary life.

For a long time, he thought Talia Al Ghul would take him seriously. She had known him while the Dark Knight was still establishing himself, back when things were simpler. Even so, he didn’t meet Damian until he was a bit older. By then, his son had been exposed to far more than he’d ever wanted.

Donna came into his life like a tide, bringing calm when everything seemed to be falling apart. He had thought she was the only one who truly knew him. Not Brucie. Not Batman. But the whole figure: Bruce Wayne.

Even so, here we are again.

Frustration was inevitable, and painful. It came with the bitter taste of betrayal.

Bruce stared at her and the photo, stunned. He had another son, another biological son. Another one he hadn’t been able to watch grow up.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He let out a resigned sigh.

She looked guilty, avoiding his gaze and shrugging, almost as if dismissing the turmoil he was feeling inside.

“My family. I told you, they’re very traditional. We made a pact, years before Percy was born, that we wouldn’t have any more children outside our respective marriages...”

“It scares me that this was so common, it needed a pact,” he said dryly. “Especially considering we were supposed to get married back then. And you told me you were divorced.”

She ignored him.

“It’s tied to our religion. Divorce is more complicated than you think, and it creates... incidents. But I was almost done with that process at the time,” Donna assured, as if that would relieve the weight of her words. “I swear. Anyway, it wasn’t finished. In the pact, if we broke the agreement, we couldn’t have full custody of them, only visitation rights. Percy stays with me on weekends. During the week, he would stay with you, but, like I said, we fought, I lost your contact, I was in Greece, and my brothers were pressuring me to get back together with Trite, and then there was Triton, who, despite Percy wrapping him around his little finger the moment he was born, didn’t like the idea of having a brother at the time...”

She spoke quickly. Not like a ramble, but almost as if she wanted to get rid of the subject as quickly as possible.

"Who did he stay with?" Bruce choked. She must be crazy. What kind of pact...?

"Sally Jackson, a very dear friend. She passed away recently. Cancer. That’s why I’m here, I need you to take care of him during the weekdays, at least until he turns eighteen, the pact expires, and he takes over the family business."

"You never would have told me, would you?" He said bitterly. "If your friend hadn’t died, I would never know about my son. This has to be a joke. You could have found other ways to contact me! Leaving our son with some random person..."

She was silent for a moment.

"You would have met him eventually. He always asked about his father, about you. He would have come looking for you when he could. And Sally wasn’t a stranger. She was a longtime friend. Will you take care of him?"

“Of course I’ll take care of him! I’ve already missed his childhood and part of his adolescence, I don’t want to miss another single day. But don’t think this conversation is over. You should’ve figured something out, you should’ve told me. I could have helped raise him, I could’ve seen his first steps, heard his first words... Not some woman I don’t even know, who doesn’t even have any blood ties to him.”

“I know, Bruce, I know,” Donna interrupted him. “Believe me, I still blame myself for this. But there was no other way. When I can, I’ll explain it better. One day, you’ll understand.”

“I highly doubt there are reasons that make a family agreement this ridiculous make any sense,” he shook his head. “Or for you to have kept me in the dark. It just sounds like a flimsy excuse for your own cowardice and neglect. At least tell me about him? Percy’s the only one who matters. After all, he’s not to blame for his mother’s craziness.”

She gave him a sad smile, not seeming affected by his words. Her condescension was what caused the greatest sense of disbelief in his chest as he tried to put it aside and listen to her speak.

“I think most of it, you’ll figure out on your own. He’s incredible. A sweet, kind boy. For now, just know that he has ADHD and that any new school needs to be informed. And that he goes to a camp every summer, it’s related to our religion.”

Bruce nodded, feeling a strange sensation grow within him.

“I’ll take good care of him and keep you informed. I just hope you do the same during the time he spends with you.”

“I will,” she assured him.

“Anything else I should be aware of?”

“Just one more thing, he doesn’t eat seafood of any kind.”

Bruce frowned.

“Is he allergic?”

She hesitated.

“No, he just... feels a bit sick.”

“Alright. I’ll let Alfred know his preferences.”

“Thank you,” Donna sighed. “Thank you so much, Bruce. I didn’t think you’d accept all of this so easily.”

“Don’t be mistaken, we’re still having that conversation. And whether you like it or not, for legal purposes, I need a paternity test,” he warned.

“Of course. It’ll be arranged. He... He should arrive tomorrow. Is that okay with you?”

He jolted.

“Tomorrow?” he said, suddenly out of breath.

“I told you: I can’t keep him during the week. It’s just... complicated to explain, Bruce. It’ll work out. Percy’s a golden boy. Now, I have to go. I have an urgent appointment, all of this is happening at the worst possible time. Things are a mess with my family.”

“You’re not even staying to help him adjust?” Bruce asked. “Percy doesn’t know me. Father or not, I’m a complete stranger.”

She stood up, as if the matter was already closed.

“I can’t. I’ve interfered too much already.”

“It’s your right and duty to interfere! You’re his mother!”

“I wish it were that simple. Bye, B. We’ll see each other soon.”

“Donna...”

But she was already gone, disappearing in mere seconds. Exactly like she had sixteen years ago.

How would he explain all of this to Damian and Dick?

Chapter Text

The docks were bustling that morning.

A recent attack by the Penguin had brought the entire coastline to a standstill the previous week. Cargo had been lost, sailors had suffered injuries... Batman had arrived just in time to prevent any fatalities, but not in time to stop the maritime commercial disaster.

Now, a sense of urgency hung heavy over the area. Workers and crew members rushed back and forth, crowding the docks, hauling luggage and freight in an attempt to make up for lost time and restore some semblance of normalcy — on a morning that, for the rest of the city, seemed calm and quiet.

In the middle of the chaos, Percy did his best to blend in. He had a plain suitcase in one hand, a backpack slung over his shoulder, and the kind of look that said, 'Don’t mind me, I’m just a totally normal guy definitely not dealing with existential dread.' His eyes scanned his surroundings subtly, cautiously. He wasn’t quite sure what he was feeling. For the longest time, meeting his mortal father had been one of his biggest fantasies — a reason to stay alive, to hold onto the hope of having a family where, even for a little while, he could feel like a normal teenager. Meeting some siblings who wouldn’t try to kill him on sight also sounded pretty great. 

But now that he was here, so close to what he’d been wishing for... the nerves were kicking in. Hard. All those childhood fantasies didn’t include awkward silences, or weird looks, or questions he legally couldn’t answer without getting smited by the gods of No-One-Must-Know. Reality had a habit of being a lot messier—and more painful—than the version in his head. After losing Sally, he wasn’t sure if he could handle losing another tie to his human side. 

But it wasn’t like he had any more time to process things.

A few meters ahead, he spotted the man who would shape his daily life until he turned eighteen. Just as Poseidon had described, Bruce Wayne was tall, broad-shouldered, with hair black as night and sharp, piercing blue eyes. He seemed to pause for a moment when he saw Percy, as if silently cataloging his presence, before walking toward him. 

Percy couldn’t help but roll his eyes internally. Of course his mortal dad turned out to be a billionaire playboy with a custom-tailored suit that probably cost more than his entire wardrobe. This was definitely not like the fantasies he’d had as a kid—of an adventurous, laid-back dad who’d take him surfing and, at the same time, provide the kind of emotional support the gods, however well-meaning, simply couldn’t offer. 

But it wasn’t like he had the luxury of being picky. Despite the crushing mismatch between expectation and reality, he watched Bruce approach with something that almost resembled hope—until the man finally stopped right in front of him.

“Hello.”

His biological dad’s voice had this slight roughness to it—like he was used to barking orders at boardrooms or something similar. The rich-guy accent definitely didn’t help. “I’m assuming you’re Perseus Jackson. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. My name is Bruce Wayne, but I suppose your mother may have already told you a bit about me. And about our... circumstances.” 

“You can call me Percy,” he replied awkwardly, tightening the strap of his backpack in a nervous reflex. “And... yeah. She told me a little. It’s good to finally meet you too. I just... kinda hoped it’d be under better circumstances.” 

“So did I,” Bruce said, his voice quieter now—almost gentle, which was... weirdly comforting. “And I had hoped this meeting would’ve happened much sooner. Come. I’ll take you to the car. It’s time to go home.”

The son of the sea simply nodded, following the patriarch of the Wayne family out of the docks and toward what appeared to be a parking lot. He was led to the back seat of what looked like an adapted Aston Martin, feeling out of place as he settled into the plush, comfortable seats. 

The drive to Wayne Manor was silent, the only sound accompanying the young demigod being the soft hum of the Aston Martin’s engine cutting through the road. The car glided through Gotham’s streets with an almost supernatural precision, leaving behind the chaos of the docks and entering a part of the city where tall buildings and busy streets seemed to blend and pile over one another. Even with all the motion outside, the place didn’t have any of the easygoing buzz of New York. There was a strange heaviness in the air—something almost tangible—that seemed to live up to Gotham’s reputation as a city of crime. There was a tension in the air, heavy and weird, like Gotham was always holding its breath. 

He watched the scenery pass by through the window, his thoughts scattered and distant. Everything around him—the car, the city—seemed in sync with a life he wasn’t sure belonged to him. It felt like he was stepping through a portal, leaving behind a world that, as complicated as it was, still made some kind of sense, and entering another where everything was uncertain.

Until now, he hadn’t really let himself think about change. After the war, he’d grown used to the unchanging nature of his father’s divine realm. He’d avoided his demigod friends, his bittersweet past, and the painful memories. Giving in to what Poseidon wanted for him had been easy—especially with Triton and Tyson around to distract him.

But the idea of spending the weekdays away from everything... it had never felt this uncomfortable. With Sally, at least, there had always been that almost maternal warmth, the comfort of a familiar life. A life that, no matter how chaotic, had always felt like home. 

Now, he found himself staring at a mansion shrouded in shadows, its wrought iron architecture rising like a fortress from the darkness.

As the car rolled up the long drive leading to the house, Percy felt the weight of the moment settle on his shoulders.

He had another family now.

All he could do was hope that he’d be able to keep the strangeness contained long enough to make the most of this chance—even if a part of him couldn’t shake the feeling that it all might fall apart at any second. 

Chapter Text

As he stepped out of the car, Percy followed Bruce in silence. The imposing gates towered over them, almost as if in challenge. Beyond them, an older gentleman of distinguished appearance emerged, dressed in a neatly tailored suit. The demigod couldn’t help but compare him to a character from a period drama — perhaps a long-lost member of Downton Abbey. Bruce appeared at ease as he approached the man, silently inviting the teenager to follow.

"I hope the road treated you well, Master Bruce," Alfred welcomed them. “And you must be young Master Perseus. It is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance. Your father was quite eager for your arrival. I am Alfred Pennyworth, the family’s butler.”

"Alfred has been with us since my father was a child," Bruce added. "He basically raised me after my parents passed away."

Percy nodded. He knew a found family when he saw one.

"Hmm... It’s great to meet you too, Mr. Pennyworth." Titles and formalities felt awkward in his mouth — they definitely weren’t his style. "You can call me Percy. 'Perseus' makes me sound like some shady ancient myth guy. And the whole ‘Master’ thing is totally unnecessary, I swear."

Alfred raised an eyebrow at the comparison.

"Very well, Master Percy, as you wish." He led them inside, toward a vast entrance hall. 

As soon as they crossed the threshold of the main door, Percy was immediately enveloped by an atmosphere of silent grandeur. The vast space reminded him of his divine father’s throne room. The polished marble floor softly reflected the golden light of a grand chandelier that hung from the vaulted ceiling like a fallen constellation. Stone columns flanked the walls, and old portraits — presumably of Wayne ancestors — watched the visitors with stern eyes.

Having grown up as a prince of Atlantis, Percy wasn’t unfamiliar with luxurious architecture, but encountering it in a setting tied to his mortal life made him feel slightly off balance. The apartment he had shared with Sally Jackson had been modest, filled with the kind of everyday warmth and normalcy he had always associated with his time away from the divine realms. Compared to that, this reality — this opulence among mortals — felt jarring at first, almost sterile or aloof. 

At least, that was his first impression.

But as he looked more closely, he couldn’t help but notice the velvet rug stretching across the floor, the generous number of cushions — especially on the couch beneath the chandelier — and the more recent photographs scattered on the furniture. It felt like someone, probably Bruce, had been quietly trying to make the place feel more like a home.

Alfred led the way like he belonged to the house as much as the walls did — moving with that eerie kind of grace that made Percy wonder if he actually was part of the building. Bruce followed at a slower pace, guiding Percy and occasionally pointing out, in a quiet voice, where each room was located.

They made their way down a long hallway on the upper floor — apparently the family wing — until Bruce stopped in front of a heavy mahogany door.

“I thought you might want to settle in and unpack. Take a moment to relax after the trip,” the billionaire explained. “This will be your room. You can change it however you like. Your mother didn’t mention much about your preferences, so I made sure it was kept neutral — figured you’d want to add your own personal touch.”

Percy nodded, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Alfred had already slipped away discreetly, giving them some space under the pretense of finishing lunch preparations.

“Thanks,” Percy said, and he meant it. “I’m guessing my mom wasn’t exactly the easiest to deal with — especially after dropping a bunch of dramatic family secrets and vanishing into the mist. It’s a lot. Honestly, you’re taking it better than I thought you would. I was expecting more…”

“Drama?” Bruce asked, a wry smile tugging at his mouth.

“Yeah, that,” Percy laughed. “My mom… she’s like the ocean. Calm on the surface, most of the time, but ever-shifting, unpredictable. Doesn’t like to be boxed in. She’s a good mom, no doubt — just not always great at realizing how her waves crash into other people.”

“I... thought I knew your mother very well at one point, Percy. We came close to getting married. I’ll admit, while I’m disappointed, I’m not surprised by the path she chose. It’s who she is.  I don’t claim to understand it. And truthfully, I’m furious she kept you from me for so long. But that’s between her and me. What matters is — none of that is your fault. You shouldn’t have to carry the weight of her choices, not now, not ever. Not if I can help it.”

He let the silence stretch for a beat.

“So yes. Part of me wants to press for answers, to get some kind of justice for what happened. But as a father, I’ve learned — over the years — that sometimes I have to put aside my own ego to meet the needs of my children.”

Percy let the words settle inside him, suddenly shy. This wasn’t the kind of situation he could navigate with a sarcastic or sharp remark. He hadn’t expected this level of vulnerability from his newly discovered father—much less such a clear defense on his behalf.

He had assumed his mother’s actions would haunt his time in the mansion. In his world, after all, the sins of the parents were often passed down to the children in painful and prophetic ways. He was used to indirect and uncomfortable affection from his divine relatives—the weight, even if unintentional, of their expectations.

Bruce didn’t know him, not really—not his skills, not his story—and yet, despite the older man’s reserved demeanor, the demigod felt, for a moment, that this might be real. That maybe a different kind of normal wasn’t the worst thing after all. Maybe he could finally rest a little. Maybe he could go back to school. Maybe—however reluctantly—he could accept this strangely peaceful family as his own.

“Thanks again,” he said under his breath. “Honestly, I have no idea how to handle a family moment that doesn’t involve some kind of emotional catastrophe. My mom’s side of the family? Major drama magnets. So... yeah. I should probably go do the whole unpacking thing or something. But I... I really do appreciate this, seriously, Bru— I mean, da— Wait, what do I even call you?” 

Bruce offered a faint, almost imperceptible smile.

“You can call me whatever feels right, Percy,” he said quietly. “I have no expectations. ‘Bruce’ is perfectly fine if that’s what makes you more comfortable. The rest... can come with time.”

“Right,” Percy said, uncertain. “Well, then... I guess I’ll see you later... Bruce.”

Bruce gave a small nod.

“Alfred will call you when it’s time for lunch. As for your siblings... they kind of invited themselves. I was hoping to ease you in before throwing you into the chaos they tend to bring, but Damian caught wind of something and told the others. I’ll handle the introductions—and the explanations.”

Percy froze. Siblings. He... had completely forgotten about that small detail.

“Don’t worry. They might look intimidating, but they’re harmless,” Bruce said, sounding reassuring as he turned to leave.

As Bruce disappeared down the hallway, Percy could’ve sworn he heard him mutter, “most of the time.”

Chapter Text

The Wayne family patriarch’s office could easily be considered intimidating. Like any old and, in a way, traditional lineage, his ancestors had made sure to design a vast space with subtle lighting. With imposing paintings and a large velvet rug, the room, ever since it had belonged to his father, had always commanded respect. As a child, he would often sneak through the hallway, pressing his ear against the door in hopes of catching even the faintest glimpse of the meetings held inside. It felt like the room—the one where choices were made, where the future of the city was rewritten through muffled whispers and refined debates. He wanted to be in the room where it all happened.

When his parents were murdered, everything changed. That childish curiosity gave way to the weight of the legacy left behind. Being in that place started to feel like an imposition, faced with the prospect of not having his father to guide him down the right path. The grim reality of Gotham had never felt so terrifying. He had to fill the void. Reinvent himself through loss. If it hadn’t been for Alfred, he feared his journey of self-discovery would have led him down a far more tortuous road.

After Dick, however, the space seemed to grow lighter. The boy would appear in the middle of the afternoon, carrying comic books or art supplies and, occasionally—much to his adoptive father’s exasperation—swinging from the chandelier. His other sons followed that same tradition in different ways, until his past memories and grief became nothing more than an occasional thought.

At that moment, however, all Bruce could think about was Percy Jackson. At first, when Donna had described the boy, he had imagined an ordinary teenager—probably athletic, friendly, and much more emotionally well-adjusted than he or his other sons. Someone less marked by the toll of a life spent in combat. 

Making Dick Robin had never been his intention, but after seeing him sneak out in the middle of the night to join his patrols, it had become inevitable. At least in that controlled dynamic, he managed to teach him to defend himself, to share his moral code, and to keep that corrosive anger from consuming him. He had hoped that, one day, Dick would give up vigilantism, go to college, find a career he loved, and live the best life possible in a city like Gotham.

It hadn’t worked. Bruce had made mistakes. Many. With Dick, and later with Jason, Tim… But he had grown. They weren’t a normal family, but they were learning to forgive one another and move forward, despite countless loose ends. Dick visited every few days, whenever his job in Blüdhaven allowed. Jason still insisted on living alone and sustaining his independence as the Red Hood, but in truth, he spent more nights in the Manor than outside it—same as Tim. Damian was still very young. Bruce had made fewer mistakes with him, but his youngest still carried remnants of his time with the League of Assassins.

Maybe with Percy it would be different. He would be different, but Bruce couldn’t deny that the boy seemed to carry something within him. Perhaps not like the rest of the family—the weight was different. Not necessarily heavier or less profound, just… distinct. He was tall, only slightly shorter than Bruce himself. Handsome for a teenager, with a lightly defined build, and green eyes like the sea—uncommon, striking in a way that defied explanation. There were laugh lines around his eyes, yet his expression at the docks had seemed forced, tired.

He resembled Donna in many ways. They shared the same aura, the same distracted walk, as if their thoughts belonged to another world. And yet, Bruce could also see the traces of the Wayne family in him. His slender frame, long fingers, dark hair like the night with a faint curl to it, porcelain skin… The similarity was there.

It had to work this time. He refused to make the same mistakes. He told himself this would be the perfect opportunity to strengthen the fragile bonds they had managed to mend. As much as his paranoid side demanded thorough investigations into his new son’s past, he didn’t want to start off on the wrong foot. For the first time in a long while, he truly wanted to experience fatherhood without that weight on his shoulders. Batman could wait for once.

When he came down the stairs that night, he carried that thought with him. Dick was at the door, being greeted by Alfred, smiling as he spoke about his new case at the police department. Tim stood next to him, furiously typing away on his phone.

“Dad,” his eldest greeted happily as soon as he saw him, the word still new on his lips, the product of months of conversations and regretful confessions on both sides. “Finally! Just so you know, thanks to you, Jason owes me twenty bucks. I knew you had another biological kid floating around somewhere. Those rumors about your playboy persona might be a little exaggerated, but this whole emotionally constipated emo façade doesn’t fool anyone…” 

Bruce rolled his eyes, and Tim finally started paying attention to the conversation, raising the hand holding his phone.

“Jason said to let you know he’ll be late. Someone stole the mirror off his new bike.”

Dick laughed.

“Coming from the guy who, as a kid, stole the tires off the Batmobile, that’s sweet.”

“I’d call it oddly fitting,” Bruce couldn’t help but smile. “Well, I think it’s time you boys met someone. Please, don’t scare him right away. I’m trying, for the first time, to make a calm addition to this house. No running away in the middle of the night, no attempted murders.”

“We’ll see,” Dick exchanged a strangely amused glance with Tim. “I brought a bag in the car. Took some time off the department for family matters. Relax, B. We’ve already gotten used to your habit of collecting kids.”

Yes. It would work.