The File

by denimbeans

Summary:

“Stark, listen to me. Even since Project Insight failed, Hydra has been trying to recreate it. We don't know how far along they are, but we do know that they will get there. SHIELD is in shambles, the Avengers Initiative has gone to shit. There's nobody to stop them. Their hit list isn't changing, either. The Avengers, or former Avengers, are still at the top. And you? You're the easiest to find.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Yeah, no shit. I can handle myself. Besides, what are you going to do? I wouldn't trust a single one of your agents, and I very much doubt you are going to stick around here yourself.”

Fury nodded. “True. I have things I need to do, as do you. You can't afford to be focusing on weeding out Hydra.” Tony didn't trust that agreeable tone. “But, I have someone who can.”

There it was.

He pulled the folder onto his knee, and cracked it open. A picture was paperclipped to the front, and a name sat at the top in dark, neat letters.

Agent Jackson — Perseus Achilles Jackson

Notes:

Hey guys! This is my first story. Hope you like it!

Trigger warnings: Nothing really, this chapter. There is mentioned nightmare that involved Steve hitting Tony with his shield, though. Nothing graphic.

Chapter 1: A Visit From A Dead Man

Monday, July 13th, 2016

10:36 PM

Stark Tower, NY

 

Tony Stark was tired.

Currently, he was entering hour 27 of lab time. Hunched over a table, focused on the scraps sitting on the smooth metal. His eyesight was a little blurry, but he could still work. It was fine.

He had slept a little bit, cheek pressed against the workbench, a few hours ago. Better than usual, actually. Nightmares had woken him up, and he went straight to work. And hasn't stopped since.

(Rogers slamming the shield down into his sternum. Again, again, again. He didn't stop. Tony could feel something cracking, breaking, snapping—)

“Fri,” he called out to the ceiling. “Turn it up a little?” His eyes didn't budge from the wires in front of him.

“Boss…” The AI began. “You have been down here for more than 24 hours. Ms. Potts’ protocols do not allow this. It would be detrimental to your health for you to continue.” Tony frowned and put the pliers down. “My own AI,” he grumbled. “Betraying me.” FRIDAY stopped the music completely. “Boss, I'm afraid I must insist. You have not eaten in over 8 hours.”

Tony let out a deep sigh, and leaned back in his chair, face turned up towards the ceiling. He let his eyes slip shut. He knew that if he didnt get out of the lab, FRIDAY would call Pepper. And that was...not preferred. Ever since Siberia, he had been avoiding her. And Rhodey. And Happy. Hell, he wasn't even talking to the Spider-kid. But Happy could handle that. Tony had important things to do. Rhodey's braces, to start. This was the third version he was working on in as many weeks. They weren't perfect, but he was getting close.

Rhodey was going to be fine.

Just fine.

He could still see him falling, remember powering his suit full throttle to try and catch him, but it didn't work, and he hit the ground so hard Tony thought-

“Boss.”

His eyes snapped open. “What, Fri?”

“You...seem to have a visitor.”

The engineer frowned. If it was Pepper or Rhodey, FRIDAY wouldn't announce them like that. Happy never came to the lab.

“I'm sure whatever it is, someone else can handle it. I'm busy. Pepper is CEO for a reason. Direct whatever it is to her phone.”

He could hear the hesitation in her voice. “You are being asked for specifically.”

Tony threw a hand up. “Unless it's an alien, zombie, or self aware robot with a penchant for murder, I don't care. Get someone else.” There was a moment of silence.

“Actually, Boss...” she trailed off.

Tony looked up, eyes wide. “You're shitting me.”

He stood up, wiping oil off his hands and onto the sides of his pants. “Please tell me nobody is dead. I can't deal with this shit.” He muttered, saving the half-constructed prosthetic design.

“Nick Fury is currently waiting in your lobby. He wishes to speak with you.” There was a pause, and then she added “In private.”

Tony took a deep breath. “I'll be damned. A zombie.” Fury was alive. Of course he was. Did he come back to life, or did he never actually die? Was it a decoy Fury? A stunt double? Or was the whole accident faked, for whatever shady reason?

“Let him up, but make him wait a few minutes. Give him the runaround. I want him to sweat a little longer.” He ordered. FRIDAY sounded amused when she answered. “Sure thing, Boss.”

Tony stepped into the elevator. What the hell could Fury want with him? SHIELD was in complete shambles, but he wouldn't put it past the man to have a secret organization inside a secret organization.

The billionaire took his time changing and brushing his teeth, washing the grease off his face, and hoping he didn't look too much of a mess. He sat down on one of the couches in the lounge, a bottle of water in hand. Waiting.

“Incoming!” FRIDAY warned.

Nick Fury stepped out of the elevator in all his eyepatch glory. He certainly didn't look dead. “Stark.” He greeted.

Tony rolled his eyes. God, and people thought he was dramatic? “Pirate.” He returned. “You seem to be missing a tombstone. You're dead, didn't you hear the news?”

Fury tipped his head a little. “News tends to exaggerate.” Tony scoffed, but gestured with a loose hand for him to sit. The ex-director (current director? Of a secret, other, organization?) sat across from him, looking very out of place. “How have you been doing?” he inquired.

“Don't act like you don't know.” Was the flat reply.

Fury shrugged. Fair enough.

“What the hell do you want, Nicky?”

The nickname made his eye twitch, as it always did. “I have...an offer of sorts.” Tony stiffened. “Yeah, no. Your last offer? Didn't go too great. You guys got anywhere on catching those pesky war criminals yet?” Fury's jaw tightened, but he didn't say anything. “Didn't think so.” he muttered, looking down at his water bottle.

“It's in your best interest.” Fury tried.

“Yeah, because you know all about that. Again, I point you to the last time we had this discussion. Tell me what you actually want, or get the hell out.”

The spy worked his jaw for a minute. His eye was focused on Tony, narrowed a little in thought. Then, he let out a slow breath. “Fine.” he leaned back on the sofa. “You're a liability.” He said flatly. Tony raised a brow. “Yeah, great selling point. Listen, I got work to do, so—” He moved to stand. Fury's words stopped him.

“You're not safe here.”

Tony narrowed his eyes, still not looking at the spy. “A bold assumption that I ever was.” He noted, keeping his voice level.

“Stark, listen to me. Even since Project Insight failed, Hydra has been trying to recreate it. We don't know how far along they are, but we do know that they will get there. SHIELD is in shambles, the Avengers Initiative has gone to shit. There's nobody to stop them. Their hit list isn't changing, either. The Avengers, or former Avengers, are still at the top. And you? You are the easiest to find.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Yeah, no shit. I can handle myself. Besides, what are you going to do? I wouldn't trust a single one of your agents, and I very much doubt you are going to stick around here yourself.”

Fury nodded. “True. I have things I need to do, as do you. You can't afford to be focusing on weeding out Hydra.” Tony didn't trust that agreeable tone.

“But, I have someone who can.”

There it was.

Tony crossed his arms, and sat back down. “Did you completely miss the whole I don't trust your agents further than I can throw them bit? You didn't have a clue who was a traitor then, and you don't know now.”

“That's...true enough.” Fury forced out. He clearly didn't like being called out. The words seem to physically pain him. “I have someone. Someone I know for sure isn't Hydra.”

“Yeah?” The challenge was clear in the billionaire's voice.

Fury nodded. “Yeah.” He echoed.

Tony leaned forward. “And how, exactly, do you know that?”

The response nearly threw him off. “Because he isn't SHIELD, either.”

Once again, Tony narrowed his eyes. Unconsciously, he had been leaning forward a bit. He rested his elbows on his knees. “I find it hard to believe you trust somebody who you don't have tucked in your little trench coat pocket.” While Tony didn't really know Fury—he doubted anyone really did—he did know that the man didn't put faith in anyone he couldn't control. Hence the whole consultant thing.

“I knew you would. That's exactly the reason I chose him. I didn't think you would appreciate—”

“Natalie Rushman: Act 2?” Tony interrupted.

Fury looked pissed at being interrupted, but nodded regardless.

“So,” Tony probed, “He's, what, a loose cannon? I didn't take you for a betting man, Nicky.”

The spy raised a brow. “I'm not.”

Tony shifted, biting the inside of his cheek. If Fury’s special person wasn't SHIELD, then what? The man in front of him didn't have a large friend group. It's not like there were many options.

Said man seemed to read his mind. (Which was actually a thing Tony looked into. He didn't find anything, but maybe he should take another look.) “He was SHIELD. A while ago. He quit.” Tony turned his head a little. A touch mockingly; “Spy life not as glorious as he imagined?”

Fury clenched his jaw. Honestly, the man was going to start grinding his teeth down to nothing. He better have good dental insurance. (Well...he was dead. So. Probably not.)

“Agent Jackson quit because he didn't trust his coworkers.”

Tony took that statement in. Agent Jackson, huh? Sounded generic enough. Then, it clicked. “Wait a minute, are you telling me—”

“That he believed some of my agents were moles? Yes.” Again, the confession seemed to pain him. “Hydra moles, specifically. Nothing of the accusations warranted an investigation. There was no concrete evidence. But…”

Tony let out a half gleeful laugh. “Are you seriously telling me you had an agent tell everyone that Hydra had infiltrated SHIELD, and you didn't even look into it? Not even a little?” As he spoke, his voice grew louder. “So all that was avoidable? The helicarriers that I designed, that you took and weaponized—you didn't even do a good job, might I add,—didn't have to be destroyed? And that you didn't have to dump all of SHIELD's files on the internet?”

Fury didn't answer. He was staring intently at the coffee table between them, guilt written on his usually expressionless face.

The file dump didn't just have names and projects, it had missions, current and completed, aliases, addresses, locations. So, basically, everything you needed to know to start killing undercover agents, going after retired ones, or getting into facilities.

Great job, Romanoff.

Hundreds of agents, active and retired, old and young, in and out of the country, died. Tony had done his best to take the files down, enlisting FRIDAY to help, but it was too late for the majority of those in the line of fire.

He didn't say any of that, though. Fury knew.

He did, however, say; “So, what, you asked real nicely and the guy agreed to come back? Where's he been all this time? I very much doubt he would be happy to see you again.” Fury pulled himself out of whatever quiet guilt party he was throwing. “Jackson recognized the importance of this mission, one of my agents or not. And he's been...traveling.”

“Traveling?”

“As a mercenary, to be specific. Quite rightous for one, though. Didn't take missions that he didn't seem to agree with.”

Tony looked unimpressed.

Fury sighed, and stood. “Listen. Working with us, for us, or avoiding us completely,— you, Stark, are one of our greatest assets.” He sighed. “Especially now. If Hydra managed to kill you? God knows what they could do. Even worse, capture you? Get their hands on your work? You saw what they did with just the helicarriers.”

“Yeah,” Tony rebutted, “the helicarriers that you were supposed to keep safe. The helicarriers you weaponized. If I had known about Project Insight, I wouldn't have given you jackshit. You knew that, that's why you didn't tell me.”

Even as he said it, the billionaire knew Fury had a point. Tony ran one of the biggest companies in the world for a reason. He was good at what he did. The thought of Hydra getting their grubby little hands on just a piece of the Iron Man armor? He pushed down a shiver.

Fury gave him a look. Again, doing that dumb mind reading thing. “You're a liability. I am the kind of man who takes care of those. So, the way I see it, you take this file,” he pulled out a folder from his coat, “look through it, and make up your mind about Jackson. Then, you either accept him, let him do his job, and keep you safe.” Tony didn't reach for the file, and Fury dropped it onto the table in between them. “Or,” Fury shrugged, “I do my damndest to keep you alive regardless, by whatever means I deem necessary. SHIELD may have fallen, but we both know I still have a few cards up my sleeve.”

Fury smoothed down his coat. “Make your choice. You know which one I would advise on, but I'm not here to be your life coach.” He turned on his heel and stode to the elevator.

As the doors were closing, Fury called out, “Oh, and Stark? Have your AI pull that shit again, and the fate of the world be damned, I'll kill you myself.”

At that, Tony couldn't help but grin. At least FRIDAY had come through on that.

“I had him go through numerous captchas, to confirm he was not a robot.” Her innocent voice came through the speakers. Tony laughed. “A stunning performance, Fri, thank you.”

His mirth disappeared as he looked down. The file sat on the table, closed. It was a regular old manilla folder, not too thin, not too thick. He could get one of the bots to shred it, probably. Toss it down the garbage chute, use it as repulsor target practice. As he contemplated its demise, he slowly reached towards it. He didn't have to read it. He didn't.

...But then again, he recalled Fury's other option. He really didn't want Natalie Rushman: Act 2. Pepper was stressed enough as is.

Pepper!

She was a pretty good decision maker. She had also probably slept in the last 24 hours. But first.... He would take a peek. Just a little look.

He pulled the folder onto his knee, and cracked it open. Nothing super special, at first glance. A picture of him was paperclipped to the front, and Tony pulled it out. Agent Jackson --- Perseus Achilles Jackson, actually, and hoo boy if that wasn't a name—was a 24-year-old Brazilian-Hawaiian man, with dark hair and green eyes. In the picture, looking vaguely like a mugshot, he stood, facing the camera. His face held a flat, unimpressed expression. A thin scar across his left brow added contrast, along with… Tony held the picture a bit closer to his face, squinting.

Across his temple, eyes, and bridge of his nose, was either a strange scar or birthmark. It looked almost like a splatter of paint, pale and stark. If it was a scar, Tony wondered what could have caused it. Fire, maybe? It looked too pale to be a burn. Chemicals? An accident, most likely when he was younger. He considered the fact that he might have gotten it on a SHIELD mission, but dismissed it quickly. It looked pretty old, healed over fairly well. And, according to the paper in front of him, Jackson had only worked for SHIELD for a few years, ages 21-24.

Placing the picture back down, he flipped through the pages. First, a few notes. Father unknown, stepfather missing, expelled from multiple schools. After that, a few more in depth pages. At age 12, he and his mother were both kidnapped. Car found flipped over, with goat hair inside. A trail of blood, like someone had been dragged out of the car. Jackson's stepfather, Gabe Ugliano (now that was a horrible name) accused Jackson of being involved. You know. The 12 year old.

It went on to say the kid had been spotted all across the country, from New York to Los Angeles. A statement from a waitress in Denver highlighted that he was with 2 other kids, and a strange man, who was described as “The scariest man she had ever seen”. Eventually, Tony flipped to a police report. The vaguely confused conclusion was that Jackson and his mother had both been kidnapped. They were then separated, and Jackson was taken cross country with the two other kids.

Once they reached Los Angeles, he proceeded to steal a gun from his captor, and start a shootout. Once they were all recovered, and the police took their statements, Gabe Ugliano was cast in an...unfavorable light. It didn't help much that he disappeared almost immediately after.

The pages continued on like that. Strange occurrences, with a murky explanation. Eventually it started to give Tony a headache. He pulled out the next papers, clipped together. Mission briefs, mostly. Information and objectives he was given, and then reports he wrote, summarizing the mission. He skimmed them, eyes flicking over the tops. They were all successes, except one.

About two years ago, he was paired up to go on a mission to Costa Rica. A barge, which supposedly had a Chitauri weapon store. The details were conflicting. In Jacksons report, while he was following an order to investigate the shipping containers— the ones that intel told them were full of scraps from the Battle of New York— comms went dark. Soon after, something blew in the room with him. He described it like a bomb, something decidedly not Chitauri. Man made. He hit the water, along with debris from the boat. A miracle he made it out alive.

The other report said that Jackson turned off his comm and went in to look at the shipping containers, against orders, without the room being cleared as safe. Some of the contents were unstable, and one of the energy cores blew up. Unfortunate, and very much his fault, combined with the bad luck of the energy core blowing.

Tony frowned at the reports. He flipped back to the first page, and—

Oh.

There it was. The first written by P.A.Jackson, and the other by the mission leader; a certain B.Rumlow.

A lot more made sense, suddenly. Tony could piece it together, like a strange but captivating puzzle.

So, Jackson gets orders to poke around the shipping containers. He goes into the room after getting the clear from Rumlow, and then suddenly, comms go out. An unfortunate malfunction, he is told. But he knows that the comms can be disconnected manually, by the mission leader. The same mission leader who gave him the all clear, even though there was an explosive in the room, which would have been pinged on the scans Rumlow said he did.

The bomb blows, taking Jackson with it. It's pure luck he survives, and boy is he pissed. He probably confronts Rumlow, or some of the other team members. They deny everything. Then the STRIKE team all write reports that say the pure opposite of Jackson’s.

The mission was dated a few months before he quit. So either that was the catalyst that formed his mistrust of his fellow agents, or it was the last straw that confirmed everything. He sticks around a bit, trying to get Fury to look into what happens. His request gets denied, and he quits.

Quite the story.

He stood, closing the folder with a snap. “Fri?” He called, “Can you get this whole thing digitized? Private server, please.” He waved the folder above his head.

“Sure thing, Boss.” The AI affirms.

He puts the file down on a nearby counter as he walks. One of the bots will get it later.

If he's going to talk to Pepper, he should probably shower first.

Chapter 2: A Large Dog And The Smell Of Sea Salt

Summary:

Agent Jackson arrives at the tower.
Also, some very good Mrs. O'Leary content.

Notes:

Holy beans, that was fast. Thank you to everyone who read, kudoed, and bookmarked this!
Trigger warnings: Nothing super bad here. A very brief and vague mention of an Arai cursing Percy, and the result leaving him partially blind.

also me? simping for pepper potts? mayhaps.

Pepper wasn't sure what to think.

Tony sat in front of her, slumped back in his chair. The open file sat in between them, open towards the CEO. Everything from mission briefings to middle school report cards scattered across the table, not a single page saved from the infamous scrutiny of Pepper Potts.

“So,” Tony ventured, “What do you think?” Pepper rubbed a hand over her face. “Honestly? It's a good idea. If Hydra comes after you...God. I don't know what I’d do.” Tony winced a little. His Ironman activities weren’t exactly great for Peppers blood pressure.

“But,” she continues “It'll only work if you let it.” She leveled Tony with a look. They both knew that he had problems trusting people. Issues which probably increased tenfold after Siberia. The billionaire bit his lip. “I know,” he said softly.

“I'll take care of the logistics. You,” Pepper hesitantly reached over, closing the space between them, and resting her hand on his, “just need to give it a shot.” Tony took a deep breath, and then nodded. “I'll do it.”

He looked at her consideringly. “Wait, how the hell are you going to let Fury know? The man just straight up disappears.” Pepper tipped her head a little. “Honestly? I don't think I’ll have to. In my admittedly limited knowledge about Nick Fury, I am fairly confident in the assumption that he already called this guy, and he's coming, whether you agreed or not.” Tony huffed out a laugh. “Probably.” He agreed.

Pepper smiled. He smiled back. And for the first time since he was pulled out of that bunker in Siberia, it felt real.

 

---

Tony woke up to FRIDAY’s voice. “Morning, Boss!” He opened an eye. “Today is Tuesday, July 14th, 9:00 AM.” He swung his legs out of bed, his feet hitting the heated tile. Pepper had him get up early today to meet the agent. Jackson was going to stay in the tower for the time being. Tony wasn't quite sure how he felt about that. The last people who had lived in the tower besides him… he shook his head. The tower felt...empty. Sad, once they left. Vision went off to God knows where, and Rhodey did have a room in the tower, but, contrary to popular belief, he wasn't Tony’s full time babysitter. Same with Pepper.

FRIDAY continued as he stumbled to the bathroom. “—it is currently 72 degrees. The low is 67, and the high is 89. A low chance of rain today, only about 6%—” Tony brushed his teeth and washed his face, letting her report distract him.

A few hours and a breakfast later, he met Pepper in the lounge. She was dressed smartly, as always. Pencil skirt and blouse both without a single wrinkle. Her heels were impossibly high- trust him. He knew. Tony learned to walk in heels years ago, but ones that high and thin were beyond his capabilities.

 

Pepper smiled at him. “Nice to see you look put together for a change.” Tony rolled his eyes. “You know you love me.” Pepper shot him a look. “Unfortunately.”

Before he could retort, FRIDAY spoke. “Ms. Potts, Lee wishes to inform you that a Mr. Jackson is waiting at the front desk.” Tony raised an eyebrow. “Lee?” He mouthed. “Secretary.” She whispered back. FRIDAY continued. “He had requested to be seen at your next convenience.” Pepper smiled a little. “I like him already.” Most of the time, with all this SHIELD stuff, people either showed up randomly in the private levels of the tower, or, quite rudely, told FRIDAY to tell Tony that they were here.

The two of them stepped into the elevator, FRIDAY automatically sending them down to the ground level. The lobby, as always, was bustling. People walked in and out dressed in all manners. Suits and dresses, lab coats, coveralls, you name it. Surprisingly—or maybe not, depending how you looked at it—nobody really noticed Tony and Pepper.

Pepper led the way through the masses, people clearing the way without even looking at her. She was just that powerful.

As the last group parted for them, Tony spotted the front desk. A tall woman with a serious face and short hair sat there, tapping away at a tablet. 

Pepper held out a hand and waved, catching Lee’s eye. The blonde waved back. “Good morning, Ms. Potts.” She said. “It's Pepper, Lee.” Despite the tone, she was smiling. Lee nodded. “Of course, Ms. Potts.” Before Pepper could respond, she gestured to the other side of the desk. “This is Mr. Jackson.” Tony took a look at him.

Perseus Jackson was average height, a few inches taller than Tony. His hair was a bit longer than in the picture, a bit shy of touching his collar in the back. Casually dressed, Tony noted. Black pants, a faded grey shirt, and a brown bomber jacket. Scuffed, well worn Converse, in a dark green color. His socks were mismatched and bright. One was inside-out.

As Tony got closer, he noticed a light smell of the sea breeze.. It seemed too natural to be someone's perfume, an air freshener, maybe?

And next to him was the biggest damn dog Tony had even seen. A large, hulking black mass of fur. Honestly, it looked like one of those Russian dogs bred to fight bears. Around the dog's neck, a green color held grey dog tags and--thank god, one of those tags confirmed the dog had gotten a rabies vaccine. That collar had to be specially made, right? Tony didn't think they made them that big. That thing was probably an old belt, or something.

Jackson smiled at Pepper. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Potts.” He held a hand out, smiling, dimples flashing. Pepper shook his hand firmly. The ex-agent turned to Tony next. “Dr. Stark,” he greeted. Tony internally hummed in consideration. It was a nice change for someone to actually acknowledge his doctorates for a change. Jackson didn't offer a hand to shake, and Tony was grateful for that. He didn't like being handed things, and wasn't a fan of shaking hands either. So he had done his reading. Distantly, Tony wondered what the file on him was like. SHIELD work, most likely. A few pages on his narcissistic personality disorder, done by a corporate spy, while he was sick and dying, probably.

Iron man: Yes. Tony Stark: Not recommended.

He held back a flinch. If Jackson noticed, which he probably did, damn agents, he didn't say anything.
“Agent Jackson.” He returned with a smile that was only a little forced. He jerked his chin back towards the elevator. “Shall we?” Jackson nodded in return, and hefted his black duffle further up his shoulder. The dog stood as well. Jesus. The thing wasn't wearing a leash, either. It was, however, wearing a vest. He couldn't catch the words on the side—a service dog, maybe?

Jackson caught his gaze and grinned. It was a surprisingly youthful expression. “This,” he said proudly, placing a hand on the dogs head, (which wasn't hard, honestly, it went to his ribs) “Is Mrs. O’Leary.” A girl, then. And what was with this guy and weird names? Mrs. O’Leary’s tongue lolled out the side of her mouth. “I call her Lea.”

Tony gave a slow nod, eyes finally leaving the dog. Pepper cleared her throat, and turned to lead the group back to the elevators. “A pleasure talking to you you, Lee!” Jackson called over his shoulder as he walked away. He fell into step with Tony, Pepper in front of both of them. Tony let his eyes flick over to the mercenary. His strides were long and easy, back straight and chin perfectly parallel to the floor. As they walked, his eyes—a strange sea green color—stayed focused ahead. He didn't spare anyone in the lobby a single look at they walked.

Mrs. O’Leary trotted next to him, keeping pace, not drifting away or pausing once. He could read her vest now. It was a dark blue, wrapping around her torso. In clear, bold letters, Service Dog was written in white. She certainly was well trained.

The ride back up was a little awkward. Pepper filled the silence, telling Jackson about the tower. FRIDAY, the amenities in the tower, how groceries and laundry worked, and, most importantly, his job. She handed him a stack of papers,—contracts, most likely, that was growing taller and taller as she spoke. Quite honestly, Jackson took it like a champ. He listened with rapt attention, nodding occasionally.

The elevator stopped just a floor below the private levels. Pepper stepped out, already flicking through something on her tablet. As she started off to her office, she called out “Play nice, boys!” over her shoulder.

The elevator doors closed once more, trapping Tony with Jackson. And the dog. The elevator was fast, but not fast enough. God, this was awkward.

“Gods, she's so cool.”
Tony turned to him, a bemused expression on his face, eyebrows raised a little.

Jackson crossed his arms, not facing Tony. “What? You know I'm right. She could kill me with her heel and I’d thank her.”

Tony's brow shot further up. The other man shifted a little. Then, unexpectedly, the billionaire barked out a sharp laugh. After a second, Jackson joined him. He snorted when he laughed. The elevator reached their floor with a soft ding. “Floor 91” FRIDAY’s automated voice announced.

The top three floors were private facilities. The 91st, a common room, main kitchen, and gym. 92nd was labs and storage. 93rd housed the private apartments and rooms. All of which were now painfully empty.

The two men were still a little out of breath as they stepped onto the common room floor, smiles wide. Tony wasn't quite sure when the last time he had laughed like this was. A few steps later, Jackson turned his head towards him. “Lea doesn't bite, you know.” Tony startled a little bit. “What?”
“She doesn't bite. She's a good dog, promise.”
Tony blinked.
“You were looking at her weird. Is she going to be a problem?”

“Oh! No, she's fine. I just… I didn't know dogs came in that size. And I like to think I know everything.”
Jacksons mouth quirked a little.
Tony stopped in front of a plain, dark wood door. “Here you are.” He leaned forward and pushed the door open. “I’m down the hall,” he pointed to his door, “You can ask me or Fri if you need something. Preferably FRIDAY, though. I've been told I’m not a helpful person.”

Jackson rolled his eyes. “Right. The man who sells revolutionary prosthetics for free. Not a helpful guy.” With that, he stepped into the room, leaving Tony shocked.

The engineer turned and walked down the hall on autopilot. Did Jackson really think that highly of him? The prosthetic thing…

The truth was, it was not the original goal. When he was first looking into them for Rhodey, Tony idley noted a slight change that would improve the plans for an arm. The next day, he decided on a practice run. A small experiment, to make sure he knew everything he needed to. He built an arm, making small improvements on the way. Pepper came down just as he was finishing. One look at the prototype and the plans projected in front of him, and the next thing he knew, they were being manufactured. When Pepper asked him about his opinion on a starting price, he just shrugged. “It's a limb, Pep. I don't think we should put a price on mobility.” The smile she gave him was so blinding he wished he had brought sunglasses.

So he really didn't do much. The outcome wasn't even what he intended. Tony shook his head. Did Jackson really not read the file on him? After he did, he would surely change his mind about his new housemate. (Tower-mate? Neighbor?)

He took the elevator down to his lab, mind working in overdrive. He had a new idea for Rhodey’s leg braces that he was eager to try out...

 

---

 

Percy was having a weird day.

Just...weird. Not your-mom-was-killed-by-a-bull-man-and-oh-look-your-dad-is-a-god weird, but still up there. He wasn't quite sure what exactly he expected of Tony Stark. Public opinion seemed to swing back and forth so quickly it made him dizzy. He didn't put much faith in the SHIELD briefing, either. For starters: SHIELD. His opinion on tht was quite clear. Second, they sent a spy to evaluate him under false pretenses. How accurate can an assessment be when it is done by a person who ‘works’ for him, already biased, who didn't even spend that much time with him? Even then, the time Romanoff spent with him was as his assistant. Percy was no psychologist, but he was pretty damn sure you couldn't summarize a person's truthfulness and worthiness by their coffee order. And then there was the whole poisoned and dying thing. Of course he was going to be erratic and impulsive. Zeus above, these people.

He seemed honestly shocked when Percy didn't immediately agree with his self appointed unhelpfulness. Another strange thing. For a man so accomplished, his opinion of himself was so low, Percy was surprised he didn't run into it while searching for the Doors of Death.

The demigod took a step into the room, soaking it all in. Jesus. The living room alone was bigger than the apartment he was raised in. He dropped his bag onto the nearest couch, wandering aimlessly. It was a small apartment, not just a bedroom, like he expected. A living room, bathroom, kitchen, bedroom, and walk in closet were all featured. There was also a large desk with a computer on it, backed by bookshelves.

Another trait to add to his revised assessment of Tony Stark: Generous. Very, very generous.

Percy, still a little stunned, doubled back to grab his bag. He didn't pack much. A few sets of clothes, some books, and other essentials. A surplus of weapons, though. He also brought his laptop. While he appreciated the big desktop that sat perfectly centered on the desk, he really didn't want to deal with a dracaena busting through the great wall of windows in the common room.
Mrs. O’Leary had made herself comfortable on the bed, drooling on the neutral grey comforter. He sighed, and laid next to her, hands folded over his stomach. The place wasn't exactly...homey. But currently, he didn't know how long he was going to be staying, so there's really no point in trying to decorate it. He had all he needed to live.
The son of Poseidon tipped his chin up towards the ceiling. “FRIDAY?” He ventured. He really hoped she was listening. He already screamed at the sky enough for one lifetime. (Gods, he hated Zeus.) Luckily, a voice hit his ears. “Yes, Agent Jackson?”

“Are the rooms soundproof?”

“Affirmative, Agent. In addition to being soundproofed, you can turn on Blackout Mode. This will deprive the room of additional sounds, as well as turn off the lights.”
He nodded slowly, then paused. “Wait.” His nose wrinkled. “FRIDAY, do you have cameras in here? Like, in the bathroom?” The AI sounded distinctly amused in the response. “I do not. The only time data will be collected from your quarters will be if you are in danger or distress. Then the nearest person will be notified to lend you assistance.” Percy nodded. “Alright. Thanks, Fri.” He stopped for a second. “Do you mind if I call you Fri?” “I do not, Agent Jackson.”

Percy smiled. He then stood, stretching a little. Better to unpack now than later. He hung his clothes in the closet, which, admittedly, looked very bare. It was a big closet. The few books he brought he put on the shelf, and then put his laptop on the desk. He could practically feel the shining Delta stared back up at him, and he turned away. Then distracted himself with storing weapons. Mainly knives, a few guns here and there. Turns out, he was a horrible shot with a bow, but not half bad with a gun.

He put his ziploc of toiletries on the counter in the bathroom—which, like, holy shit, felt like solid marble. Rich people. A small emergency bag of ambrosia went in the drawer of the nightstand, a bottle of salt water resting on top. His glasses also went in with them. There wasn't much else, really. Mrs. O’Leary was lazily following him with her eyes, still sprawled on the bed. He smiled, grabbed a book off the shelf, and sat next to her.

Flipping pages with one hand, feeling them with the other, the room lapsed into silence. The one he was reading was a gift from Clarisse. Surprisingly to everyone but them, the two had formed a strong friendship, especially after the second war ended. 

He still remembered the shocked gasps the rest of the Seven had made when they saw his face in the light as soon as they had gotten out of the House of Hades. While he was in the Pit, The Arai cursed him with something. He wasn't quite sure what it was, but he did know it burned and he couldn't see.
Time had only healed a bit. Most of the damage was unrepearable. Big splashes of some colors, bright lights, big movements. Even then, it was splotchy and his depth perception was shot to hell.

All his books were in braille. Reading printed letters was impossible for him—lucky he had never been quite invested in it. Music, on the other hand...

Percy had been playing since the sixth grade. It started with piano, then violin, because his mom played it when he was a kid. He had been devastated when he realized he couldn't read sheet music anymore. 

It had been Will who introduced him to braille sheet music. Truthfully, Percy hadn't even known it existed before the son of Apollo had alerted him. He crossed his legs, taking a second to check the time. It was getting a bit late now; he wanted to be up bright and early for tomorrow. Another chapter or two, then he would try and get some sleep. 

And so, as Apollo drove the sun chariot across the sky, letting the world dip in to dusk, the Twice Hero of Olympus, Demigod of Prophecy, Son of Poseidon, Titankiller and Godslayer, leaned back with a good book, his dog curled up next to him.

Notes:

so basically
pepper: being the queen we ALL know she is
percy: <3 <3 <3 !!!!!!!!
tony: yeah ok i like this one

Chapter 3: The Story Of How Percy Told Nick Fury To Eat Shit

Summary:

Tony has a Bad Time(tm)
Then some bonding between our boys!

Notes:

So you know those friend group tropes? Introducing a new one, featuring:
--sleep deprived rich guy
--chaotic and cryptid agent
--Queen(tm)
--good dog

Also, what are you guys' opinion for relationships? I'm not planning on having other demigods be main characters, so I wont be shipping any of them with Percy. (I'm sorry percabeth stans. i love annabeth too)

ALSO I WILL BE ACCEPTING ZERO (0) TONY/PERCY. their relationship is PURELY platonic; dumbass genius and feral demigod

Living with Jackson was familiar and new at the same time.
After the Battle of New York, Tony offered the other five a room in the Tower, available whenever they needed it. Natasha and Clint sometimes stayed in between missions---pure convenience. Thor went back to Asgard, and when he was on Earth he was usually visiting Jane. On the rare Avenging business, he made use of his room. Banner was around the most---Tony had JARVIS get a new tea for him to try each week. And Rogers usually stayed in his Brooklyn Apartment. 

It was familiar in the way FRIDAY’s shopping list was just a bit longer, new things added here and there. Or sometimes Tony would pass him grabbing something from the communal kitchen, or they would share an elevator ride--usually he to the gym or pool, and Tony to his labs. Or sometimes FRIDAY would tell him there was a package, and Jackson would come claim it. All similar to his previous housemates.

But it was also strange, new. Because when Jackson added things to the shopping list, he actually went out and got them. Hell, he even did the shopping when it was just Tony’s stuff. In the elevator, Jackson offered him a smile. When the ex-agent came to pick up a package, he thanked Tony, and then stayed to ask him about his day.

It was a little disorienting. 

He had a mental list, of Things About Jackson that didn't really match the whole SHIELD ex-agent/world traveling mercenary with a dog that could swallow someone whole vibe:

• For one, said dog liked to wander over to Tony and demand head scratches. (Most of the time this happened when he was in the lab. He was pretty sure Mrs. O’Leary knew how to operate an elevator)
• Jackson liked blue food. Tony had seen him eating a blue orange. An orange. He decided he didn't want to ask questions.
• He was a gardener. At one point, he passed Tony in the common room holding a planter box of strange, silver flowers. 
• He baked. One memorable day, FRIDAY paused his music to inform him that Agent Jackson had made cookies, and some were going to be brung to him. Next thing he knew, Mrs. O’Leary was next to him, a plate perfectly balanced on her head. 

Tony really could go on. Jackson was a weird guy. 

That was really all he thought of him, though. Jackson did his job, vetting employees, investigating HYDRA bases and such. Tony did his job, building and inventing. They didn't even interact much. And Tony was fine with that. 

As nice as he seemed, he was still an unknown. Tony didn't know how the man thought or felt most of the time. They weren't friends, or even teammates. (And Tony thought he could trust teammates. Look how that went.)

That changed a few days later.

It was a relatively normal day. Early August. One of the warmest days of the year---or so FRIDAY told him. 

Said AI was currently trying to get him to go get a snack. “There are sandwiches in the fridge, Boss. All wrapped up.” She offered. Tony rolled his eyes. “I appreciate the thought, Fri. But I’m fine. I’ve gone longer, I can---” 

I can do this all day.

In a second, the workshop was gone. It was cold---why was he so cold. The suit. It was broken, the flight system was compromised. FRIDAY told him one of the jets was failing. Barnes was down, laying on the freezing concrete.
Stay down. Final warning. Rogers was on top of him, hitting again and again and again. Then he grabbed the shield. He slammed it into Tony’s chest, right into the arc reactor. He could feel the biting wind on his skin through the hole in the chestplate. His faceplate had been torn off. Rogers looked him in the eyes and left him there. Why did he just leave him there? He knew the suit was broken. He broke it. Why did he leave Tony there? Lave him there to die-

  “Boss!“ FRIDAY was yelling. That didn't make sense. She was barely functional. Why was she yelling? Tony couldn't breathe. Had the shield damaged his lungs? Would he suffocate, trapped in the suit, or freeze to death? Would someone eventually find him, wrapped in warped metal--the most advanced coffin in the world?

“TONY!” 

Someone else was yelling. Fri doesn't sound like that. Who was here? There was a hand on his shoulder. He shouldn't be able to feel it---the suit was too thick---

He opened his eyes.

He was sitting on the floor of his lab--not a freezing bunker in Russia--back against a worktable. Both arms up to his chest, hands clawing at his sternum, the arc reactor, his throat. And next to him, kneeling on the hard floor, was a very concerned looking Agent Jackson. 

Tony took in a shaky breath. “Hey.” Jackson let out a breath through his nose, eyes closing for a second. He looked...relieved? “Hey.” The agent returned. Tony watched him as he gently moved his hand from his shoulder, and sat on the floor, back against the table, matching Tony. Their shoulders weren't quite touching, but he was close enough to feel his presence. 

They sat there for a few minutes in silence, looking ahead. Jackson’s face was tipped up towards the ceiling, gnawing on his lower lip. Tony took the time to try and regain control of his breathing, unconsciously matching Jackson’s. 

 Once Tony felt like he wouldn't collapse at any moment, he spoke. 

“You don't have to sit and wait here with me. You can go do...whatever it is you do when not fighting Nazis.” 

Jackson gave him a look like he was insane. “I'm not just going to leave you here, Dr. Stark.” His voice was determined, eyes steely.

For some reason, the words made Tony choke up a little. Unable to reach words, he just nodded. Then, recalling Pepper’s words. 

You just have to give it a shot.

Deciding to appease his friend/CEO and AI in one move, he turned to Jackson. “You hungry?” Jackson seemed a bit taken aback, but nodded. “Always.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Percy was worried. When FRIDAY had told him Tony needed help in the lab, he was skeptical. What help could a half blind guy be to the world's best engineer? ...Reaching the top shelf, maybe? But he put down his rosin and went anyway. Just in case. 

He sure as Hades wasn't expecting to see the billionaire on the floor, grabbing at his throat, gasping for air like a drowned man. Like previously stated, Percy was no super genius. But he had enough experience, first and second hand, to recognize a panic attack. A really bad one, by the looks of it. He was even more surprised when Tony told him that he would be fine alone. What a load of pegasus shit. 

He couldn't quite make out the man’s expression, but Percy could feel the water in the air moving around him. He was shaking. 

Ever since the Pit, Percy saw a lot more and a lot less than he used to. Everything was blurry, and he couldn't really tell distance from sight alone. A vast improvement from seeing nothing at all, though. But down there, it was either adapt or die.

So he adapted.

At first, it was just the rivers. He could distantly feel the Cocytus at first, painfully aware. He used that to judge his location, then to find the Phlegethon. When he began traveling with Bob, he used the newfound peace to try and make sense of his new worldview. Not long after that, a strange pushing sensation stuck in the back of his mind. He tried to feel for other moisture in the air in vain. Tartarus’s atmosphere was too different---there was no regular water. 

The feeling got worse and worse. It was like he was balancing on an edge, waiting to fall into something big. A horrible metaphor, but it was funny to him at the time being. The descent came in the form of Akhlys. As soon as he gained control of the poison, it was like his word was thrown from jerky stop-motion to 1080p resolution. He could feel the poison surrounding her, the toxic vapors in the air, the tears running down her face. The ichor that ran through her veins. 

He hated it.

But between that and getting jumped by revenge-hungry monsters? Easy choice. 

He felt hordes before they were coming, the disturbance they made on the ground, their hearts beating with the thrill of the demigod scent. At one point, there were just too many of them, he was bleeding and tired and terrified so he latched onto the feeling and pulled. He wasn't sure who was more scared; the monsters in their last moments, or him.

Gold dust covered the ground so thick it looked like snow. 

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tony watched Jackson out of the corner of his eye. They sat in silence, eating the sandwiches Fri had ordered. Tony was still running over what happened in his mind. What would Jackson think now? Finding Iron Man---someone who was supposed to be a superhero ---collapsed on the floor for no reason? It left a bitter taste in his mouth. 

“I get 'em too, you know.”

Tony startled, turning towards his lunch companion. “What?” Jackson didn't turn to look at him, face turned down towards his plate. “Panic attacks. I have them sometimes.” Tony inhaled sharply. “Oh.” 

Was the tone understanding? Did he mean that he empathized with Tony’s problems? Or was it that Jackson dealt with them on his own, and that an AI had never had to call for help? He was probably doing something important when FRIDAY called him. He shouldn’t have had to interrupt his day to help Tony. 

“It's nothing to be ashamed of,” he continued softly, “I know I may not be your first choice, but if you ever need someone...well, I do live here.” Jackson said with a smile. 

Huh. That was...nice. Really nice.

Tony opened his mouth to thank him, but faltered. Instead, what he said was; “Shit, does Fury teach all his agents to read minds, or is it just the ones I happen to meet?” He resisted the urge to kick himself. Honestly, a guy tries to talk emotions, and this is what you do?

Jackson seemed to be all about destroying his expectations. Instead of making a face, or telling Tony to take something seriously for once in his life, Jackson laughed. “Just his favorites, I think.”

Tony raised a brow. “I didn't think Fury liked anyone. Ever.”

This brought out another dimpled smile. “I suppose not. But he did have his preferred agents.” Tony hummed. 

Jackson suddenly looked down, a sheepish expression on his face. “I don't think I was one of them, though. More like a headache who happened to be good with a rifle.” This brought a slight frown to Tony’s face. Fury seemed to like Jackson well enough. Or least believed in his abilities. For the first time, Tony had seen genuine regret on the director’s face when he spoke of Jackson quitting. “Why’s that?” 

Jackson bit his lip, hesitant.

“Oh, come on.” Tony wheedled. “We bonded! You saw me have a breakdown, and the only thing that will make me feel better is hearing how you made Fury suffer.” The agent sighed, and titled his face up towards the ceiling. 

“The World Security Council was coming to tour the facilities. Every year the top leveled agents accompany the Director to meet them, and show them around a bit. That year, it was me, and 3 others.” Tony nodded along, leaning forward to rest his elbow on the table. 

“We split up into two groups. I was paired up with Agent Ward---total asshole, by the way, I was not suprised to find out he was a Nazi---and we took them on a tour.” Jackson rubbed a hand across his face, tips of his ears turning red. “Long story short, I called Councilman Graves a little bitch, then told Ward when he spoke he helped me understand why there were instructions on a tube of toothpaste.”

…

 

…

 

…

 

...

 

...

 

...

Tony burst out laughing. “I-Im sorry,” he wheezed, “I just-I cant. You told him what? And the Councilmen?” Jackson groaned, covering his face. “I got mad, okay?” He paused, and then, sounding very defeated, he added, “that's not even it.” 

Tony’s laughs began to turn to cackles.

 “Listen! It wasn't my fault. Ok. Maybe it was my fault. But I was pissed!” 

The billionaire laughed louder, barely managing to ask “What did you do? ” Jackson was fighting a smile now. “Fury pulled me into his office. He spoke sternly. I yelled back at him. He yelled back at me. I screamed back at him” Holy shit, the guy screamed at Nick Fury and survived? No wonder he took this assignment, Hydra must be a cakewalk in comparison. 

“And then?”

“And then I told Fury to eat shit, and I quit.”

Tony leaned back, slowly taking it all in. He worked it over for a minute before coming to a conclusion. “Jesus Christ, Jackson.” He grinned. “You’re hardcore.” 

Jackson huffed, crossing his arms. “Thanks. Not exactly what Fury thought, though.” he titled his head consideringly. “And, honestly Dr. Stark, you can call me Percy.” Tony raised an eyebrow. “You don't go by Perseus? Can't imagine why.” Percy snorted. “And if you’re Percy, I’m Tony. No more of that Dr. Stark crap. Makes me feel old.” 

“Tony, you’re almost old enough to be my dad. You do realize that, right?”

Tony looked horrified. “You know what? Never say that again. Get out of my tower.”

Percy laughed. 

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Pepper Potts was a busy woman. 

 

Everyone knew this. From her days as Tony Stark’s assistant---which was arguably more stressful---to now, running one of the most successful companies in the world, she always had something to do. Whether it was dealing with an enraged board member, to lovingly bullying Tony into proper self care, her schedule was packed. Not many people could do what she could do. So when FRIDAY notified her Tony had a panic attack, but didn’t need her to leave a meeting and check on him, she was a little skeptical. 

 

Now that the day was slowing down, Pepper took a moment to herself. It was rare she got a second of solitude that wasn't taken up by paperwork. She relaxed in her office chair---the best money could buy, it was a promotion gift from Tony---and slipped off her heels. Her bare feet sunk into the plush carpet and she sighed. Pulled out her phone, and checked the alert she had gotten. It was blunt, vague, as usual. 

Boss needs a second opinion. He is in his lab.

FRIDAY always sent the messages along those lines, just in case of prying eyes. As public of a man Tony seemed, people didn't need to know everything. But, today, it was different:

Boss needs a second opinion.

A few seconds after that;

Mr. Jackson is assisting him. You are free to carry on with your conference, Ms. Potts. 

 

Pepper spent the next hour half-listening to Mr. Barr’s presentation, her mind mostly focused on Tony. As eccentric as he was sometimes, he was still one of her best friends. She worried about him. As soon as the slideshow was over, she excused herself and rushed to her office for some privacy.

 

“FRIDAY?” She called out. 

“Yes, Ms. Potts?”

“How is Tony doing?” 

There was a pause before FRIDAY responded.

“His heart rate and blood pressure are all level. His breathing is a tad erratic, but I do not believe it due to stress or panic.” 

 

Pepper hummed consideringly. “And Jackson? Did he…” She trailed off, unsure of what she was going to ask. Did Jackson...what? Hurt Tony? Unlikely. He has SHIELD training, he would know how to deal with a panic attack. But Pepper knew Tony well enough to be confident in the guess that Tony wouldn't accept the help that easily. Knowing him, he probably told the agent that he was perfectly fine. 

 

Luckily, FRIDAY seemed to know what she meant. “After his heart rate dropped down to average levels, he and Agent Jackson left the lab for a lunch break. They both ate the sandwiches you advised me to order, and are currently on the 91st floor.” The AI’s voice was soft, almost comforting, and Pepper took a second to really marvel at Tony’s coding. She then added “They are sitting in the lounge, engaging in a conversation. Boss seems rather happy.” Pepper fought back a smile. “Agent Jackson called him old, and Boss threatened to kick him out of the tower and give Mrs. O’Leary his room.”

 

At this, Pepper grinned outright, and shook her head. She still did have some papers to sort through---the Maria Stark Foundation was holding its annual charity gala. Both her and Tony would be expected to attend. A thought struck her. Security. Would she have Agent Jackson attend? She had full confidence in Happy, but this wasn't over excited journalists or angry exes. It was Hydra. Having an extra pair of specially trained hands wouldn't hurt. 

 

“Ms. Potts,” she looked up, “Boss has just hit Agent Jackson in the face with a small grape. I would advise that you expect a mess when you next go to the 91st floor.” The AI said dryly. The CEO laughed softly to herself. Arranging to have Jackson here seemed like a better decision every day---and she would know. 

 

Pepper was never wrong.

Notes:

The parallels between Steve leaving Tony in Siberia vs. Percy determined to stay with him after a panic attack? *chefs kiss*
Me shamelessly plugging short!tony content? more likely than you think.

PS: The Marvel pun was 100% intended. Kudos to anyone who caught it.
PPS: Also kudos to anyone who caught what percy was doing before he went to go help tony

Chapter 4: The Importance Of Lab Safety

Summary:

Percy is chaotic, Rhodey is skeptical. Also, blue food and Percy's accent.

Notes:

Finally some Rhodey content!!!!
My boy PJ also finally gets to live up to his chaotic potential.
Updated the tags as well!

Trigger warning: blood

Things were easier after that. Tony and Percy spoke freely and more often, leading to Tony expanding his view on the agent once more. Or, ex-agent. One of the things he noted was that Percy really seemed to have a distaste for SHIELD. Which... yeah. Tony would be bitter too, and he didn't even really work for Fury.

 

(Speaking of bitter, he was still not over the whole ‘consultant’ thing. )

 

He expanded his mental list. Smaller things he noticed overtime. 

1- Percy had an accent. One of the strongest New York accents Tony had ever heard. He usually disguised it pretty well---most likely trained out of him. It only really popped up when he was mad or tired. That one time Tony accidentally set off the fire alarm in the middle of the night gave him first person experience with both of those. It also marked the time Percy began to make sure Tony slept more.

2- His hair wasn't all black. Just above his forehead, there was a strand of hair that had an odd, dull grey hue. Only at the roots, so Tony could assume he dyed it. The result of a birthmark, maybe?

3- He was very friendly. As it turns out, Percy was friends with a lot of the employees in the building. He knew every janitor, cafeteria worker, secretary, and more by name. At first Tony thought it was just security reasons, but when Percy mentioned them, it wasn't Oh, Bill from accounting’s background checked out. It was always something a little strange, like Well, I was talking to Maurice from HR, and she said her second cousin's pet dog took this DNA test, and it turns out, it's not a dog! Just a weird raccoon, this whole time.

 Just...strange stuff like that. He always refused to elaborate as well.

 

Percy often came into his lab, (he always asked first. Always made sure Tony was comfortable with him in his space.) just to talk. Sometimes he brought his laptop with him---not Stark brand, Tony was only a little offended. 

 

When he took a closer look, he couldn't quite tell what  brand the computer came from. It was thin and sleek, and had a glowing symbol emblazoned on the back. It looked Greek, though Tony wasn’t too familiar with the language. When he asked about it, Percy just shrugged. A little pain in his voice, almost covered up, he replied “It was a friends’.” 

 

They mostly sat in comfortable silence, each working on their respective things. Like clockwork, Percy brought him lunch, sometimes dinner. Never breakfast, though, because with the combined power of Pepper Potts, FRIDAY, and even Mrs. O’Leary, he made sure Tony never spent a night all the way through in the labs. 

 

Tony honestly got why the guy had a 100% success rate. 

 

That didn't mean that there weren't...speedbumps... alone the way

 

Like, for example, right now. 

 

“Tony. Tony. Tony. Tony. Tony. Tony.” The mercenary chanted from behind the billionaire. 

 

Said man groaned, putting down the screwdriver with a thump. “ What , Jackson?”

“It's late. You need to go to sleep. You have a big conference tomorrow morning. Pepper is going to be pissed if you sleep through it.” 

 

Tony frowned, brow furrowed. “I’m fine. I just need to finish this up. It won't take long.” This earned him an unimpressed look. “You said that an hour and a half ago.” The engineer turned his wrist to steal a glance at his watch. Shit, it was almost 1:00. 

 

Guilt flooded him. “You don't have to wait for me. Really. You should have gone to sleep hours ago.” The raise of a single dark eyebrow showed Tony just exactly what Percy thought about that statement, no words needed. 

 

“Honestly! I’m alright. The stuff in here is safe. I'm not even working on the armour.” He said defensively. This seemed to placate the mercenary, who nodded, and wandered away from the desk, letting Tony turn back to the work. 

 

Finally, Percy was going to leave it alone. The superhero had never met someone as stubborn as him. But, for now, he had won. 

 

Oh, how wrong he was.

 

“ SO,” Percy called loudly. He was standing a few meters away, leaning casually against a worktable, staring Tony down. 

 

(Another thing Tony noticed about Percy. He never looked Tony in the eyes. He didn't think it was an anxiety thing---Percy always seemed to be looking at his face, just a little off the mark. If he thought about it, when Pepper handed him those papers in the elevator when they first met, Percy didn't even glance at them. Maybe he was nearsighted?)

 

Tony raised an eyebrow, about to open his mouth to respond, when his brain caught up to his eyes. Percy was leaning against a table that just happened to be storing some...not safe substances. Warning labels were plastered to the beakers and containers, but if Tony was correct, the mercenary wouldn't be able to read them easily.

 

“Hey, buddy, would you mind stepping away from that table?”

 

He was ignored. In fact, Jackson stood straighter, and swung his arms to his chest, crossing them. Tony winced. His left hand barely missed a beaker. 

 

At a slightly elevated volume, Jackson continued, undeterred. “Nothing...unsafe... you said?”

Tony’s heart rate was rocketing. “Uh. Well. The thing is…” he trailed off. There was no way Percy knew exactly what was on the table. If he did, there was no way he would be acting that casually around it, trying to prove a point or not. 

 

If Tony told him, would he freak out more? His eyes shifted to the scar across his face. Agent/mercenary or not, trauma had a way of sneaking up on you. If the man really was in some sort of chemical accident…

 

“Yeah. Nothing unsafe. You can go, Fri will look after me.” 

 

Percy nodded and took a step away, towards the door. Tony exhaled in relief. 

 

Then the man spun on his heel, and in one smooth motion, snatched a beaker right off the table. And, of course, he had to pick up the one full of a extrordinarily potent acid. 

 

“H-hey, Percy, you can put that down---” 

 

“Why?”

 

Tony hesitated. A rookie mistake, honestly.

“Everything in here is totally safe, just like you said.”

 

“W-well, safe is a relative term…I mean, lab safety---”

 

Percy gave the beaker a little shake. Jesus. Was he trying to give Tony a heart attack? Maybe this was all an elaborate ruse. Maybe Percy was actually being paid to kill him the whole time. And he chose to do it by raising his blood pressure. It would be the one of the best assasination attempts Tony had seen in a while. 

 

“Ah, lab safety. Something you can't follow if you aren't in your right mind---i.e. Sleep deprived.” Percy countered. It was then Tony noticed the gleeful look on his face. 

 

Percy knew what he was doing, and the little bastard was enjoying it.  

 

Tony argued. (Widely regarded as a bad move.) “Jackson,” he said defensively, “you're talking like I'm drunk.” 

 

Percy looked unimpressed. “Stark,” he let one arm drop, the liquid inside the glass sloshing. “I've seen you bite into a coffee mug and try to drink a sandwich.” Try me, his posture screamed. 

 

Eyes not moving from the beaker, Tony huffed. “Yeah, that was like...day three on a lab binge. This is different. A few missed hours won't hurt anyone.” 

 

And Dear God , Percy seemed to take this as a challenge. 

 

“Oh?” He said quietly. Too quietly. 

 

Tony took a few steps towards him. 

 

Jackson had a slightly manic look in his eyes. “So...theoretically, since everything in here is so safe, I could just...stick my hand in this?” He held up the beaker. He was smiling innocently. And then, to Tony’s horror, he held up his other hand, and stuck a fingertip into the top. Only a few inches away from the contents. 

 

“What the hell? No! Put that down!” Tony exclaimed frantically. 

Percy tilted his head in a way that reminded him of Mrs. O’Leary. “Why? It's safe.” He shrugged. “Unless, of course, it isn't, and you should get some sleep for your own well being.” 

 

Tony stayed silent. He wasn't going to blink first. 

 

Percy seemed to take this as permission, and began to slowly shove his hand into the beaker, looking completely unbothered. 

 

Eyes narrowed, the billionaire spoke, bringing Percy a momentary pause. “You wouldn't .” Calling Percy’s bluff, he took a step forward.

 

If it was possible, the apparently batshit insane mercenary smiled even wider. “Wouldn't I?” He stuck his hand in further. 

…

 

...

 

Percy wasn't stopping. 

 

…

 

…

 

…

 

...

 

Honestly, was he crazy?

 

…

 

…

 

…

 

…

 

…

 

…

 

…

 

...

 

“Jesus, fine!” Tony broke. 

 

The ex-agent smiled pleasantly, and pulled his hand---which was dangerously close--- out of the beaker, and returned it to the table. “Good. It's getting late. And that board meeting is very important, you know. ” 

 

He moved to the doors, but Tony stayed rooted to the spot. Staring at the green eyed man, eyes wide. 

 

Percy looked over his shoulder at him, an eyebrow raised. “Yes?” He inquired, face the picture of innocence. For a chaos-thriving gremlin, he pulled off the look relatively easily. 

 

Tony shook his head in response. “You must be a few crayons short of a box.” Percy smiled, humming. “Personally, I think you only really need the blue one anyways.” 

 

Good to know even in the face of having his hand melted off, the merc still retained his obsession for all things blue. (Yet another thing he had learned about him.)

 

Tony just shook his head again. “Jesus Christ.” He muttered, moving to follow Percy. (Lord knows what kind of shit he would pull to get him in the elevator if he didn't.) 

 

The taller man jabbed the button for the 93rd floor. “I prefer Percy, actually.”

 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

James Rhodes was a man of many talents. A great Colonel, a fantastic pilot---he could think his way through almost any situation. The skill he was most proud of, however, was his ability to handle a certain sleep-deprived billionaire. 

It took years of perfecting, combined experience at MIT and beyond, but he had finally got it.

 

So he was beyond skeptical when Pepper called him, in a fit of laughter, and told him about how Tony had been dragged out of the lab by Agent Jackson. 

 

Rhodey had heard snippets of the man, offhand mentions from Tony. Pepper had sent him the merc’s file when they first got it---but beyond that, he hadn't really heard much about him. Had certainly never talked to him, either. When Rhodey went to see his friend, the agent was usually out, or just in his room. 

 

The colonel was unsure if that was on purpose or not. But either way he designed to find out. 

 

So, when he took his next trip to the tower---Tony had a new upgrade for his braces, again. He was a little worried how focused the engineer was on them, to be honest---he paused to ask FRIDAY where Jackson was. 

 

“Currently, Agent Jackson is out. His estimated arrival is in 45 minutes. Is that acceptable?”

 

“Yeah. Thanks, Fri.” 

 

Rhodey took the elevator up to Tony’s lab. His mobility was getting much better, but even before the crash, he wouldn't have taken the stairs. He scanned his hand on the wall, and knocked on the door frame. A grin on his face, he called out, “Package for Tony Stank?” 

 

His best friend’s head whipped up towards him, and his face brightened. “Honeybear!” He got up and crushed Rhodey in a hug, which threw him off balance a little. (Emotionally. Tony’s braces could probably withstand a grenade.) 

 

Tony was never really a physical person, especially after the fight at the airport and Siberia. But Rhodey was never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, and hugged back fiercely. 

 

Once the two separated, Tony started talking. “Alright, so this new version can---…”

 

Rhodey watched the inventor's face as he spoke, taking in his words. The bruises had long faded, but the dark circles and gaunt look had remained a constant. Now, though, he looked... better. Like he actually slept. According to FRIDAY, he had also maintained a fairly regular meal schedule, and had been drinking lots of water. 

(If you asked Tony about it, he would say it was strange. His water bottle was always full, no matter how much he drank from it.) 

 

Rhodey had a sneaking suspicion that Jackson had something to do with it. All the more reason to meet him face-to-face. 

 

The two of them sat and talked while Tony did some final adjustments to the braces, catching up. Tony had been working overtime on his braces and revising the accords. It was nice to actually sit down and chat with him for a bit. 

 

The new braces, to nobody's surprise, worked perfectly. Even smoother and lighter than the last ones. It was an adjustment, but Rhodey was grateful. 

Tony was watching him with a narrowed eye, listening and looking for any problems. 

 

“These,” Rhodey said, a tad breathlessly, “are perfect. Thank you, Tony.” 

 

The inventor ducked his head. “The least I could do.” He muttered. 

 

Rhodey sighed.

 

“Tony. For the last time, it was. Not. Your. Fault.” Tony didn't look at him, clearly disagreeing. The colonel worked his jaw for a minute, before grabbing on to Tony’s arm. “Listen to me.” He said, voice softening. “You didn't damage the arc reactor. You didn't make me fall.” 

 

Tony took in a shuddering breath. “I built the armour. If I had done better…” He shook his head. 

 

Rhodey stayed silent for a minute. Then, he moved forward and pulled Tony into his arms. “That armour is the only reason I’m still alive.” He whispered.  “It saved my life.” Tony stayed silent. The two of them just stayed like that, leaning into each other. 

 

It was nice. 

 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

53 hours later

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

It really was nice, and Tony tried to hold on to that thought as he watched the blood seep across the stage.

 

His hands were sticky with the liquid, and he didn't have to look to know it was splattered across his face. 

 

How the hell did this all go so wrong?

 

Everything was supposed to be better now.

 

He knew he was breathing too fast, but couldn't bring himself to care. Rhodey would tell him to calm down, to try to focus on something to help. But Rhodey wasn’t here, and the only thing Tony could focus on was the warm, sticky feeling on his chest, the blood sticking his shirt to his skin. 

 

And thank God that Rhodey wasn't here---he was supposed to be with Tony on this stage. A sudden emergency called him away, and he was very apologetic. 

 

Tony was by no means a religious man, but he thanked all the possible entities above. He couldn't handle losing Rhodey too. 

 

Distantly he could hear the sirens. Shouts of the crowd, the doors slamming open. 

 

Someone was calling his name.

 

Paramedics. Two were running towards the stage, a stretcher between them. 

 

Tony closed his eyes tightly. 

Notes:

>:)

based off the beginning, yall thought it would be smooth sailing, huh.

tbh, at first, this chapter was going to be like...double the length. but then i decided i could just post the other half later and leave you all to suffer in the meantime :)

*ahem*

Tony: *screaming* YOU BETTER STOP
Percy: *swishes around beaker*
Tony: STOP!!!! BITCH STOOOOP

(Also, Percy wasnt actually going to stick his hand in acid. like he did with the lethe, it wouldnt actually touch him)

Chapter 5: The Colonel, Forehead Of Security, And The Widow

Summary:

Percy talks with Happy and Rhodey, plus a short Natasha POV.

Notes:

I was going to wait to post this and make you guys sweat a little, but then I remembered that this is all still build up to the gala. So. Keep suffering, I guess.

Also, special thanks to Black_Victor_Cachat
So many great ideas in the comments!!!

12:00

Stark Tower, NY

 

Rhodey was waiting for him.

 

He was sitting on one of the couches in the lounge, back straight. He had slipped out of the lab a few minutes ago and took the elevator a floor down. FRIDAY had pinged his phone when Agent Jackson had gotten near the building. 

 

He heard the door open---not the elevator. Jackson must not have taken the elevator. Strange. Rhodey had no clue why the guy would walk up more than 90 flights of stairs when he could take the elevator. 

 

Agent Jackson came into view a moment later, and Rhodey did a double take. The man was average height, leanly built. He had dark hair and brown skin, dotted with freckles across his face. All fairly average, someone Rhodey couldn't really pick out of a crowd. 

 

What shocked him was what the agent was wearing. 

 

Jackson was dressed in full tactical gear---black and gunmetal grey. Combat boots and cargo pants, along with a jacket. Under the jacket Rhodey could see a close fitting shirt with an odd sheen to it. Kevlar, maybe? 

Under his arm, a full head helmet was tucked. 

(AN: Think like….Red Hood style outfit + a splash of Nightwing, in different colors)

A large rifle was slung over his back, twin guns at his hips. Across his chest, a belt of knives were sheathed. There was a dagger strapped to his thigh, and, oddly enough, he had a sword across his back as well. And that was all that was visible.  

 

Jackson looked like a deer caught in the headlights. 

 

Him and Rhodey stared at each other for a moment. The colonel was fairly sure there was a smudge of blood across the other man's face. He doubted it was his own. 

 

Well... at least Rhodey knew why he took the stairs. 

 

“...Hey, Colonel Rhodes.” The mercenary greeted cautiously. When he received no response, he gave him a weak smile. “I’m, uh, gonna...get changed.” And with that, he darted out of the room.

 

Rhodey leaned back, soaking in the silence. 

 

Not a great first impression; just staring blankly at the man. The colonel wasn't sure what he expected; Pepper had told him that Jackson was a mercenary. Obviously he would get in fights, more obviously he would carry weapons. ...That many might be a tad overkill, though. 

 

A few minutes later, Jackson edged back into the room. Honestly, he looked like a whole different person. A faded tee, glasses, he was even wearing bright blue socks. (They had Nemo on them. One was inside out.) Rhodey almost couldn't connect him to the battle-ready person that walked through the door. 

 

“Agent Jackson,” he said with a slightly forced smile. “Care to sit?” Jackson raised an eyebrow, and cautiously made his way into the lounge. He sat across from Rhodey, a round glass topped table between them. 

 

“Is something wrong, Colonel?” Jackson tugged at his sleeve a little. Rhodey took a moment to look at it---a zip up jacket in a teal color with a white hood. There was a strange burn on the corner of the collar---Rhodey wondered for a second how it could have gotten there. 

 

“Not particularly.” The colonel leaned forward a bit. “Just wanted to talk.”

 

Jackson gave a slow nodd, still wary. “Alright then.” He stuck his hand out. “I’m Percy.” 

Rhodey shook it. His grip was firm, palm calloused. There was a scar on the back of his hand, stark white against his dark skin. “Rhodey.” He introduced.

 

“So, Rhodey. What did you want to talk about?” Percy asked bluntly. Alright, he wasn't one to beat around the bush. Rhodey could appreciate that. 

 

“The Accords.” 

 

Percy tipped his head to the side a little, not expecting the subject to be brought up. 

Rhodey rubbed a hand across his chin. “Listen, Jackson. I'm gonna level with ‘ya.” He squinted a little, scrutinizing the other man's face. “Pepper sent me your file. From what I’ve gathered, you seem to have a bit of an...issue with authority.” 

 

And by that, he meant loudly telling his boss to eat shit. 

 

Jackson nodded. “Not the first time I’ve been told that.” He agreed. 

 

“So, I’m sure you can understand that I'm a bit skeptical about this. Quite frankly, you don't seem like the kind of man who would 100% agree with the Accords. And I think Tony has been hurt enough over them. Don't you?”

 

Jackson leaned forward, matching Rhodey’s position. He took in a breath. “The Accords…” he shook his head. “Let’s be honest. Rogers wasn't pissed about the Accords, not really. The guy barely even read them. It was an excuse, and a convenient one at that. But I am a very different person from the Captain.” He titled his head to meet Rhodey’s gaze. His eyes were a startling green Rhodey had never really realized. Like miniature storms, swirling around in his irises. But beyond that, Rhodey could see the grim determination, the genuine honestly.

 

“Regardless of what Tony does. He could make the biggest godsdammed screw up ever, and I’d still stand by him. Accords or no.” Jackson ran a hand through his hair. A small patch of grey, close to his scalp, caught Rhodey’s eye. 

 

“I may have...authority issues... but loyalty is something I value above almost all else. And if you cant trust that alone…” Jackson chewed on the inside of his cheek for a second. “I owe him a debt.” He made eye contact with the colonel. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

 

Rhodey kept his eyes on him for a moment longer, then ducked his head a little. “Good to know.” He looked back up towards him. With a genuine smile on his face, he added. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Percy.” 

 

Percy smiled. “You too.”

 

The two of them talked for a few minutes longer, until FRIDAY asked him to come back down to the lab on Tony’s behalf. He bid the mercenary goodbye, and stepped into the elevator.

 

Now that he spoke with him, Rhodey was pretty confident in his assessment with him. Percy seemed honest enough---at least truthful in the words he spoke to Rhodey. His intentions were good, too. 

 

I owe him a debt.

 

Rhodey couldn't help but wonder about that. He knew it wasn't his place to pry, but he was still curious. 

 

That train of thought was quickly put on hold as he reached the lab, to see Tony hunched over a holotable. Rhodey couldn't resist the smile creeping up on him. 

 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

51 hours until the first shots

1:00

Stark Tower, New York

 

Despite the vaguely threatening friendship shovel talk, Rhodey seemed nice enough. He really cared about Tony---Percy could tell. When he said that Tony had been hurt enough, his heart beated steady and true. 

 

Good. Tony needed more people in his corner. 

 

After Colonel Rhodes left, Percy gave himself a while to relax on the couch. He had been out on a mission, checking out a Hydra upshoot in Florida. Mrs. O’Leary got him there and back, and was currently napping in his room. 

 

He, surprisingly, wasn't hurt too bad. Hydra’s security guard standards must have gone way down. He supposed there wasn't a lot of money to be made in being a Nazi. He made his way throughout the entire base without even getting close to being shot. His ribs were a little sore, but not broken. Either way, a quick shower would fix him up in no time. 

 

Unfortunately, his job wasn't just attacking Nazis. 

 

Pepper had pulled him aside to talk about the upcoming charity gala for the Maria Stark Foundation. This was the first time the gala had happened since the fall of SHIELD, and she was a little worried about Tony. 

 

Hydra was getting a lot bolder now that there was nobody to oppose them.

 

Well, nobody to oppose them but a single 25 year old with authority issues. 

 

Not very daunting. 

 

But then again, he blew up a volcano at age 14, so they could suck it. 

 

He stood up with a groan, and twisted a little, cracking his spine. “Fri, where can I find Happy Hogan?”

 

The AI was silent for a minute, then responded. “Mr. Hogan is currently on floor 87. Would you like me to lead you to him?”

 

“If you wouldn't mind.”

 

Percy headed to talk to the head of security. Happy had been protecting Tony for years, he would know best how these galas went. 

 

It wasn't long before he found the man, sitting at his desk, doing what looked like paperwork. Percy was wearing his glasses—they didn't do anything for his actual vision; no prescription could help the damage long done. Rather, they were to protect his eyes from further damage. He didn't wear them as often as he should, though. 

 

Percy knocked on the doorframe. Happy looked up, and slowly raised an eyebrow. He looked Percy up and down, and the mercenary fought the urge to squirm. “Uh, I’m Percy Jackson. Tony’s new guard?” Happy huffed, gestured for him to sit. 

 

As he took a step forward, Happy’s eyes shot to his feet. The tips of Percy’s ears turned red. He forgot he was wearing the Nemo socks. Great first impression, Jackson. Honestly, it would have been better if he came straight here from his mission. 

“So,” Happy put the paper down on the desk, “You're the new guy, huh?” Percy nodded, which Happy echoed. “Listen, kid. I’ve been doing this job for a long time. If you think you aren’t up for it, now’s the time to say something.”

 

Percy stayed stubbornly silent.

 

Happy nodded, satisfied. 

 

“Alright then.” He pulled out a large piece of paper, rolled into a tube. Happy slipped off the rubber band holding its shape, and then spread it out onto the desk. Percy squinted at it. Everything was too blurry---he couldn't really make much sense of it. He reached out, running his finger across the corner of his page. Searching out for the familiar feel of liquid, the little tugging in the back of his mind. The papers must have been fairly old, because he could only pick up bits and pieces. 

 

Happy was watching him curiously, and Percy hastily withdrew his hand. The head of security was silent for a minute, then slowly said, “They’re the blueprints of the museum where the gala will be.” Percy bristled a little at his tone. “Yeah. I got that.” He said sharply. 

 

Happy shrugged a little---that Percy could feel. The water in the air moving, displaced by his shoulders. The moisture in his skin being moved up, the blood in his veins going with it. 

 

Percy took in a breath, held it, and let it out. Getting snippy wouldn't help here, nor would it get him anywhere in protecting Tony. In a calmer tone, Percy spoke. “Just tell me where you want me. You know best.” Happy seemed to puff up a little at the words, and nodded. “It's pretty typical for a stage. Behind it, there's a series of rooms and hallways. I’ll be there, checking everyone who tried to get to the podium. There's also stairs on either side, Tony will go up the right and down the left. The audience’s left, that is.”

Happy dragged his finger across the paper as he spoke. Percy was able to track that, but not what exactly he was pointing at. 

 

“You should be on the right, walk him up, and wait nearby while he speaks. Then walk him off the stage. Fairly simple, we just want to make sure he doesn't get mobbed.” Percy mentally frowned. If getting mobbed was the biggest concern, that didn't bode well for Tony. Hydra hadn’t made a move yet, but when they did…

 

Percy didn't voice any of these concerns. Happy seemed a little...prickly towards him. Most likely it was the whole ‘bringing in a second, secret agent/mercenary bodyguard’ thing. The last thing Percy wanted to do is seem snobby about it. He himself had his fair share of experiences like that, older and higher ranked agents speaking down to him. While that wasn't the intention, it still wouldn't be received well. 

 

But...what if something did happen? It would be just his luck that the one time he stayed silent in his life, it came back to bite him in the ass. If his friend got hurt or killed because Percy was afraid of hurting someone's feelings... 

 

“What about…” Percy started cautiously. Happy's gaze snapped up to meet him. “If there's something more than just fans of his? I mean, based on past experience, people out to get him won't be deterred by a crowd.”

 

Happy pursed his lips. “We have people at every entrance. Invitations are basically impossible to copy.” Percy gave a slow nod. “Alright. Thank you for your time, Mr. Hogan.” He stood up and walked to the door. He paused for a second, not turning to face the head of security. 

 

“I…” Percy hesitated, then barreled on. “I’m glad Tony has people like you to look after him. Really. I know Pepper does too.” 

 

Not waiting for a reply, Percy ducked out of the door, hurrying down the hall. 

 

He didn’t see Happy’s thoughtful smile, watching him vanish down around a corner. 

 

Percy had a museum to visit.

 

 

---

 

40 hours until the first shots

8:00 AM

Wakanda, Africa

 

Natasha Romanoff was a good judge of character. 

 

She was shaped and molded from a young age to be able to read people like books. To take a look at them and know if they would be useful to her. Even years later, it was something she still did. 

 

So when she met Agent Percy Jackson, it was second nature. He was a little tougher than the rest, but nothing super strange. She watched as he rose through the ranks in SHIELD at an almost alarming rate. It wasn't until they worked together at an op in Korea that she understood why.

Jackson was quick on his feet, slippery and almost impossible to catch. He was good with languages, picking up accents flawlessly. Even Natasha wasn't sure if she would be able to pick up his voice from locals. He was damn good in a fight, and could come up with plans in a split second. 

 

Soon after that, Natasha mentally moved him to a list. It served two purposes; potential allies---and potential threats. Jackson was loyal as could be, and once you earned that, he stuck with you. The man was also scarily competent. One drawback, though, was how paranoid he was. And that was coming from Natasha, who had clearly defined alertness and paranoia to herself years ago. 

 

He was constantly looking over his shoulder wherever he was, as if expecting an enemy to pop up out of the shadows. He over scrutinized the strangest things---Natasha once saw him stare at a large maple tree in central park for almost ten minutes. It was a bit of a strange place for a tree, she would admit, but it wasn't like something was going to burst out and attack him.

 

She was quite unimpressed, but not too surprised, when Jackson started yelling about SHIELD being infiltrated by Hydra. She was also not particularly bewildered when he quit. (Him cussing out Ward and Councilman Graves wasn't a surprise either.)

 

She was, however, really shocked about 6 months later, as a digitized Armin Zola monologues  about how Hydra had taken over SHIELD in secret and was frighteningly close to world domination because of it. 

 

As soon as she had a moment of calm, Natasha thought about Jackson. She had easily dismissed his accusations because of paranoia, and now quietly cursed herself for not looking into it. Jackson knew, somehow, and she intended to find out. (For a fraction of a second, she considered that he knew because of inside information. That thought was quickly dismissed. If Jackson was Hydra, it wouldn't make sense for him to start accusing people---not so close to Project Insight.) 

 

Natasha tried to find Jackson---she had heard that he was now working as a mercenary, and was last seen somewhere in Buenos Aires. It was a challenge to get in contact with him--- he didn't even have a phone, oddly enough. Nor any sort of social media, even from when he was a teenager. She was almost ready to go track him down in person herself, when the Sokovia Accords were thrown at them. 

 

And Jackson and his strange knowledge were the least of her worries.

 

This was the next time she had given him any thought. Sitting on a couch with Clint, Sam, Steve, and Wanda. Lang had left a month ago---a pardon, so he could be with his family. 

 

The television was turned on, and the Rogues gathered around to watch the news. The headlines for the past few days had all been about the Maria Stark Foundations annual charity gala. Footage was being shown---a news anchor talking over it about the RSVPed guests---of Tony stepping out of a car and into Stark Tower. 

Fairly typical stuff. 

 

What caught Natasha’s sharp eye was the fact that Happy was not the one escorting Tony from the car to the elevator. 

 

Instead, a tall, lean man in a sharp suit with sunglasses on shouldered his way through photographers, scowling at ones who got a little too close. Natasha had frowned, a feeling of familiarity niggling at the back of her mind. 

 

An hour later she couldn't shake it off. So she went to a computer---one that T’Challa had been kind enough to lend them---and clicked onto YouTube. She eventually found a different perspective of the same event. She hit the spacebar, pausing the video, about halfway through. Because on the screen, an almost perfect shot of Percy Jackson’s face stared back at her. 

 

Natasha leaned back in the desk chair, silently working her jaw. 

 

This didn't really seem like something Jackson would do. He seemed to have enough of working for governments and people of high power, last she had seen him. She had followed his mercenary career---he typically didn’t take the super high paying jobs. Those were all the ones like ‘oh, kill this rival businessman, he is making more money than me.’ He often declined high profile jobs, even though Natasha knew he had the skills to waltz through them.

 

Instead he took hits on abusive spouses, human traffickers and smugglers, and seemed to have a particular vengeance for anyone who preyed on children. 

 

That was something Natasha could respect.

 

He had even earned a bit of a name for himself.

 

So why Stark? It didn't fit his pattern.

 

The spy leaned forward, bracing her elbows on the table. 

She intended to find out.

Notes:

What do you guys think of Natasha? I tried my best to write her.

Also, do you guys know how much research I did about time zones? Too much.

I decided to give Percy a code name for his mercenary work- what do you guys think it should be?

Chapter 6: Why Champagne and .300 Caliber Bullets Don't Mix: Part 1

Summary:

Finally almost at the gala!
Until then, a friendly spider, a lone gunmen, a museum visit, and a heartfelt talk.
TW; a very, very vague mention of a gun

Notes:

The gala will be posted soon, I promise.
Again, shoutout to Black_Victor_Cachat for some of these story ideas!

31 hours until the first shots

11:00 AM

New York Museum of World History

 

The museum was pretty secure, all things considered.

 

Of course, for Percy, getting in and out would be no problem. For one, Mrs. O’Leary. Enough said.

He could scale some of the walls no problem, but that was due to the unnatural strength that all demigods had. He could also use his abilities---force the guards to pass out, or restrict their vision. Maybe use his earthshaker abilities, too. 

 

But for a normal person? It would be a challenge. 

 

Percy wandered through the museum halls, face tilted down. He wasn’t wanted for anything, (currently) but staying off cameras was always a good idea.

 

As he walked, he felt around with his powers. When people walked around, he could feel the vapor in the air be pushed around and bounce off walls. It was almost like echolocation, oddly enough. As their feet hit the ground, he could also feel the subtle vibrations created on the marble. 

 

During his short pass through, Percy learned a few things.

 

There was a secret backroom behind one of the Medieval exhibits that was used to store spare artifacts. After a moment, Percy moved on. The entrance and exit were both nowhere near the stage, and was behind one of the security checkpoints Happy had set up. It wouldn't be a smart place to hide. 

 

The only other concern was a small service room by the Mayan exhibit on the third floor. There was a platform jutting out, far above the stage. However, the room was full of heavy crates, blocking the door. The room was full of dust, as well. So it was unlikely anyone was going in there anytime soon. 

 

He didn't stick around long---Percy couldn't read any of the plaques on the exhibits, and just staring at things without knowing what they were? Didn't really do it for him. 

Plus, there was the factor that this was a museum---one of the most famous in the US. That meant lots and lots of security. 

 

As Percy descended the grand marble steps back onto the streets, he recalled the last time he had gone to a museum. It was a mission in Korea; the first and last time he had been paired up with Natasha Romanoff. It went off without a hitch---of course it did, some of SHIELD's top agents worked on it---but it still stuck in the mercenary’s mind. Specifically, his partner on the mission.

Percy had mixed feelings about the woman. Natasha Romanoff was a fantastic fighter. She had great aim, could crush a windpipe with her heel, and knew 13 ways to dislocate somebody’s arm. There was no denying that. 

 

She was also an amazing spy. She could blend in anywhere seamlessly, and was one of the best actors Percy had ever met.

And there was the problem. 

 

Like he had told Colonel Rhodes, Percy valued loyalty over pretty much all else. And the Black Widow specialized in gaining that and using it against you. And yeah, maybe Percy was reading a little too much into it. She was a spy, like him, who was just doing what she thought she had to.

 

But Percy had his fair share of experiences with people who were doing what they thought had to be done. So he still didn't trust her. He knew she would have his back in Korea; stay on the lookout while he broke into a building, back him up during a fight, stay on comms while he tailed somebody. Stuff like that. Stuff that she was assigned to do, to complete the mission. 

 

On a personal level? Percy trusted her as far as he could throw her. Less than that, actually. So he expected no belief from her when he told her Hydra had infiltrated SHIELD. Good thing, because he got absolutely none. He tried not to feel a little bit vindicated when Hydra was exposed not even 6 months later. 

 

It was a little difficult, not being her friend. Throughout the whole mission---which lasted more than a week---she tried to start a conversation with him. Easy stuff; favorite foods, city of origin, if he had any hobbies. Natasha was witty and funny, with a special brand of dry humor. Her body language was always relaxed and easy, open and friendly. Something Percy learned was all very, very purposeful. 

 

Unfortunately for her, Percy Jackson didn't just see with his eyes. He felt her tense a little when he asked her the occasional question back---happy to get information but not willing to give. He felt her blood pressure rise a little and skin heat up in frustration when he evaded questions. 

 

He felt her heart skip and stutter as she lied. 

 

So when he found out about Germany, and her betrayal, he was unsurprised. Unsurprised, but angry. How she could just switch sides like that, he never got. Or, even worse---she was never on Tony’s side in the first place.

 

Percy shook his head, and crossed the street. He had to get back to Stark Tower. And forget about a certain backstabbing little spider---the gala started in a little more than a day. He had preparations to make. 

 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

27 hours until the first shots

3:00 PM

43 Ingram St., NY

 

The gala started in a little more than a day. He had preparations to make. 

 

The man was currently stowed away in a safe house, two stories above an old deli. The AC was shit, and one of the walls had a hole in it. 

But that didn't really matter, because he would be out of here soon enough. His flight to New York had landed a few hours beforehand, and he hurried out of the airport. Not fast enough to draw suspicion, though. Staying forgettable was key to all of this. 

 

He had only brought one piece of luggage---a regular old black bag as a carry on. All of his supplies were brought here and dropped off just minutes before he arrived, waiting for him on the kitchen counter.

There wasn't much to do while he waited. He had already cased the museum at around 10 this morning. Security was tight. 

 

But not tight enough. 

 

As he washed his hands in the sink, (the faucet was old and creaky, the water pressure was shit, and the porcelain was cracked) he turned up to greet his reflection in the dirty mirror. His eyes raked over the scars marring his skin. It had been a process getting used to them, relearning how to blink and speak without expecting severe pain. 

 

God, he hated Sam Wilson. 

 

He shook his head and roughly turned off the faucet. He looked down for a towel, and came up empty. He sighed and shook his hands a few times, flicking off the moisture. He moved to step out, but paused in the doorway, his eye catching a bright flash of color. 

 

Innocuously sitting on the edge of the sink was the sole, travel-sized tube of toothpaste he had brought. Unexpectedly, a memory was brought to the surface.

“ Ward, when you speak, you remind me why tubes of toothpaste had instructions.” 

 

He couldn't help the slight huff of laughter that passed his lips. He had been watching Agent Jackson that day through the monitors in the security room, and could still perfectly remember Agent Ward’s offended expression. 

 

Thinking of people he hated, Jackson was pretty high up there with Wilson. 

 

He really should’ve died way back on that boat.

 

But for now, Jackson wasn't the concern. 

He walked out of the bathroom and to the kitchen, flicking open the latches on the large case laid across the counter. He ran his fingers across the sleek, high powered rifle sitting inside. It was one of the best money could buy, they had made sure of it in order to ensure his success. 

 

A wicked grin spread across his face as he pulled it out. 

 

Well, they didn't call him Crossbones for nothing. 

 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

27 hours until the first shots

3:00 PM

43 Ingram St., NY

Peter Parker was hungry. 

 

MJ had let AcDec out early today, and so he walked home instead of waiting for the activities bus. As he neared his street, he made a pitstop into Delmar’s. Ever since the spider bite, his metabolism had gone way up, and he was almost constantly hungry. 

 

He couldn't help the guilt that sprung up because of it---Aunt May couldn't really afford to feed a mutant. 

 

Peter idly scratched Murph on the head as he waited for his sandwich to be ready---squished super flat, of course. 

 

Then, suddenly, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

Peter’s head whipped around, looking out the store windows. Everything looked perfectly fine and normal. There were two kids riding bikes down the sidewalk, a teenager walking their dog, three women in tracksuits were power-walking and chatting. Nothing looked dangerous. 

 

Peter closed his eyes and listened for a moment. The usual sounds that accompanied his spidey-sense going off were conspicuously absent. No gunfire, no screams, no sirens, not even fast footfalls and heavy breathing.

 

Peter kept his eyes peeled and ears open as he paid and took his sandwich. The vigilante stepped out of the door, eyes scanning the roads. But still, the only thing he could hear was the running water of an old faucet on one of the floors above Delmars. 

 

Huh. He didn't know anyone lived there. 

 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

21 hours before the first shots

9:00 PM

Stark Tower, NY

 

Tony was nervous. This would be his first major public appearance since the Avengers split. When he was rescued from Siberia and taken to the hospital, headlines went out speculating if he was even alive. 

Which, he supposed, it was reasonable they thought he was dead.

 

He almost was.

 

But he tried not to think about that. After he got out of surgery, he made sure to be seen in public every now and then so the rumors didn't start up once more---Pepper didn't need to deal with that as well. Like recently, he had the car pull up front of Stark Tower instead of around back so people could see him enter the building. Just small things.  

 

At the gala, he knew he would have to chat with the attendees. He needed to be a good host, after all. Maintaining connections at these kinds of events was extraordinarily important---he knew that. It had been drilled into his head by Howard when he was a kid. 

 

That didnt mean he had to like it. 

 

The majority of their snobby and close-minded attitudes he could handle. With a clenched fist and tight jaw, sure. But he was used to that. 

But the inevitable questions about the Rogues, the fight in Germany, Siberia, Barnes?

No way in hell. He was feeling a little shaky just by thinking about it. 

 

It was then he heard the sound of knuckles rapping on the doorframe of the lab. Tony swiveled in his chair to face the newcomer. 

 

Percy was hovering there holding a bowl, watching Tony with a concerned expression. A thing about Percy was that he always seemed to pop up when Tony was stressed out. (Another point for the Nick-Fury’s-School-For-Mind-Readers theory)

 

The mercenary walked over to the worktable, and set the bowl down on the table, and took a seat across from Tony. Softly, he asked, “Are you alright?”

 

The engineer gave a quick nod. “Yeah, perfectly fine. Why do you ask?” He replied, trying to cram as much normalcy into his tone as he could. 

 

Percy saw through it anyway. 

 

“Tony,” he sighed. Then shook his head. He jerked his chin towards the bowl instead. “It’s getting late. You missed dinner.” Tony looked away for a second, guilty. Percy didn't seem mad or upset, though, just concerned. “It's a poke bowl. My mom’s recipe, actually.” 

 

Huh. That was the first time Tony had ever heard Percy talk about his family. When he spoke about his mother, he smiled a little, so it didn't seem like they had a bad relationship. He was probably just private about that sort of stuff. It made sense---a spy for almost four years and then a mercenary for a year and a half? He probably wouldn't want to talk about the people in his life often. 

 

The trust implied with the mention of his mother, a small piece of her shared via food, brought a warm feeling to Tony’s chest. 

 

“Thanks.” He said, a tad hoarse. 

 

The food was really good. Percy’s mother obviously knew what she was talking about. 

 

In between bites, Tony spoke. “We have a lot of RSPVs. More than last year. Or even the year before that, and before that. I think,” Tony shifted uncomfortably. “People probably want a chance to question me about the whole...everything.” He admitted with a sigh. Percy nodded in understanding. 

 

The green eyed man gave Tony a little smile. “Just use the Nick Fury classic; its classified. ” Tony huffed out a laugh. But his smile was short lived, and he turned the guest list towards Percy. The mercenary looked down at the paper, frowning a little. 

 

“See that name there, seventh down?”

 

Percy hesitated at Tony’s words. He was chewing on the inside of his cheek, brow furrowed a little in thought. 

 

Then, a little quickly, he said, “Actually, no. I, uh, I don't.” 

 

Tony frowned. “Are you sure? I swear it was right there—” he leaned forward to pull the list back towards him, but Percy’s words stopped him in his tracks. 

 

“It probably is. I just, well, I can't read it.” 

 

Tony’s head snapped up to look at Percy. The man was looking at the ground, face slightly pinched. A tad cautious, Tony asked, “What do you mean?”

 

Percy ran his tongue across his top teeth. “A couple years ago,” he said, the quietest, the most subdued Tony had even heard him, “I got hurt. Damaged my vision.” He waved a hand in front of his eyes. “It never healed all the way. I read in braille.” 

 

Tony leaned back, head tilted a little. He looked at Percy for a moment, considering. "How the hell did I miss that?" He blurted, immediately wincing at his words. "No offense," He added. Then, “I just thought you were nearsighted or something.” He admitted. “And just didn't want to wear your glasses. Might ruin your bad-boy vibe thing you got going on there.” 

 

Percy barked out a surprised laugh. “Tony, I’m wearing Little Mermaid pajamas. My rep is long gone.” Tony grinned. The mercenary was, indeed, wearing dark blue pants with Flounder and Sebastian patterned across them. 

 

There was a long silence between the two.

Then softly, almost shy, Percy asked “It doesn't...bother you, at all? I mean, I am supposed to protect you and all that, and I get if---”

 

Tony cut him off. “Jackson, as far as I’m concerned, you don't need to be able to read size 12 Times New Roman to kick ass.”

 

Percy blinked a few times, and tilted his head for a second, almost as if listening to something. Then he shot Tony the widest smile he had ever seen from the man. 

Tony tapped the page a few times, and smiled back. "The invite list never really changes. So I thought it was a little weird that there was someone I didn't recognize. Seems kinda familiar, though. Do you know a Chris B. Graves?" Percy's smile faded. "Graves?" He inquired, nose scrunching. "Uh, yeah, actually. Councilman Graves, from the WSC." Tony's eyebrows shot to his hairline. "The one you called a bitch?" Percy nodded. "Yeah. That's the one. The real question is, what the hell is he doing at the gala?" 

 

Tony drummed his fingers on the table. "Probably the same as all the other guests. Wants information, about the Rouges, Avengers Initiative, all that." Percy nodded alone, but he was still frowning. "I guess." 

Tony shrugged. "I mean, it's just a theory. You know him better than me." 

 

"Thats the problem, Tony. I don't know him. I barely know him at all."

Notes:

Poke bowl- A popular Hawaiian dish

Can anyone guess who the gunman is?

Chapter 7: Why Champagne and .300 Caliber Bullets Don't Mix: Part 2

Summary:

Happy's reflection, Clint's opinion, and then finally, the gala

Notes:

Even MORE thanks to Black_Victor_Cachat
The moment of truth! After 3 chapters of build up, here it is!

TW: a fairly graphic mention of blood, bullet wounds, and well...dying.

Also please excuse my spanish. it was hard getting an accurate translation of 'deathstroke'. also i dont speak spanish.

8 hours until the first shots

10:00 AM

New York Museum of World History, NY

 

Happy had never seen Pepper walk so fast. Well, hadn't seen her walk so fast since the last gala. A clipboard was clutched to her chest, and Happy followed her diligently as she hurried towards the entrance.

The decorators had run late, and had just finished putting everything up this morning. Pepper had rushed to give everything a last check over; make sure there were enough tables, chairs, and that the color scheme was all balanced. 

Happy took a look around, eyes wide. He had seen the museum before, of course. He was the head of security. But the room had been completely transformed. 

Round tables dotted the room, each with a white tablecloth and carefully crafted centerpiece. The color scheme was set in light blue-greys and reds, perfectly balanced. 

The stage was a simple semicircle, with thick curtains behind it. A podium with a microphone sat in the middle. Happy’s eyes drifted to the stairs, where he had instructed Jackson to wait. 

Happy was only a little embarrassed to admit he had been a bit bitter about the whole thing. He had done his best to protect Tony for years---he could still remember the day they met. 

Happy had been celebrating his previous win---which was also his last match---at a bar in a slightly shady part of town. He didn't really care about that---they had good food and a decent TV. He was leaving for the night when he heard yelling. Curiosity brought him to it; a young man firmly outnumbered, and probably drunk out of his mind.
When one of the guys threw the first punch, Happy dove in without even thinking.

He had only found out afterwards that the drunk guy was Tony Stark, who had hired him on the spot. 

Happy was pleasantly surprised by Jackson, though. He was expecting another Romanoff, honestly; secretive, calculating, cold. So when he saw the guy in the hoodie and Nemo socks, with freckles and a soft smile standing in his doorway, Happy didn't even try to keep the surprise off his face. 

And when the ex-agent gave him a rambling but genuine compliment as he left, Happy didn't try to hide the smile either. 

 

---

 

3 hours until the first shots

9:00 PM

Wakanda, Africa

 

Clint Barton was smarter than most realized.

So when he met Agent Jackson, he knew he would make a good ally. Or a significant threat.

He also knew Nat felt the same---but her demeanor and reputation would put Jackson off. So Clint took a different approach. He was friendly, but didn’t try to approach Jackson out of the blue. He made occasional jokes, but didn’t ask Jackson questions about himself, or share anything of his own. 

And it worked, he’d like to think. Jackson and he eventually got assigned a surveillance mission in Colombo, Sri Lanka---and it went well. The two of them bonded over archaic weapons; Jackson wielded a truly epic looking sword---three and a half feet of cold steel, with an engraving on the hilt Clint could never read. 

They got assigned a few more together after that, and Clint even once goaded the other agent into trying out his bow after he mentioned he went to a camp as a child that taught archery. 

It….didn't go too well. 

To this day, Clint wondered how the man had managed to shoot behind him.

Clint also tried to convince Jackson to pick a fun code name. Because honestly, Hawkeye sounded much better than Agent Barton. Jackson had just rolled his eyes and refused, and then went back to scratching his dog.

Speaking of the dog-—Jackson was almost never seen without her. Clint loved Mrs. O’Leary, and was actually one of the few people she had let pet her. Over half of the people that tried almost got their hand bitten off. 

(It wasn't until years later, he realized that every single person she growled and snapped at was later outed as a Hydra operative.)

But the codenames---he was curious as to why Jackson refused. He didn't get it until they were tasked to take out a large drug shipment being stored in a warehouse in Veracruz, Mexico. Clint was perched in the rafters above, watching from a birds eye view. (Heh. Get it, bird's eye? Clint is so funny. Nat doesn't appreciate him enough.) 

Naturally, it went wrong. One of the men---the boss, by the looks of it,--- was agitated. The warehouse had mysteriously lost power the hour before, and he was yelling at his men to get it fixed. He was white-knuckling a flashlight, making wide, angry gestures. It was pure bad luck that the beam went wide and illuminated Clint crouching in the dark. 

Then the shooting started. 

Clint booked it. He was good, but not go against a dozen armed cartel members good. The warehouse was fairly big, one of many in a sprawling shipping yard, and Clint barely made it out of there. He dashed behind a shipping container, trying desperately to catch his breath. 

Not far, he could hear yells and pounding feet. 

“Encuentrenlo!”

Find him!

Where the hell was Jackson? Had he heard the shots? The man was probably still all the way across the shipping yard, where they had split up. He wouldn't get here in time. And even if he did, what could he do?

That question was soon answered.

The footsteps were getting closer. A flashlight beam got dangerously near. 

Clint squeezed his eyes shut, and took a shaky breath.

It was then he heard an inhale to match his. He opened an eye. A cartel member was standing right in front of him, eyes wide. He almost looked...scared? 

His flashlight was trained a couple feet to Clint’s left, the beam quaking as the man’s hand shook. Clint stood cautiously, and peered around the corner to see what had scared the man so much.

Jackson was standing there, arms crossed, Mrs. O’Leary next to him. 

Clint supposed it was a rather intimidating sight---Jackson was tall, dark hair falling in his eyes, face scarred. His sword was in his hand, glinting dangerously in the light. Mrs. O’Leary seemed even bigger than he remembered, and was crouched low in a snarl. Teeth bared, eyes reflecting red in the light.

Flashlight Man honestly looked like he was going to piss himself. He didn't even move for his gun for a long moment; he just stood there. 

Remembering himself, he dropped the light, and unholstered the pistol, aiming directly at Jackson’s face. Before he could even twitch his finger in the direction of the trigger, a knife flew straight into his throat. Blood spurted out, and Flashlight Man collapsed to the gravel. Clint whipped his head towards Jackson, whose hand was out, a second knife at the ready. 

Jackson turned to him. “Are you alright?” He whispered, eyes checking Clint over. The archer shook himself out of his stupor.”Yeah. Fine. You?” He got an affirmative nod.

The same thing happened with almost every other cartel member who saw them. Shaking, eyes wide with fear, almost paralyzed. Did they know Jackson somehow?

One of the men had choked out some Spanish, right before Clint knocked him out. 

“Toque Mortal,” He had whispered, almost in awe, staring at Jackson even though he was fighting Clint. 

The two agents got back to their hotel relatively unharmed. Hesitantly, Clint had commented, “Those guys seemed like they knew you.”

Jackson didn't look up from where he was wiping blood off his knives. “Not personally. I’ve done a few missions around here.”

Clint nodded. “And the fun little nickname?”

This made Jackson pause and look up for a second. 

“Uh, yeah.” His gaze returned to his hands. “ Toque Mortal. It's a literal translation—it means death touch. Deathstroke.” His voice was bitter. 

Clint, contrary to popular belief, knew when to stop asking questions. So he let it go. 

Now, he almost wished he hadn't. Natasha sat across from him, the computer screen tilted towards him. The person in the video was Jackson for sure---no doubt. But what was he doing working for Stark?

Natasha didn't have any guesses either. 

“Stark is going to be giving a speech later tonight. 6 PM, New York time. If Jackson really is his new bodyguard, he’ll be there. Steve and I are going to stay up a bit and watch it. You in?” 

Clint nodded, not taking his eyes off the paused video. 

“Yeah. I’ll be there.”

 

---

 

12 minutes until the first shots

5:50 PM

New York Museum of World History, NY

 

Tony’s speech was starting soon. 

Percy idled by the edge of the stage, keeping a firm concentration on Tony’s heartbeat, not easily able to pick him out from a crowd of other suits via sight. He was dressed similarly to all the other guards: black tie, fairly nice suits that probably paled in comparison to the price of the partygoers outfits, a comm in his ear. 

Unlike the other guards, however, Percy was geared up for a fight. A gun was hidden on the inside of his suit jacket, along with a collection of knives. Long twin steel blades, a celestial bronze dagger, and another mortal metal one with a serrated blade. Riptide was in his pocket, and an escrima stick was holstered to each leg, hidden by his pants. He even had a thin cable wrapped around his wrist, hidden by the watch Tyson made. Harmless looking at first, until you saw it could cut through tissue and muscle like butter. 

It was a hard adjustment at first, stepping into such a populated area. The floor was constantly vibrating with the smooth movements of dancers, the steady back and forth of patrolling guards, even the stumbling of the already tipsy attendees. 

Every step hit Percy like a bullet, giving him a small headache. But he couldn't focus on that right now. He had a job to do. 

He ran a finger over the face of his watch. Tyson had made him a new one a few years back, in braille, as a birthday present. Percy always felt bad for wrecking them, but Tyson had just given him a toothy grin, and said that meant they were working. 

Tony would have to get on stage in a little more than ten minutes---but Percy figured there was no harm in pulling him away a bit early. His heart rate had sped up while talking to someone; a short, heavyset man who had a habit of tapping his foot. Percy took a step forward, away from the wall, to brave the crowd when a voice—much closer to him than it should have been—spoke behind him. 

“Agent Jackson.” 

Percy froze. 

He had been focusing so much on Tony and the surrounding area that he hadn't even noticed someone approaching. Percy slowly turned towards them, hand itching to rest on his gun, knives, sword, anything. 

“It’s been a while, hasn't it?” Councilman Graves asked, a slightly venomous smile stretched across his face. 

 

---

 

3 minutes until the first shots

5:59 PM

New York Museum of World History, NY

“Excuse me, excuse me, excu—” Tony relaxed at the familiar voice. He turned his head and spotted Percy trying to get through the crowd around Tony. 

“Jesus, move your ass.” Tony hid a smile in his glass. Trust Percy to start swearing at a celebrity without hesitation. 

Once he reached the billionaire, he cleared his throat. “Dr. Stark,” and wow it was weird to hear Percy call him that now, “It's almost time for your speech.” Tony nodded, and placed his drink on the nearest waiter’s tray. “Ah, right.” He turned to the small group formed around him. “Sorry about that. Speeches to give, money to donate, babies to kiss. You know how it is.” The scattered members of the upper class gave out laughs so fake Tony didn’t even have to look at them to notice.

Once the two were away from the crowd, Tony huffed. “God, I hate rich people.” 

Percy’s amused voice responded. “Tony, you are rich people.” 

“Don't remind me.” He hissed. 

Percy snorted softly. “You have five minutes. Got everything memorized?” Tony rolled his eyes, fixing his tie. “Yes, mom .” 

Percy pulled a face. “Again, you are old enough to be my da—”

“Nope!” Tony cut him off. “We agreed to never speak of that again.” Percy grinned. 

Something seemed... off about the mercenary. He was covering it up well, but he looked shaken. 

Tony lowered his voice. “You alright?” Percy’s chin turned a little towards his shoulder, looking to the side. “Yeah.” He muttered. “It's just—” He caught himself. “Nothing important that you need to worry about now. I'll tell you after.” 

Tony thought about protesting, but knew Percy wouldn't budge. He had to go up, anyway. 

As the ex-agent led him to the stage steps, he bumped his elbow into Tony’s. I'll be right here. Tony nodded once, and then ascended the stairs. 

He waved at the crowd as he got to the podium, a wide, press-approved smile on his face. “Welcome back, everyone! Nice to see you again.” He greeted into the microphone. “Well, not all of you,” he amended, “But, what can you do about that?” This brought a light laugh from the crowd.
He duly registered Percy standing off to the side, just far enough from the podium to not be noticed. 

“Well,” he continued, “I’m sure all you—”

 

---

 

4 seconds until the first shots

6:02 PM

New York Museum of World History, NY

Percy’s encounter with Councilman Graves was still at the forefront of his mind. The man hadn't even stopped to talk to Tony. Just Percy. Percy was honestly surprised he remembered him---plenty of people had probably cussed him out in the workplace. He was that pleasant of a guy. 

Why Percy? He didn't even have much important to say; he just asked what Percy was doing these days. A dumb question, since the man obviously knew he was working security for Tony. 

It was strange. What motivation could he possibly have for—

Percy’s brain screeched to a halt. Somebody had dropped something. Something heavy. Something metal, not a purse or glass. Heavy duty, not a phone or utensil. 

Percy knew exactly what it was. It was a part of a rifle—one of the very ones he used.

Where where where where where—

The balcony. The same service balcony he had noted and deemed a nonissue, the one that had been filled with crates that couldn't have been moved without his notice. The room that was now empty. But the only time he hadn't been focused on the room was…

Was when he was talking to Graves. 

Fuck.

Tony was speaking. “Well, I'm sure all you—”

He was already moving, pushing himself across the stage, reaching out.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

 

---

 

1 second after the first shots

6:03 PM

New York Museum of World History, NY

 

Tony was speaking, then he was on the floor. 

He hit the stage with a loud thud. Somebody screamed. 

There was something on top of him—somebody. 

Percy.

The man rolled off of him, his back against the floor. 

His hand was wet. Tony looked at it, eyes wide. Blood coated his fingertips and palms. But Tony was fine, nothing hurt—

Percy coughed.

Tony lurched towards him. 

Blood was seeping through the green-eyed man’s shirt, right by his chest. Only the smallest bit left of his heart. That brought little comfort to Tony as he stared at his bleeding friend. Blood was also spreading from his stomach, right below his ribs. Another spot on his thigh.

Percy had taken a bullet for him. 

Percy had taken three bullets for him. 

“Someone call 911!” He yelled, not even turning to the crowd. No more bullets were raining down---the shooter must have fled. 

“Percy, hey, everything's gonna be fine.” He murmured, stripping off his suit jacket. He should apply pressure to the wound. Keep Percy alive because Tony was not going to lose somebody else—

Percy gave him a look. Even bleeding out he was still snarky as hell. Tony shook his head. “The hell were you thinking, Jackson?”

Percy grinned. “It...” he gasped out, “Would've hit you right in the head.” 

Tony gave out a wet laugh. He was crying. “Was that a fucking short joke?” Percy’s smile said it all. Tony shook his head. “Honestly. Idiot.” 

His hands were pressed on Percy’s chest. It wasn't enough. Blood was still seeping through his fingers.

He could hear sirens. Good. That was good. 

Percy swallowed, and reached up. His hand wrapped around Tony’s wrist, bringing the billionaire's gaze to his eyes. “Listen.” Percy’s breathing was labored. “I...I owed you one.” And shallow. 

Tony shook his head. “Whatever it was, Perce, nothing is worth this.” Percy gave a weak nod. “It was. It really was.” 

He coughed. Blood splattered his lips. His eyes began to slip shut. 

“Hey, hey, hey, Percy. You need to stay awake, bud.” Percy’s eyes fluttered open, and he nodded.

“Do you—do you remember everyone you saved? From—from the Chitauri?”

“Honestly, no. I can't say that I do.”

Percy took this in. “Well, one day, there was...there was this family walking home. A mother, husband, and their daughter.” 

This was good. Keep him talking, he needed to stay awake. 

“The Leviathan crashed...into a building near them. A piece...of rubble fell.” He smiled shakily. “Iron Man caught it.”

Tony’s heart skipped a beat. “Yeah?” He inquired. 

The sirens were getting closer. 

Percy dipped his head. “Yeah.”

He titled his chin up towards the skylight. “Gods,” Percy muttered. “Bet you can’t even see the stars from in here.” 

Tony didn't like how resigned he sounded. “You like the stars?”

“Yeah...I do.” He swallowed. "Miss lookin' at em."

Percy closed his eyes tightly. “This wasn't your fault, Tony. We both know that there isn't a thing on this earth you can do to stop me.”

Tony was definitely crying. A tear dropped onto his hand, still pressing down on Percy’s ruined shirt. “Suppose not.” He didn't believe it. “I'm sure one day the world will tell stories about the legendary stubbornness of Percy Jackson.”

Said man grinned. His teeth had blood on them. “Make sure... they don't use my full name, yeah?”

He heard yelling.

“Yeah. I can do that.” Tony promised.

Percy took in a few measured breaths. Every second looked like it pained him.

“Tony,” he whispered, “That family. My family. I never really got to thank you.” 

 

Oh.

 

“Well, you certainly are a grand gestures kind of guy, huh?”

Behind them, the door slammed open. A pair of paramedics ran in, a stretcher in between them. Tony had to force himself to back away.

In one motion, they picked Percy up and put him on the stretcher. He was completely limp.

Tony squeezed his eyes shut.

Notes:

damn....some of y'all out here thinking it was tony who got shot....smh

✨ also tony calling him perce for the first time ✨

Chapter 8: A Really Strange Doctor---(Surprisingly, Not Doctor Strange.)

Summary:

Tony has an Even Worse Time, the Rogues are concerned, and Apollo is his usual charming yet kinda bloodthirsty self.

Notes:

You guys know the drill. special thanks to Black_VIctor_Cachat

TW: mentions of bullet wounds, stitches, shooters, and general insanity.

I'm also thinking about, after i wrap this story up, releasing a series of oneshots that will span the time between the ending of this one and the sequel. (which, and you didnt hear this from me, WILL be happening) mostly humor, bonding, and a little bit of crack, but there will probably be a few important plot points.

opinions?

Saturday, Sept. 3rd.

7:23 PM.

Stark Tower, NY

 

Tony stared at his face in the mirror. He looked awful. And felt even worse. 

 

Blood that wasn't his own stained his shirt, and his hands shook as he undid the buttons. The ambulance had taken Percy away more than an hour ago; Tony had been checked by an EMT and declared fine. His side might bruise from hitting the ground so hard, but that was the extent of the damage.

 

A bruise , and Percy was still in surgery.

One of the nurses had eventually told Tony, not unkindly, that his hovering wouldn't help his friend get better, and that he would probably want Tony to go home and get some rest.

She was so right it almost hurt. Tony could imagine Percy’s disapproving voice, telling him to sleep.

Tony knew he wouldn't be able to, but allowed himself to be hustled out anyway. 

 

He stripped down, leaving his bloodied clothes in a heap. There was a handprint on his wrist--- Percy’s handprint, marked in his own blood. 

Tony turned the shower as hot as it could go, and stayed in there until his skin felt like it was burning. 

 

He tossed and turned in bed for a while, before getting up and pacing. He walked back and forth across the halls---everything Percy had said to him was replaying in his head over and over again, the feeling of his blood that won't wash off his hands. 

 

“Fri,” he called out, voice hoarse and scratchy, “Can you start loading up old footage? The Chitauri invasion, please.” 

“Certainly, Boss.” 

Fri didn't try to get him to go back to sleep, which he appreciated. 

 

He stumbled down the hall, computer in hand. Eventually he slumped down one of the couches. His laptop was open on his knees, and he clicked open the files FRIDAY had sent him. 

Across the room, Percy’s suit jacket was laying across the back of a couch, bloody and torn. It had been left on the stage after Percy was taken by the paramedics, Tony had grabbed it; he figured Percy wouldn't want it being left there. Especially since Tony had found out, much to his surprise, it was full of weapons. 

He tore his eyes away. FRIDAY was still sifting through the footage, scanning for the Leviathan and the scene Percy had described. 

Tony tipped his head up towards the ceiling. Percy had never really mentioned that he liked astrology. You couldn’t see the stars anywhere in New York---there was too much light pollution---but Tony found himself wandering out to the balcony anyway. The sky was dark, not a single pinprick of light anywhere to be seen, besides the moon. 

It was almost a full moon, and, for some reason, Tony felt like it was watching him. 

 

“Boss?” He heard FRIDAY’s distant voice from inside the penthouse. “Yeah,” Tony muttered, giving the sky one last look, “Coming.”

 

When he sat back down, he distantly registered that it was the same couch he had sat on months ago, watching Nick Fury’s retreating back, an unopened file on his table. 

 

“The footage has been identified. Shall I cue it up for you, Boss?” Tony nodded distractedly. 

 

A video opened up on the screen of his laptop. The video was shaky and a little disoriented as his past self flew through the battle-torn streets of Manhattan. The Leviathan was descending from the sky, its body carelessly knocking into buildings as it went. A five story brownstone was crashed into, a large section of the outer wall crumbling. And there it was---a large piece disconnected, hurtling to the pavement. 

“Civilians detected,” JARVIS’s smooth voice cut through the noise of the battle, making Tony shove down a sob. 

‘On it, J.” Tony had said, flying towards the road. He swooped down, catching the rubble, and tossing it to the side. He turned to the family---three people, one of them a young girl. “People are taking shelter at a building two blocks south. Hurry there.” The suit's metallic voice filtered out. 

The man gave a nod, eyes wide, and scooped the girl up. The woman stared at him for a moment. Then, softly, she said, “Thank you.” And then grabbed her husband's hand, and together the family rushed down the street.

Tony had flown off after that, barely giving the people a second look once they had reached the shelter. And after that, never again. He only just remembered them.

He watched the video once more, hitting pause right as their faces came into view.

Percy’s mother looked a lot like him. Her hair was dark, curlier than his, but she had the same freckles and kind eyes. The man he assumed to be Percy’s father had light skin and salt-n-pepper hair, and the girl in his arms looked about three---Percy’s sister? 

 

It was only a few seconds, a short decision on the command of his AI. But it had meant everything to Percy. 

 

Enough for him to take a trio of bullets for him. 

 

Tony buried his face in his hands.

 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Monday, Sept. 4

12:12 AM

Manhattan General Hospital, NY

 

Nick Fury was worried. 

 

He had been watching the news that night, reclined against a couch in Greenland. It was a nice, peaceful place. 

But all that calm went right out the window when he watched his best former agent take multiple bullets and begin to bleed out on stage. 

The cameras had stopped rolling the minute the shots had struck, but Fury had still seen Jackson hit the ground. 

 

It wasn’t hard for him to get to New York, or to get into the hospital. Originally, he planned to go to the room Jackson was staying in---but oddly enough, there was a group of people in there. A young African American girl, leaning into a tall, broad man with black hair and purple shirt. Another pair sat opposite from them---a girl with brown skin and a feather braided into her dark hair---whose face he couldn't see,---and a man with short blonde hair. Leaning against the door was a pale, skinny boy with inky black hair, wearing an aviator's jacket. 

 

When Fury walked by, he had scowled at him, twisting a ring on his fingers. 

 

Strange. 

 

Jackson had kept quiet about his private life, as any good spy should. But from Fury’s investigation into him when he first joined SHIELD, Jackson didn't have any known acquaintances. 

 

Throughout the night, others had come and gone. A curly haired redhead with paint splattered jeans, a thin latino boy wearing a toolbelt, a commanding looking woman with a long braid, and a couple with a small child---the woman looked a bit like Agent Jackson, but her husband not so much. A faint resemblance could be seen in the girl, as well. The most recent visitor was a woman with stringy brown hair, wearing camo pants and a tank top.

 

So Fury settled for checking his records. The first bullet had torn through his lung, the second buried in his stomach, the third in his upper thigh. He had been treated by a Dr. Fred Light, someone Fury could find absolutely nothing on. 

 

The whole thing was rather off. 

 

Jackson was one of his top agents, arguably the best. A few years ago, Fury would have nominated Romanoff, Coulson, Hill, or Barton for that position. But, well, not a single one of them had even the smallest of suspicions about Hydra. Jackson had uncovered the whole thing, when not even Nick Fury himself had noticed. 

 

Fury needed to talk to Jackson. The attempt at the gala had proved that people were still very much out to get Stark---just like he had predicted. It was a good first step to ask Jackson to go into his employ, (Fury was honestly surprised that Jackson had taken the job. Maybe the man had a stronger sense of duty than he had realized) but it wasn't going to end up being enough. Especially if Stark was just the first potential victim. 

 

So Fury leaned back into the sofa in the hospital waiting room.

 

He was a patient man. 

 

He could wait. 

 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Monday, Sept. 4

7:56 AM

Wakanda, Africa

 

Unease laid across the Rogues like a thick, suffocating blanket. 

 

The previous night, they had all gathered around the TV, squished together on the couch. The camera was focused on the stage as a few other speakers went up and down---Pepper spoke, which was nice. 

When it was Stark’s turn, they had collectively quieted down. The man was led up the stairs by someone in a suit---Agent Jackson. 

 

If there was ever any doubt, it all disappeared. Natasha could clearly recall the way he held himself, tall and proud---as if he had successfully held the weight of the world on his shoulders and lived to show it---but still cautious and ready for a fight at any time. When the pair reached the stage, Jackson hanging back as Stark continued to the podium, she could also see the small scar on his jaw.

Stark began his speech.

 

Barely a sentence in, it all went to hell. 

 

Jackson lunged towards Stark, tackling him to the ground, just as three loud bangs reverberated throughout the large ballroom. Screams started up, and then the camera cut off.

Natasha had quickly switched the channel, looking for any news. A few minutes later, she flipped to a frazzled looking woman standing in the chilly air outside the museum. 

 

“Shots have been heard from within the New York Museum of World History. Reportedly it was an attempt to assassinate Dr. Tony Stark, who was on the stage speaking. However, a bodyguard tackled him onto the stage, and he was unharmed. The bodyguard, who’s name is currently unknown, however, has been struck multiple times. Emergency services arrived just minutes ago---”

 

Clint turned the TV off. 

 

Voice shaky, he whispered, “Fuck.”

 

Steve looked over at him. “They said Tony was fine.” He said comfortingly. “I’m sure---” Clint shook his head. “It---I’m not--” He choked up.

Natasha put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly. “Stark’s bodyguard. We knew him.” 

 

Sam’s brow furrowed. “Hogan?”

 

Clint shook his head. “Agent Jackson. He was a level eight, like us. He quit, actually, a few months before Insight.” 

Steve tilted his head. “He quit? ” Natasha could hear the unspoken question: Right before Hydra was exposed?

Clint and Natasha shared a look. “Yeah. Started going off about how SHIELD had been infiltrated. Jackson was always a paranoid bastard, nobody really thought anything of it. Well, not until it was too late.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “He knew? How?” Natasha shrugged. “Nobody knows. Last I checked, he was working as a mercenary, he had taken a job somewhere in Buenos Aires. I tried to get in contact with him, but then, you know.” She waved a hand around, indicating their rooms which were very much not in the US.

 

Sam nodded slowly. “Do you think you could still get in contact with him?”

Nat frowned. It would be a challenge. She knew Jackson didn't have a phone---he had a SHIELD burner, (that was off 90% of the time) but he would have gotten rid of it when he quit. It was odd. Natasha had just assumed he didn't have anyone to really keep in contact with. If his goal was to be hard to track down, he had certainly succeeded. 

 

But, it was worth a shot. Especially if he knew something. 

Plus...maybe she wanted to check on him. Make sure he is OK.

And he would be OK. Jackson was made of strong stuff. 

 

“I can try.” 

 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Monday, Sept. 4

1:08 PM

Manhattan General Hospital, NY

 

Percy’s bedside had an alarming amount of postcards and cards next to it. Tony had put the envelopes in a neat stack when he had first arrived, mindful to not accidentally read them. Giving Percy some privacy was the least he could do. 

(His eye had accidentally caught one when he first moved them. It was a postcard from a town in northern Canada---all it said was “Call me when you wake up, fuckwit.” and at the bottom, “Lady A. says she hopes you get better.” It wasn't even signed.)

 

Percy was hooked up to a heart monitor along with a cannula in his arm. Tony sat by his bedside, listening to the steady beeping of his heart. The mercenary’s eyes were shut---he looked almost like he was just sleeping. It was then that it hit Tony; just how young Percy looked. How young he actually was. 

 

Tony had become Iron Man in his mid thirties---meanwhile Percy had been doing this since he was 21. When Tony was 21, he was probably drunk off his ass somewhere in California. Honestly, Percy wouldn’t have looked out of place at the colleges Tony sometimes gave speeches at. 

 

Tony closed his eyes and rubbed a hand across his face. This was all his fault. 

He had almost had Percy moved to Stark Towers medical facilities---but for some reason, he had the gut feeling to have him stay here. It worked out well; the doctor that had treated him was one of the best. Percy had also had a lot of visitors, as well. It would be easier for them to see them if he was here. 

 

Tony had actually met one of them. A young girl who had introduced herself as Hazel, who was taking care of Mrs. O’Leary. Her and Percy had known eachother since they were kids, and he had helped her get together with her long-time boyfriend, Frank. 

She had only stayed for a minute before leaving Tony alone with him. She had hung back at the doorway for a second, not facing him. “He really does care about you, you know.” And then she left, leaving Tony a tad shell shocked. 

 

The doctor was a little strange as well. When Tony had first spoken with him, he had hurriedly asked about Percy’s condition. The doctor had given him a winning smile. “He’s a tough kid,” Dr. Light had assured. “He’ll make it. He hasn’t woken up yet, but that’s normal.”

The man turned to look through the window in the door at Percy. 

“However,” he cleared his throat. “I suggest you worry more about finding who did this.” There was a distinctly bloodthirsty look on his face. 

Tony fought the urge to take a step back. Instead, he nodded. “They’ll regret it.” 

Dr. Light smiled.

 

Honestly, what a weird guy. 

 

“I know, right?”

 

Huh, Tony must’ve said that aloud---

 

He almost jumped up, eyes snapping up to look at Percy. Percy who was very much awake and looking at him, alive.

Percy gave him a lopsided smile. Then, “Have you been sleeping enough?” 

 

Tony laughed, eyes wet. “For your information, yes, I have. But that really shouldn't be your first concern.” 

Percy shrugged unapologetically, then immediately winced.
“Don't do that, idiot.” Tony hissed. “Do you know how many stitches you had to get?”

 

Percy was still smiling at him. Tony found himself smiling back. 

 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Monday, Sept. 4

1:14 PM

Manhattan General Hospital, NY

 

Percy was scared.

Mrs. O’Leary wasn’t with him---Hazel and Nico were probably taking care of her. That wasn’t what bothered him. What bothered him was what they were going to do. 

Plenty of mythological creatures had good noses---from Atlanteans to the Minatour. (A fact Percy knew too well.) But the best was, unarguably, the Hellhound. 

 

He could already picture Nico and Hazel sneaking into the museum to use her as a sniffer dog. He almost felt bad for whoever had shot him.

 

Almost. It really hurt. 

 

Tony was sitting next to him---Percy had wondered how long he had been there. 

“So,” he had, probably a bit too casually for a person who had just been in an ambulance less than 24 hours ago, “what did I miss?”

 

Tony let out a long breath. “Pepper is alright. A little shaken, mostly worried, but alright. Happy got discharged a bit ago. Whoever the hell had shot you hurt a few of the guards on their way out. Minor concussion, nothing major. The Spider-Kid was worried when he saw the news, he called to make sure the both of us were alright. Rhodey---”

“Wait,” Percy interrupted. “Spider-Kid?”

“Yeah, Spider-Man. Fought in---”

“Germany, I know. He’s a kid?”

 

Tony shifted a little. “Yeah. Listen, before you go off on me, I know. He’s too young to be involved in this, I shouldn't have taken him to Germany,---”

 

Percy shook his head. “Not that. I don't really have a place to judge others for getting involved in this sort of stuff at a young age, and it sounds like he was a vigilante long before he met you.” Percy had looked into Spider-Man when he first surfaced, and then again after Germany. He didn't look for a name, though. He could respect a secret identity. 

 

Tony seemed a little surprised at Percy’s words. 

 

“The kid. Are you two...close?” Percy probed. 

 

Tony gave a loose shrug. “Happy deals with him most of the time. I’m not really the person who should be dealing with a kid.” 

Percy sat up straighter. “But, you gave him the suit, right?”

 

Tony nodded. “Yeah, the old one was horrendous. You should’ve seen it, honestly.”

This brought him an eyeroll. “Tony, not everyone has a few billion to spare on a suit.”

 

Tony shrugged. “Whatever. Kid has an AI that can help him out anyways. He’s doing fine.” 

 

Percy let the subject drop. “Have you seen Mrs. O’Leary?” 

Tony shook his head. “Your friend, said her name was Hazel, said she had been watching her.” 

Percy gave a distracted nod.

“When can I get the hell out of here?” 

 

“Not sure. But honestly, there's a sewed up hole in your lung. Calm down.”

 

A pair of knuckles rapped on the doorframe. Dr. Light stood here, a clipboard in hand. 

Tony stood to give them some privacy. “I’ll see you later.” He promised.

As he walked out, Percy called “Bring snacks!”

And then, Dr. Light’s voice. “Do not!”

 

Tony laughed a little. 

Back in the room, Percy raised an eyebrow at the doctor. “Apollo.” He greeted, mouth twitching into a smile. 

The god smiled back. “You really always do find yourself in trouble, huh.” Percy grinned, unrepentant. “It's a gift. And it finds me, more like.”

 

Apollo snorted, then tapped the clipboard with his pen. “You’ll be discharged in about a week. I have a feeling your friend over there is itching to have you moved to Stark medical. Good stuff, actually. Have made some fascinating advancements in the field. Their work on prosthetics, honestly---”

“I know, Apollo.” 

“Ah. Right.”

 

There was a long silence. 

“Do you think I can tell him?”

“I don’t know.” 

 

Percy had been thinking about telling Tony about the Gods for a while. He figured if you were willing to die for a person, you could tell them something like that. 

But it wasn't that simple. (It never was.)

There was a reason that the Greek Pantheon’s continued existence wasn’t common knowledge. Really, the secret keepers are usually a bunch of teenagers. When Percy first came to camp, he was astonished that it was a secret at all. 

 

The truth was a lot uglier than he expected. 

 

Mortals weren’t meant to know about the Gods. They just weren’t. Mortal brains, Chiron had explained to him, were like rubber bands. Often, when they saw something they shouldn't have, something that the Mist couldn't completely cover up, they forgot about it. Their brain stretched, but ultimately went back to it's normal state.

 

But when something big, like being told, straight up, about the existence of the Godly world, to have irrefutable proof shoved in their faces?

 

Well, when stretched too far, rubber bands just snapped.

 

If they really couldn’t forget whatever they saw, they just lost it. Delusions, hallucinations, nightmares…

 

Until one day, they just died.

 

Most demigods' mortal parent had some level of clear-sightedness---Percy’s mom was one of the rare few that was completely clear-sighted. 

And, after a few very, very very careful tests, Percy had determined that Tony, as amazing as he was, was just a regular, garden variety mortal.

 

(By ‘careful tests’ Percy meant he had Mrs. O’Leary transform into her usual tank-sized appearance while Tony was in the gym.)

 

So Tony couldn’t know, for his own sanity-keeping good. Which, consequently meant, Percy couldn't heal himself via water or ambrosia. Which means he was going to have a hole in his lung, stomach, and leg, for a while.

 

Eh. At least it wasn’t another fucking quest.

Notes:

So, as you guys know, Annabeth is not paired with Percy in this story. For those who didn't guess, she died.
I really hate killing off women for the sake of men's character development, and i didnt want to stick to that trope. also, i love annabeth very much. So i decided on a sort of unconventional way to handle it; something that will come up really soon.

tony, upon realizing that he became iron man in his mid 30s and that percy joined SHIELD only 4ish years ago: fuck im old

also, can you guess who the doctor was?
and who the postcard was from?

percy also has funky enhanced sense of smell, because i thought it would make sense for atlanteans to have that

Chapter 9: Mrs. O'Leary Gets Her Hair Done---Oh, And An Investigation Into An Assassination Attempt

Summary:

Percy is bored, Natasha is suspicious. Mrs. O'Leary and Tyson are cute.

Notes:

I know nothing about guns. I just googled ‘most popular sniper rifles’ and then regurgitated info about that onto this page. I know what none of this means. Please don't come for me if i got something horribly wrong.

Also, more Peter coming up! For now, some Bucky and Tyson

Monday, Sept. 12th.

11:47 AM.

Stark Tower, NY

 

Percy didn't think he had ever been this bored. 

The demigod had been released from the hospital a few days ago, but was still confined to bed rest. He was healing a little faster than normal; to Tony he had joked that he was finally building up a resistance. Which earned him a very concerned and incredulous, “To bullet wounds?”

 

But hey, he had to find a way to entertain himself somehow. So far he had taken to giving Mrs. O’Leary pigtails. 

(He had Iris Messaged Nico before he could go on his two-person-one-dog-hunt-for-justice. Percy had said the least they could do was wait for him, to which Hazel and him had grudgingly agreed.)

 

The Hellhound seemed to like her new hairstyle, giving Percy a little doggy grin every time he put a new one in. Percy was well practiced at doing pigtails---they had been Estelle’s preferred hair style for over a year. 

FRIDAY had analyzed the CCTV footage of the gala over and over again---whoever had done this had been smart enough to stay off cameras. The only time a glimpse that had been caught of the shooter was in the corner of one of the frames of footage from the service entryway on the third floor. 

In a regretful tone, the AI had told him there wasn’t much to go on. Tall, broad shoulders, muscled build. Male, with lighter skin. Dark clothes, and a hat pulled low over his face. 

 

Mrs. O’Leary had gotten a scent at the museum when Nico took her. But Percy knew better than to go off that alone. 

While Mrs. O’Leary could find whoever it was, and could be there in an instant, Percy didn't really feel like teleporting into a Hydra base. First, they needed to know who and what they were dealing with. 

 

Percy knew the type of gun they used, at least. From the bullets he provided (embedded in his body, but whatever. He still got them.) and what the piece that alerted him to the shooter's presence felt like when it was dropped. 

Normally that wouldn't have been enough to go on. Percy didn't memorize the feeling of every single part of every single gun falling to the floor. But this one he was very familiar with. A Barret M82, with a .50 BMG cartridge, a 25 inch barrel length, capable of shooting accurately up to 6800 meters.

 

The exact gun Percy used.

 

Or, at least, had been trained to use. Him and every other high level agent at SHIELD. So that was another clue---most likely, the person who had shot him was someone he used to sit next to at the cafeteria during lunch breaks. 

(OK, that was him being dramatic. Clearly whoever had done it was Hydra, and none of them escaped Percy’s notice during his employment. He would rather sit in the boiler room than eat next to them.) 

 

But still, that left a lot of options. 

 

Level 6 and up were trained with that gun. Level 8s, like Percy, were few and far between. 7s and 6s weren’t as rare. Hell, there was always the possibility that the shooter wasn't ex-SHIELD, but just had been trained by someone who was. Unlikely, but then again, so was getting hit by lightning. And Percy had been hit, what, 3 times? (...Maybe that had to do something with his increasingly temperamental family, though.)

 

He sighed and leaned back. 

 

He was out of ponytail holders.

 

Now what?

…

 

 

…

 

 

…

 

 

…

 

 

…

 

“TONY!” He yelled.

“WHAT?” The superhero screamed back, from somewhere across the floor.

 

“COME HERE!”

Percy could hear the over dramatic sigh from his spot on the couch. A moment later, Tony walked into the room, a coffee mug in hand. (Before, Tony had a coffee maker in his lab. It was one of the first things Percy got rid of.) 

“What do you want, devil spawn?”

Percy grinned at him. “Bored.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Welcome to the club.”

 

The day before, Rhodey had stopped by to check on Percy and get his braces adjusted. After chatting for a while, the colonel followed Tony down to the lab.

And about ten minutes later, they left the building.

 

Later, Percy asked FRIDAY what had happened. 

 

Apparently, Tony was talking about new upgrades. Rhodes had thanked him, but told him they weren’t necessary. The words “you’re building them faster than I can use them” were used. A few more tense words were exchanged, which FRIDAY explained as vaguely as possible. But then the two hugged, and went for lunch. 

 

Good, Percy thought. 

Tony had been spending far too much time working on braces; a new version immediately after the last one was finished. 

 

In the meantime, knowing FRIDAY would snitch if he tried to move around, Percy just called Tyson. 

His little brother's face popped up in the rainbow, grinning wide.

“Hey, big guy!” Percy’s face echoed Tyson’s, smiling.

 

The two of them talked for almost an hour---Percy kept the mist going with his powers. Tyson was doing good; the forges had a new set of trainees. He had made a few friends among the students, who all loved Tyson, of course. 

He had also asked about how Percy was doing. Luckily, he hadn't seen the news footage. He might be seven feet tall,—nearing eight now—but Tyson was still his baby brother. He tried to keep him out of the bloody details. 

 

Percy told Tyson the basics—he was healing up, and had a friend watching over him. He had also spoken to all his friends—Clarisse said hello. After the Second Giant War, Clarisse and Percy had actually spent a lot of time together. Percy had stuck around camp for a while, and she was one of the only ones who didn't treat him like shattered glass. 

One day, when Percy was on a lunch date with Thalia and Grover, (“It's not the dam snackbar, but whatever.”) there were some campers being mean to Tyson, who was visiting for the week. Clarisse had stepped in and taken care of it quickly (and violently), and after that began to treat Tyson like her own little brother. 

 

They both really liked hitting stuff with big clubs. 

 

Tony was still standing in front of him, mug in hand. Percy gestured loosely for him to sit next to him. 

The billionaire did, plopping down on the cushion with a huff. “FRIDAY is still running scans for the shooter. All around the state.” Percy nodded slowly.

Despite the joking manner Tony had kept up the past few days, Percy knew the gala had really shaken him. Often, he would stop what he was doing, and wander over to where Percy was, just to put eyes on him.

To make sure he was still breathing. 

 

Gods, Percy wished he could just take some ambrosia, or even jump in a fish tank so he would all be healed. Every time Percy had his stitches checked, or winced when he moved his body a certain way, Tony would flinch, a flash of guilt crossing his face.

 

But Percy knew if it came down to it, he would jump in front of Tony again without question. 

 

“Spider-Man.” Percy said suddenly.

Tony turned to look at him, the question clear on his face. 

“You should talk to him more. I think it would go a long way.”

 

Tony shook his head. “He’s a good kid, Perce. I’d probably just mess him up.” He said bitterly. Percy shook his head adamantly. “You don't give yourself enough credit. Normally, I stand by the ‘don't meet your heroes’ saying, but this is an exception.” 

Tony huffed. 

Percy expected him to be hesitant. He knew what kind of man Howard Stark was, and the kind of impact that could leave on someone. It was no mystery he was so hesitant to be around kids. 

But then again, Percy was obligated, as Tony’s friend, to gently push him towards good decisions, and tell him when he made bad ones. 

And giving Spider-Man, a kid, a supersuit and then barely talking to him seemed a little too similar to giving a 12 year old earthshaking-waterbending powers and then sending a birthday card with only the words “brace yourself” 

(By the way, Percy never let his dad hear the end of that. Last he heard, Amphitrite and Kymolopeia had also taken to making fun of him for it.)

 

“Really, Tony. I know it would mean a lot.” 

The engineer gave him side-eye. “Psychic powers?”

Percy grinned. “Fury is an asshole, but a good teacher.” 

Tony snorted, but didn’t argue. 

 

Percy smiled victoriously. The Spider-Kid could use a few hand-to-hand pointers as well. Percy briefly contemplated giving him a knife. He had gotten a sword when he was 12---Spidey was a bit behind, but Percy was confident he could catch him up no problem. 

 

---

 

Tuesday, Sept. 13th.

9:32 AM

Wakanda, Africa

 

Bucky Barnes was guilty.

 

Shuri had hesitantly told him about Stark and the gala a few minutes ago as she worked on his metal arm. He had been pulled from cryo almost two months ago---and it had been steady therapy and the process of removing the trigger words since then. 

 

Shuri was probably one of the smartest people on earth, sure, but brains were tricky. Especially something like removing the trigger words—something they knew so little about. But until then, Bucky was doing alright.

 

If you didn't count the crippling guilt he felt every time someone mentioned the name Tony Stark, that is.

 

Siberia was all a blur of loud words and punches connecting;  he barely even remembered leaving. He certainly did not recall leaving Stark there on the cold concrete. 

 

When he first came out of cryo, Shuri had thought it would be a good idea to let him catch up on the news. He appreciated it, he hated feeling out of touch in the world. (Though, he suspected he’d always feel out of touch in her lab.) He had stumbled across the report of Stark being found in Siberia, purely by accident—and the ensuing panic attack had left him curled up against a wall for almost an hour before he felt like he could breathe again.

 

T’Challa had assured him that, contrary to the news report, Stark was alive and healing. He had seemed well the last time the king had seen him—like a weight had been lifted off his chest. Colonel Rhodes was good as well—he was walking . Which was good, Sam felt horrible about what happened at the airport. He still did. 

 

So when Shuri told him about the shooting, it felt like Bucky’s lungs deflated like a balloon.

 

“Is he alright?”

The princess nodded, still focused on his arm. “Yes. He wasn’t injured—a bodyguard of his was, though. A name hasn't been released, but the guy is alive.” 

Bucky nodded. “What happened?”

 

Shuri shrugged. “Nobody is quite sure. They didn't catch whoever did it.” She gently tugged on a wire, sending a weird tingle through Bucky’s shoulder. 

“Stark was up on stage, giving a speech. It was the Maria Stark Foundation, so he was the key speaker for the night.” 

 

It could have been Maria Stark herself if you hadn't killed her. 

 

Bucky squeezed his eyes tight.

 

“Almost as soon as he started, the shots went off. Three, I think. He would’ve been hit, too, but his guard tackled him to the ground. Took the hits for him.” 

 

Shuri walked over to a table, and grabbed a small screwdriver. She turned back to Bucky, and leaned close to his arm. He tilted it a little, and she hummed in thanks. She closed the open panel that had exposed the wiring.

 

“There you go.” 

 

Bucky pulled his sleeve back down. “Thanks.” 

 

Shuri smiled in return.

 

“The guard. What happened?” Bucky asked. (It was still a little weird; being able to ask questions when he wanted. But then again, so was getting meals and going outside when he felt like it.)

 

Shuri gave a small shrug. “The news didn't say much. He’s alive, stable. Got hit once in the leg, and once in the chest. Lung, I think. And maybe another time, in the side? No, stomach.”

 

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Damn.”

 

The princess snorted. “Yeah. Damn.” 

 

As Bucky walked back to his room, he passed Romanoff and Barton. The two hadn’t really tried to speak to him much---Steve was really the only one who sought him out. Which was fair enough. He knew for a fact he had tried to kill Wilson and Romanoff, but wouldn't be surprised if Barton and Maximoff were on that list as well. 

 

What brought him pause was what they were doing. They were sitting close together, leaning towards a computer. A video was open. Bucky could only see the bright chandelier at the top of the screen; their heads obscured everything else. And then, his ears, heightened from the serum, caught “—Stark?” 

 

After a moment of hesitation, he walked into the room. 

 

Romanoff was the first to notice him. She turned in his direction, an eyebrow raised. 

Now that he was closer, he could see that the video was, indeed, a stage with a podium in the middle. Tony Stark stood in front of the microphone, a wide smile on his face.

 

“You guys are talking about Stark?” Bucky said bluntly.

 

The two spies shared a look. One that Bucky recognized; an entire conversation passing in a second of eye contact. It was one him and Steve often shared. (But not anymore.)

 

They seemingly made a decision, and parted to let Bucky see the computer. “Watch this.” Barton hit the spacebar. 

The video started. Stark was walking onto stage, distantly trailed by a bodyguard in a suit. The man of the hour was waving and smiling at the applauding crowd. He leaned a little into the mic. “Welcome back, everyone!” So this was an annual event, then. “Nice to see you again. Well, not all of you, but what can you do about that?” The crowd laughed. Stark was quite good at this—playing the crowd just right. Already, Bucky could see how they were hanging onto his words.

 

“Well, I’m sure all you—” 

 

Bang.

 

Bang.

 

Bang.

 

It all happened so fast even his trained eyes almost missed it. Stark's bodyguard seemed to freeze, then lunged at the podium. He pulled Stark down, onto the hard floor of the stage. Bucky could see the bullets strike the man, see blood immediately start to spread. Someone screamed. 

Then the video cut off. 

 

Bucky turned to the two spies, a little disturbed. “Why are you watching this?”

Romanoff wound the video back. “Watch the guard. Closely.” 

Bucky kept his eyes glued to the corner of the screen, where the man stood. The footage was a bit blurry; Bucky couldn't make out much. He seemed average height and build, with dark hair and brown skin. Why were they having Bucky watch him? He was just doing his job—

 

Oh. 

 

Just a second before the shots, the guard was moving. He didn't lunge for Stark as the bullets went off, he was already moving when the noise was heard. Right before he moved, he tilted his head a little.

But if nobody had caught the shooter, that meant there was no way the guard saw them. So how did he know?

 

And when he moved, it was fast . He didn't hesitate at all—like he knew exactly what was going to happen. 

 

Romanoff took in his expression. “You see it, don't you?” 

Bucky nodded, slowly. “What do you think?”

Romanoff took in a breath. “The guard. He used to be SHIELD, level eight, with Clint and I. Agent Jackson.” 

 

Bucky’s brow furrowed. “Could he be a mutant of some sort? Maybe that’s how he knew.” The redhead shook her head. “Fury would’ve known. Nothing gets past him.” 

 

Except the fact that he was actually leading the organization he thought he fought against. Bucky held back an eye roll

 

“So, if not a mutant, then what?”

 

Barton frowned. “We don't know. The only possible way he would’ve known is if he was in on it—but then why jump in front of it? A change of heart? Unlikely. Jackson has nerves of steel, and Hydra isn't for the sympathetic.”

 

Romanoff shook her head. “He’s not Hydra. We are as sure as can be about that. But...if it wasn't Hydra? A third party, maybe? We weren’t sure why Jackson took the job to defend Stark; maybe he didn't. Maybe that's not the job.”

 

Her eyes flitted back to the screen. 

 

“He always did have authority issues.”

Notes:

Ok, quick history lesson. (its important i promise)

In Mycenaean Greece, which was the first Greek civilization, Poseidon was actually the Underworld God, in addition to being King of the Gods. (And still God of the Seas. He was in charge of a lot.)

Zeus’s name is Indo-European, but the name Poseidon (and the title ‘Earthshaker’) is in Mycenaean texts from a really long time ago.
He was so important because Greece has so much water around it. (The longest coastline in the Mediteranean, actually.) He also gave them horses, which they used to navigate the land.

Poseidon’s name pops up a lot more than Zeus’s in almost all Linear B texts.
It's actually really fascinating. I suggest you read the beginning of the Wikipedia Article on Poseidon---it talks a lot more about the Linear B tablets and the other names the gods had, along with more about Poseidon.
So with this information, I decided to have a different take on this. Where some of the Gods' domains actually shifted with the myths---so the Poseidon in this story actually was the god of the underworld for a while.

Thats why a lot of Percy’s various nicknames have a kinda consistent theme of death. (They also sound cool.)
Another fun fact: Greeks did not like to refer to Underworld Gods by their actual name. That’s why Persephone (who actually predates Hades) had so many other names. If you think about it, Poseidon has a bunch of other names as well.
And so does Percy!

Chapter 10: Nightmares, Cookies, And A Friendly Spider

Summary:

Percy has a Bad Time, Tony gets hooked on cookies, and Peter is vaguely scared

Notes:

Thanks to Black_VIctor_Cachat for Percy's nicknames, and to my friend Alex who beta'd this

???

???

???

 

It was so dark. Percy couldn't see anything, not even a flicker of light. Even worse, he couldn't feel a thing---no water, no life.

 

The only thing he could feel was icy dread creeping down his spine. Was something watching him? It felt like there were eyes on him, taking in every inch. 

 

Oh. It was cold, now. There was wind biting at his skin, thunder rolling under his feet. Where was he?

 

Then something was reaching out, towards him, trying to grab him and Percy couldn't move couldnt breath---

 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Wednesday, Sept. 16th.

2:21 AM.

Stark Tower, NY

 

Tony woke up to a wet stripe being licked across his face.

Mrs. O’Leary was on his bed, standing above him. “The hell?” Usually she stayed in Percy’s room all night. But now she seemed agitated, head flicking towards the door. She barked once, hopping off the bed. 

“Boss!” 

Tony cracked his other eye open. “What, Fri?” He groaned. 

“Mr. Jackson seems to be in distress. It would be beneficial if he received some assistance.” She paused. “As soon as possible.” 

 

That was all he needed to hear. 

 

Tony all but threw himself out of bed. He half stumbled, half ran down the hall to Percy’s door, Mrs. O’Leary hot on his heels. Not even bothering to knock, he yanked the door open. 

 

He had never been in Percy’s apartment before, Tony realized. While he couldn't see much in the dark, it was rather tidy. But Tony could admire interior decorating later---he could hear Percy’s shaky, uneven breathing from the doorway. 

 

Tony took a step into his room. Percy was curled up tightly on his side, sheets tangled around him. His face was scrunched up, eyes squeezed shut, like he was in pain. He was making panicked noises in his sleep, almost a whimper. 

 

And then he screamed. 

It was a gut-wrenching cry of pure terror---Tony had never heard anything like it. 

 

He reached out, gripping the mercenary's shoulders. “Percy!” He yelled. In his sleep, Percy was trying to fight him, to get away from Tony’s grip. The engineer felt a little guilt as he held on tighter. “Wake up! Everything is fine, you’re in Stark Tower.” 

Mrs. O’Leary jumped onto the foot on Percy’s bed, and was worryingly rubbing her nose in his hair.. 

“Percy, cmon. Wake up, bud.” He murmured. 

Eventually Percy stopped trying to wiggle away from him. Slowly, he relaxed, and opened his eyes to look at Tony. His pupils were constricted to dark pinpricks, and he was breathing like he had run a marathon. 

 

“S-sorry,” Percy murmured once he had caught his breath. He absently reached up to scratch Mrs. O’Leary, who was nosing at his hands expectantly. “I didn't mean to wake you up.”

Tony shook his head. “You didn't. Mrs. O’Leary came and got me up. Fri told me what was happening.”

Percy crossed his arms petulantly. “Snitch.” He muttered, shooting the ceiling a look.

“And you have nothing to be sorry for.”

 

Percy didn't respond. 

 

Tony sighed.

 

It was scarily reminiscent of that early August day in the lab, when Tony had his back against the table, hands around his own neck. That felt like a lifetime ago, now. 

 

“I...Do you want cookies?” Percy said suddenly. Tony raised a brow. Percy didn't really seem ready to talk about...whatever that was. He would no doubt welcome a distraction. 

Tony shrugged. “Sure.” 

 

Percy nodded and untangled his legs from his sheets, swinging them over the side of the bed. Mrs. O’Leary rushed to follow him to the small kitchen. The mercenary flicked on lights as he walked as Tony walked behind him. 

 

Percy didn't have much in the way of decorating. Most of the apartment kept the original greys and whites color scheme it had when it was built. He had a few books here and there---all in braille. On his window sills, a variety of plants sat. Strange, silvery flowers were in a neat row in a long planter box. Next to them was a clutter of pale yarrow. There was also a large ceramic pot, a ti plant inside. There were a few other ti plants around the apartment, Tony noticed. 

 

He slid into one of the seats at the island, and watched Percy mix the dough. His hands were shaking. Once, he paused in measuring the flour, closing his eyes tightly and pushing his palms into the edge of the counter. 

 

What could have caused something like that? He had never seen Percy this shaken. The only remotely close thing he could think of was when Councilman Graves talked to him about the gala---which Percy had explained to him after he was discharged. Apparently, he hadn’t asked anything except for how Percy was doing, and what he had been up to. 

 

Sketchy bastard. 

 

Percy placed the sheet pan in the oven, gnawing on the inside of his cheek. “About 10 minutes.”

“Cool.”

 

Jesus, this was awkward. 

Say something, idiot.
“Does that happen often?”

Not that!

 

Percy leaned against the counter, facing Tony. He was staring at the floorboards, though. 

“Not as often as it used to.” His voice was soft. 

Tony gave a slow nod. “Well, I mean, if you ever want to talk about it---not that you have to! I just…”

“Are here if I want to.” Percy finished. 

Tony nodded. “Yeah. That.” 

 

Percy didn't say anything after that. Which was totally fine, he could keep things to himself. Lord knows Tony did. It just seemed like it was weighing him down a little. 

 

Tony glanced at Percy. He had chewed on his lip so hard it was a bit bloody. 

 

Scratch that, it was weighing on him a lot. 

 

Tony thought back, again, to that summer day in the lab. He had never really told Percy what had set the whole thing off, and since Percy seemed to be pretty comfortable in his silence, he figured now was as good a time as any. 

 

“Sometimes,” Tony cleared his throat. “Sometimes I dream about Siberia. Rogers hit me with his shield, drove it right into my chest.” 

 

Percy looked up at this. And, oh, he looked livid.  

 

“Barnes seemed kinda out of it, honestly. But Rogers knew what he was doing. He knew what he was doing when he ripped the faceplate off my armor, when he shattered the arc reactor...when he just left me there in Siberia.” Tony licked his lips nervously. “Sometimes, when I’m asleep, he drives the shield clean through my heart.” 

 

Percy nodded slowly, but didn't reply. Because, honestly, what could you say to that? But Tony felt the weight lift off his chest---the pressure eased; almost like a vibranium disk had stopped pressing on his sternum. 

 

That night, him and Percy sat on his couch, sharing an entire pan of blue chocolate chip cookies. To Tony’s questioning gaze, Percy just shrugged. “They taste better that way.”

They were the best damn cookies Tony had ever had. 

 

Percy had put on Disney’s Hercules, and watched it with an odd smile on his face, illuminated by the screen. Eventually, Tony’s eyes began to droop shut. He leaned back against the couch, letting out a small breath. 

 

As he fell asleep, he could have sworn he heard Percy speak. 

 

“Do you ever get that feeling that something horrible is going to happen, but you can't do anything to stop it?”

 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Friday, Sept. 22nd.

3:02 PM.

Stark Tower, NY

 

Peter was so excited he was almost shaking.

 

Maybe that was the whole box of capri suns he had drank earlier, though. (Ned dared him to. It wasn’t his fault. (Aunt May didn't see it that way.))

 

Mr. Stark had called him (!) the day before, and asked if he wanted to come to the labs(!) and work on his suit(!). Peter had agreed so fast, he was pretty sure Mr. Stark hadn't even finished talking. 

 

Happy had picked him up from school and led him to the car. (It had tinted windows and a privacy partition, (that Happy immediately put up) and it made Peter feel fancy. Or like he was getting kidnapped by the mob.)

 

During the car ride, Peter finished off all his homework---him and Ned had done most of theirs at lunch, so it wasn't a hard task.

 

During the entire ride, Happy had not said a single word to him---or even turned on the radio, so Peter was quite thankful when they reached Stark Tower. “Thanks, Happy!” He called as he stepped into the elevator. Happy grunted.

 

“Welcome to Stark Tower, Mr. Parker.” Peter jumped, looking around wildly. “Hello?” He called. “My name is FRIDAY. I am the AI that runs the tower.” Peter blushed. “Oh. Sorry. Hi.” He had read about FRIDAY in a bunch of books---he really should have known it would be her. Honestly, he was alone in the elevator. Get it together, Parker.

 

“Floor 92, Mr. Parker. Boss is waiting for you in Lab 6.” She sounded distinctly amused. (Wow, Mr. Stark’s coding was as good as people said it was. Not that Peter ever doubted him, of course.)

Peter wandered slowly out of the elevator---it was extraordinarily fast. “Thanks, Ms. FRIDAY.” “Any time, Mr. Parker.” 

The vigilante walked until he saw a wide door marked ‘6’. Hesitantly, he knocked. “Mr. Stark?” He called. “Come on in!” A responding voice called.

 

Peter opened the door, then stopped in his tracks. The lab was just….. 

 

“Wow.” Peter gasped out. 

 

“I know, right?” 

 

Peter turned to look at Mr. Stark. He was leaning back in a spinning office chair, a blowtorch in hand. A pair of welding goggles were perched on his head, and his face had a long smudge of oil from temple to jaw.

“This is so cool Mr. Stark, thank you so much for inviting me here, I---” Peter rushed out. 

 

Mr. Stark laughed. “It’s nothing, kid. I...I figured I owed you.”

 

Peter tilted his head. For what? Mr. Stark had given him a multimillion dollar super suit ---and yeah, he had taken it away for a bit, but everything had worked out in the end---what could he possibly owe him for?

But Aunt May raised him to be polite,  and not question people when they gave him gifts. So Peter just thanked Mr. Stark again, and eagerly bounced up to him. 

 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Peter checked his watch. “Oh, shoot, Mr. Stark, I have to go. Aunt May wants me back before dinner, and I promised Ned I would finish the rest of the LEGO Death Star, because he dropped it because I accidentally scared him a while ago, and so I promised we would rebuild it, but he really didn't like doing this one part, so I said I would do it, so now---” 

 

Mr. Stark smiled. “Yeah, got it, kid. Happy will give you a ride home.”

 

“Oh, no, it’s fine. I can take the subway, it's not super far.”

 

Mr. Stark crossed his arms. “Not happening. It's getting late, I'm not having you go alone.” He tilted his head consideringly. “Well,” he began, “I could always send an armed escort. I know Jackson’s been itching to get out, a---” 

“No, no!” Peter rushed. “That's fine. I...I don't…”

Mr. Stark grinned. “Just kidding, kid.” He handed Peter his backpack. “He's still officially on bed rest---I wouldn't send Jackson.” Peter paled a little. 

 

As he walked down the hall to the elevator, Peter’s spidey sense went off like it never had before. Every hair on his body stood on end, a chill going down his spine. Peter turned his head, looking around. Nothing . 

 

The same thing had happened when he was at Delmars two weeks ago. Was his spidey sense faulty? Was that something that could even happen?

The whole elevator ride down, he was twitchy and nervous. “Is everything alright, Mr. Parker?” FRIDAY asked. Right, FRIDAY. If there was a threat in the building, she would know. Peter was just being ridiculous; he shouldn't put all his trust into a mysterious sixth sense that didn't even always work. 

 

He waited in the car for Happy, like Mr. Stark had told him. Then, it happened again. Peter full body shuddered, hunching in on himself. But still, there was nothing. Not unless the tissue box sitting in the center console was going to hold him at gunpoint, that was. 

 

He just needed to---oh. 

 

Distantly, he could hear the roar of a motorcycle. It was distinguished from the rest of the cars Peter could hear; this one was heading straight for the garage. The private garage that Mr. Stark used to store all his cars, and to get into the tower without being mobbed. 

 

Peter leaned a little towards the car window, watching. The motorcycle came to a stop about half a dozen parking spots away from Peter. A man swung his leg off the seat, putting the kickstand down. His spidey sense buzzed again.

 

Whatever it had been going on about was centered on whoever this guy was. 

 

The mysterious rider took his helmet off. 

 

He had dark hair and skin, a scar running up the corner of his jaw. There was also another one---it looked like a chemical burn, of which Peter was intimately aware of the effects---across the bridge of his nose, stretching to his temples. It was pale, stark against his deeply tanned skin. 

 

The man walked towards the elevator doors---Peter noticed there was a knife strapped to his leg. As he stepped onto the curb, the vigilante could have sworn that he looked right at him. 

 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thursday, Sept. 15th.

3:24 PM.

20 Ingram St., NY

Peter leaned back on his bed, back against the wall. MJ was sitting next to him, sketchpad open on her knee. Apparently, Peter looked like he was in crisis. 

 

Ned was sitting on his desk chair, his laptop open on the desk. He kept shooting Peter concerned looks behind his shoulder, brows pinched together. FInally, he broke the silence. 

 

“Peter, are you alright?”

 

Peter blinked. “What?”

 

MJ rolled her eyes. “You look like there’s a cat stuck in a tree that you can't reach, Peter.” She sketched a few more lines. “Not that I’m complaining.” 

 

Peter frowned. MJ nodded in approval. “Yeah. Just like that.”

 

Ned gave MJ a look, then turned to Peter. “But, like, is everything OK? I mean, you’ve been like this since you went to hang out with Mr. Stark, but you said you had a good time.” 

 

“I did. Mr. Stark is great! It’s just---” Peter crossed his arms. “When I was waiting in the car for Happy to take me home. My spidey sense went off, like, a lot.” 

 

MJ snorted. “Spider sense.” She muttered. 

 

Ned frowned at her. “Hey, it's a cool name!” 

 

“Yeah, it is! Anyways, I thought it was just, like, acting up, or something. But then this guy came into the garage on a motorcycle, and walked past me into the elevator. He had a knife, Ned!” 

Ned held a hand up. “Wait, wait. Like, Mr. Stark’s private garage? Don't you need clearance to get into that?”

Peter nodded vigorously. “A keycard, and Ms. FRIDAY scans your biometrics. If he wasn't allowed in, she would have done something.” 

 

MJ tilted her head up. “Did he say anything to you?”

Peter huffed. “No! He didn't even look at me---the car windows are really tinted. But when he walked by, it was so weird; my spidey sense hadn't gone off like that in forever. Like, somebody shoots at me, and it doesnt off like that.” 

 

MJ hummed in consideration, ignoring Ned’s “people shoot at you?!”

“He probably works for Stark. I mean, the Avengers split, but somebody has to keep doing their job.”

 

Peter nodded slowly. “Maybe. I mean, it's possible.” 

Ned hesitantly raised a hand like they were still in class. “Uh, I can try to find something on him.”

Peter whipped his head towards him. “What, like, who he is?”

Ned shrugged. “Maybe his name and stuff. I can't promise I’ll find anything, but...I can give it a go.”

 

Ned turned on his computer---it had fallen into sleep mode while they were talking. “Let's see.” He muttered. 

 

Eventually Peter grew tired of watching Ned’s back as he typed. He huffed and pulled out his biology textbook---MJ had been giving him looks the entire time. They had a decathlon meet in a few weeks, and Peter was their ‘biology guy’. Revising never hurt, anyways. 

 

Almost half an hour later, Ned sucked in a sharp breath. “Peter?” He called, eyes still glued to the screen. Cautiously, Peter stood, putting a pencil in his textbook to save his page. “What’s up?”

 

Ned pointed to his screen. “Is this the guy?”

 

Pictured was a man leaning against a wall; it was crumbling and filthy. Graffiti splattered it, but in a language Peter didn't understand. Ukranian, maybe? 

But it was undoubtedly the same man he had seen. The picture was fuzzy, and he wasn't facing the camera, but Peter could see the recognizable scar on his jaw, and it even looked like he had the same knife he had been carrying in the garage.

 

He was dressed casually, in black pants and a fleece lined jean jacket. A small tear ran across the collar of his shirt, almost like a claw mark. He was also, oddly enough, coated in a strange dust. It was an iridescent gold, across his shoulders and in his hair. A pen was in his hands---one of the cheap ballpoint pens you would find in the dollar section. 

 

“That's him, alright.” 

 

That didn't seem like a good thing to say---Ned paled drastically. “Oh.” was all he said. 

 

MJ looked up. Her elbow was resting on her sketchpad, and she was resting her chin on her palm.“What’s the problem?” 

 

Ned took in a breath. “Well,” he scrolled a bit, away from the picture. “This is the provided picture of him.” His eyes flitted to Peter. “Directly under a bounty for his head.” Peter’s eyes widened. What? Why did someone want him dead? What did he do?

 

“How much?” MJ was standing behind Ned now, leaning her folded arms on the back of the chair. 

 

“MJ!” Peter hissed. 

 

She shrugged unapologetically. 

 

“Uh,” Ned leaned to the side so they could see his computer. 

 

Woah. That was a lot of zeroes.

 

Ned nodded at their expressions. “That’s not it, either.” He scrolled a bit more. “Apparently, whoever this guy is---his real name isn't on here,---he’s some sort of mercenary for hire.” 

Peters brows shot to his hairline. “Seriously?” What was this guy doing around Stark Tower? 

 

“Maybe Stark or someone hired him to find the Rogue Avengers.” MJ suggested. Ned frowned a little. “I mean, maybe. But this guy? He’s, uh, kinda intense.” 

“How so?”

Ned cleared his throat. “Well, for starters, his name. Or, names. Dude has a bunch of them. None of them are, uh, nice-sounding.”

 

He clicked on something. ‘Here we go. He’s gone by Riptide a bit,” Well that didn't sound too bad. “But, most people call him Deathstroke.” 

 

Oh. 

 

“That's nice.” 

 

Ned glanced at Peter again. “That's not even all of it. Apparently it's a sort of reference to these really old comics. But the character where the name is from---he’s like, impossible to kill. He has a few others, too. The Grim ---like Harry Potter? Wherever he goes, this giant black dog follows. And the whole, ‘omen of death’, thing too. Then there's...The Ghost King. Apparently the guy is like a freaking ghost, too. He just shows up and disappears after, and nobody can find him. He’s never been caught, either.”

 

“Ho-ly shit .” MJ said flatly. 

 

“He’s all over the place, as well. There isn't really a pattern to where he takes jobs. He does seem to consistently take jobs on like, abusers and rapists and stuff, which,” he shrugged. “Is good, I guess? And weapons---what the hell---this guy carries around two giant swords. There's accounts of him using daggers, hunting and throwing knives, a variety of guns, a shield , batons and stuff, and---” Ned cut off. “Dear God. A garrote?!” 

 

Peter was growing progressively paler the entire time Ned spoke. 

 

“Oh,” the hacker hummed, “and nobody is really sure exactly what he looks like. Sometimes people say he has like, red eyes, like the devil, or he wears some sort of war paint, or he has...white hair?” Ned squinted at the screen. “Probably all just people exaggerating. I mean, c'mon. ‘ He took out an entire warehouse full of guys---in the dark . It was crazy, like he knew exactly where they were gonna be or something.’” Ned read aloud. 

 

Peter leaned against his desk. “Wow.”

“Wow.” Ned and MJ both agreed, eyes a little wide. 

“Oh, and the reason that nobody can confirm what he looks like is because all the stories are so different. And people who see him usually don't survive.” Ned added. “This is the first picture, like, ever. And even then, it’s not very clear.”

 

Peter blinked, speechless. Why the hell would anyone willingly associate with this guy? Was hiring him really worth the risk? If him just walking by set off Peter’s spidey sense that much, then God knows what else he could do. 

 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thursday, Sept. 15th.

3:46 PM.

Stark Tower, NY

 

Percy was wearing shark pajamas. Where did he get those? There was a little hood that made it look like he was inside the shark’s mouth. And,---oh, look, Mrs. O’Leary had matching ones. 

 

What the fuck. 

 

Tony stared at the mercenary for a moment. He was standing in the kitchen, next to the oven. (Tony had been lured out by the scent of cookies. Honestly, what was in them? Tony swore by the fact that they were addicting.) FRIDAY was playing music from the ceiling (was that Justin Timberlake??????) as Percy was dancing with Mrs. O’Leary, who’s paws were on his shoulder. 

 

She was a really good dancer, actually. 

 

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. You know what? He wasn't going to ask.

 

He joined the two of them in the kitchen, fighting a smile.

Notes:

So, the plants in Percy’s apartment. The silver flowers are moonlace. Yarrow because it's sacred to Hestia, (originally I wanted some plants sacred to Poseidon, but apparently those are pine trees and wild celery. so.)
And lastly, ti plants. In Hawaiian legends, they are said to ward off the Nightmarchers, which are deadly ghosts of ancient Hawiian warriors.
The articles I read on them were really cool! You guys should check some of them out:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nightmarchers
Also, if I got anything wrong, please tell me!

Chapter 11: A Proposal In The Park

Summary:

Percy and Tony both have some Big Thinking to do

Notes:

you guys can thank Black_Victor_Cachat for help with the spicy take on annabeth.
also thanks to my bro alex for suffering through me ranting about this entire chapter

also: i have some Stuff coming up in my life, i might not be able to update as often as i have been. ill try my best, though.

this chapter is a bit short, tbh. sorry. its the only place i could cut if off without seeming weird.

Friday, Sept. 25th.

4:04 AM.

Stark Tower, NY

 

Percy always had weird dreams. And they got worse as he got older.

 

Even when he was a kid. He didn't know it then, but it was an early version of Traumatic Prophetic Dreams™. Small things, but significant enough to be unsettling. Percy knew stuff he shouldn't; that there was going to be a pop quiz, Jenny Riccardi was going to sprain her wrist during recess, Gabe was mad and he should avoid being home that day---easy stuff. It wasn't even that helpful, either. The pop quiz was first period so he didn't have time to study, Jenny Riccardi was a year above him and didn't have the same lunch, and Gabe was always mad about something. 

 

After Mrs. Dodds, they just got stranger. Symbolic animals fighting, his best friend in a wedding dress, his cousin---who, at the time, was a tree…

 

But now? When he didn't have nightmares, his dreams were pretty normal. Oh, they would be the weirdest thing to anyone else, but for him it was routine. 

 

“So, Seaweed brain,” Annabeth was sitting crisscrossed in a patch of sunny grass, her blonde hair tied back in a loose ponytail. “Did you find anything on the guy?”

 

Percy shrugged a little. “We’re getting closer. He was definitely Hydra.”

“I hate that name.” She muttered. “Their logo is an octopus! How stupid can you get?” She pointed at him with the pen she was holding. 

“The real question is, why didn't he keep shooting? I mean, I love you and all, but if I was him? If I had been paid to kill Tony Stark, but didnt hit him at first? I’d make sure I did. It makes no sense why he just ran off like that.” 

Percy sighed. “Yeah, we don’t know that either. It's weird as shit.” 

Annabeth echoed his sigh. 

 

 

 

“And the Spider-Kid?”

Percy smiled. “Not that spider-y. Thank the Gods.” Annabeth relaxed a little. “I didn't talk to him, but from what Tony said, he’s a good kid. Hella polite.” 

“Someone you could learn from, then?”

Percy gave her a light shove. “Hey. I’m...polite enough.”

The eyeroll he got was one of the most exasperated he had ever seen. “Percy, you told Ares to suck your ass.”

“I stand by that.”

“We all do. You still shouln't have said it.”

 

Percy crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. “You had me deliver a letter to Hera listing why she was ‘the worst’.”

Annabeth looked down, biting her lip to stop from smiling. 

“Annabeth. It was 5 pages long.” Her shoulders shook. “ Double sided , Annie.”

 

Annabeth broke down into laughter. After a second, he laughed too. 

 

…

 

Later, Annabeth turned to look at him. “You know what you should do?”

“Wise Girl, I swear if you say---”

“Find Fury. You could take him.” 

“I---for the last time, no! Why in Hades’ name would I do that?”

“He’s a dick! C’mon, Percy. It’s not like I can do it myself.” She huffed.

“The “oh pity me, I'm dead” schtick doesn't work anymore.”

 

Annabeth jutted out her chin stubbornly. “He’s legally dead! He can't even press charges!” 

Percy rolled his eyes. 

“If you just---” Annabeth’s watch caught her eye. She swore in Ancient Greek.

“Sorry, Seaweed brain. I gotta go, Silena said she needed help with her new balcony, and---”

Percy nodded. “Yeah, I should probably go too. We’re still working on that case, and Hazel and Nico are getting impatient. They don't really seem to understand the whole ‘we need evidence’ thing” Annabeth laughed, kissed him on the cheek, and then turned and jogged off.

 

Percy tilted his face up, soaking up the sun. How the Underworld got sunshine, he never knew. 

 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Friday, Sept. 25th.

6:00 AM.

Stark Tower, NY

 

He opened his eyes. 

 

“Good morning, Mr. Jackson!” FRIDAY said from above. Percy kicked his feet out from the covers. Mrs. O’Leary opened an eye and jumped up when she saw he was awake. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered at her wagging tail “give me a minute. Morning, Fri.”

 

Percy got dressed and brushed his teeth, then pulled on a pair of joggers and a tank top, listening to FRIDAY tell him the weather as he did. As he tied his shoes, Mrs. O’Leary bounded up to him, harness hanging from her mouth. “Good dog.” He ruffled the hair on top of her head. 

 

The two of them took the elevator down, and went out the garage entrance so nobody would see them. FRIDAY was right, as always; it was a nice day, a bit cooler than the last week they had. Putting a hand above his eyes, Percy tilted his head up to the sky. The sun was rising, just peeking over the trees. The demigod gave Apollo a small wave, then started off on a light jog down the sidewalk. 

 

Mrs. O’Leary ran happily next to him, tongue lolling out the side of her mouth. As the two of them rounded the block, Percy allowed his mind to what Annabeth said. Not the fighting Nick Fury part---she had been pushing that agenda for a while, even since before he quit. But what she had told him about the rest.

 

Silena and Beckendorf were adding another room and balcony to their house, and asked Annabeth if she could design it. Bianca and Zoe had been teaching archery with Lee Fletcher and Michael Yew. Ethan Nakamura and Castor were becoming really good friends, to Annabeth’s surprise. 

Percy supposed when you lived in eternal happiness, you could only stay mad at someone for so long. 

 

Talking to her... hurt at first. When Annabeth had first died, it was like a piece of his own heart was carved out. He didn't think he would ever be the same. 

 

And the first time he had spoken to Annabeth in his dreams, she had agreed. But, she stressed, that didn't have to be a bad thing. He wasn't the same person he was before Poseidon claimed him, either. And it was all for the better.  

 

Ever since then, the two had spoken pretty consistently. Percy complained about his coworkers, she told him to start stabbing them. (Apparently, her impulse control had died with her.) She updated him on their fallen friends, and he passed on messages from her to the ones still alive. He told her about what was going on in the Overworld, and updated her on her favorite TV show. In exchange, she told him about all the legendary heroes of old she beat up on the regular, and how she went to go play ball with Cerberus. 

 

Much to Hades’ annoyance, nobody could stop them from talking. Annabeth theorized that this was because when he bathed in the Styx, Percy made her his tether to the mortal world---something that went both ways. Percy had shrugged and said “Or maybe we’re just that cool.” 

 

In response, she had hit him. (lovingly.)

 

It was unconventional, sure. He wasn't denying that. 

 

(The spirits in Elysium loved it, though, because eternal happiness had one downside---there wasn't really any good gossip. (They went wild when Annabeth told them how Marcus from Legal made out from Ellias from R&D in one of the supply closets.))

 

But it worked. When it first started, Annabeth had made him promise to move on. That he would live a full life; one not hung up on her. It had hurt at the time, but he had agreed. 

 

The funniest thing was when he offhandedly mentioned it, though. Something like, “Oh. Yeah, sometimes I see my dead girlfriend's spirit in dreams.” 

 

(Clint had never looked at him the same.)

 

So, yeah. His dead girlfriend now peer pressured him with a bunch of ghosts to let Estelle dye his hair in the middle of the night. 

 

And the sad thing? 

 

It wasn't even the weirdest thing that had happened to him.

 

Percy and Mrs. O’Leary kept a steady pace now, running through Central Park. He always avoided the large maple tree in the middle of one of the paths---he didn't need to tempt fate. It would be just his luck that the Titan would burst out, this time even more angrier---if that was even possible. 

He was passing a small pond when Mrs. O’Leary stopped like she had run into an invisible wall. “Lea?” Percy asked, turning to look at her. She was growling, lips pulled back into a snarl.

 

Percy’s hand slowly slid to his pocket, where Riptide sat. But, he couldn't feel anything weird. Just people jogging, a few kids riding bikes, a group playing frisbee, a man sitting on a bench, two women walking their dog----

 

A man sitting on the bench. 

 

Percy held back a groan, taking his hand out of his pocket. He knew that man. 

 

Percy walked further down the path, Mrs. O’Leary following him, disgruntled. He plopped down on the bench, a vaguely pissed off expression on his face. “Nicky.” He said flatly. 

 

The ex-director raised a brow. “I see you’ve been spending time with Stark.”

“Like you didn't know.” The demigod huffed. “Cut the shit. I’m not here for small talk. What do you want?” 

 

Fury pulled a file out of his coat. And seriously, did he just keep them there all day? How many were there?

 

He handed it to Percy. “Read it.”

 

Percy looked down at the folder. What the hell did he do now? He sure as Hades didn't spend years successfully hiding his vision problems for Fury to find out now. But, how could he refuse without seeming suspicious? He---

 

Percy could almost hear Annabeth’s voice yelling He’s not your boss! You don't owe him shit!

 

“No.” 

 

Fury looked a little stunned. “What?”

 

“No. Do you want me to say it in Spanish? No. ”

 

Fury stared at him for a while, blinking. “Why not?”

Percy shrugged. “Teenage rebellion.”
“You’re 25.” 

Percy shrugged again, like what can you do about it?

 

Fury sighed tiredly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Jackson…” Percy didn't even try to hide the smile. 

 

He quickly sobered when Fury turned to look at him. “SHIELD had its problems. Nobody knew that better than you.”

“And nobody ignored them better than you.” 

Percy could feel Fury’s blood pressure rise.

 

Nonetheless, the man took a slow, deep breath. “SHIELD has fallen. But something new needs to rise in its place. Something better.” Percy’s eyebrows shot to his hairline. 

“What?”

“You were always a leader, Jackson.”

Percy put both his hands up. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow the Hades down. What? ”

 

“The world depended on SHIELD. But SHIELD couldn't handle it. So, it’s up to us to make something that can.”

“And by us, you mean me? ” Percy asked incredulously. “You want me to, what, start up a brand new spy network? Are you insane?”

 

Fury let a small smile appear on his face. “I’ve been called worse. And you have all you need.”

Percy and Mrs. O’Leary shared a ‘what the hell is he on’ look.

Fury rolled his eyes. Er, eye. “When SHIELD dissolved and the files were dumped, Stark hired a bunch of ex-agents. People who he has earned the loyalty of.”

 

Percy ran a hand through his hair. It was ridiculous, it really was. But a small, strategic part of his mind whispered ‘ is it? Is it really?

Percy knew the Avengers, or something like it, would eventually form or reform. Different people, maybe, but the same idea. 

 

But until then? Something like SHIELD, but less Nazi, would be unbelivably helpful. Especially with taking down Hydra. 

Especially for keeping his friend safe. 

 

Not even just Tony, actually. Hydra went after mutants whenever they could---Spider-man was at high risk. Pepper and Rhodey and Happy as well; for their close relations to Tony among other things. 

 

Fury just sat back, looking satisfied. For all Tony’s jokes about his mind-reading...There really was some merit there.

“You get it, don't you?” 

Percy sounded unhappy about the fact when he responded. “Yeah. I do.”

“Not another SHIELD. The world doesn't need a shield anymore.”

“But why me? Why not Hill, or Coulson, or even Barton or Romanoff?”

 

Fury didn't even blink at the fact that Percy knew Coulson was alive. “Coulson is ‘dead’, and won't be leaving his team anytime soon. Hill is good, but she needs someone to depend on. That would be you.” 

Almost desperately, Percy asked, “Barton and Romanoff? Blake, Morse, Hand?”

 

Fury shook his head. “Blake, Morse, and Hand aren't leader material. You know that. Stark doesn't trust them like he does you.” 

“And I’m not going to abuse that trust, Nick!” Percy snapped.

Fury raised a brow. Patiently, he said “I’m not asking you to. I said something better than SHIELD, not a photocopy. I always did think someone like Tony Stark was exactly what we needed.”

 

Percy was silent for a minute, stunned. (A hard feat, these days.)

 

“Besides,” Fury added. “Romanoff and Barton?” He gestured around them, in the direction of Stark Tower. “Do you see Barton or Romanoff here? Out of all of them, who stuck around?” Fury stood smoothly. “It's up to you. I’m retired.”

 

Percy closed his eyes, feeling Fury leave. Out loud, he muttered, “Remember when I retired? Just ended up switching demigod shit to alien shit.” Mrs. O’Leary whined in response. “Yeah.” The demigod sighed. He had some thinking to do. 

 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Friday, Sept. 25th.

10:32 AM.

Stark Tower, NY

 

Percy wasn't the only one with some serious consideration to do. 

 

Tony Stark sat at the dining table, computer in front of him. On the hi-def screen, a paused video sat. Ever since he had watched the old suit footage when Percy was in the hospital, something had been weighing heavy on his mind. 

 

The Avengers. 

The footage had reminded him of it all. There were bumps and kinks along the way, but in the end, they were one of the, if not the most, effective fighting forces in history. 

 

The Accords proved their undoing. 

 

But...what if the Accords were different? Technically, they weren't even passed yet. The ones they had been handed were a rough draft---passing legislation like that took forever. 

 

And if anyone could get them amended...it was Tony Stark.

Notes:

me, writing all ~3,000 words of this at 2am: i am burdened with glorious purpose

percy and tony's character arcs are beginning!

what do you guys think about the whole annabeth thing? i dislike how popular the trope of just, killing her off is, and i really like annabeth....so this was the outcome. i just love the two of them being friends. the idea of annabeth popping up in his dreams and telling him to start flipping tables the next time he goes to work is incredibly funny to me.

if any of yall caught the teen wolf reference: <3 <3 <3

Chapter 12: A Conversation With Deathstroke

Summary:

Some good peter and percy!
also, the shooter investigation finally picks up a bit

Notes:

thanks to my friend alex for sifting through the shit i wrote at like 2am, and black_victor_cachat for MORE ideas

CHAPTER 11: 

???

???

???

 

It will be easier if you just submit, child. 

 

Give in. You know it would be simpler.

 

You are tired. You want to rest. 

 

Yes...so, very tired.

 

---

 

Sunday, Sept. 27th.

4:05 AM.

Stark Tower, NY

 

Percy woke up with a gasp. For the first time in forever, he felt like he was drowning. 

 

“Mr. Jackson, are you alright?” FRIDAY’s voice was quiet, concerned. 

“Yeah,” Percy breathed out, “just---just, gimme a minute.”

 

He brought his knees up to his chest and squeezed his eyes shut. He had been having dreams like that for almost three weeks---around since the gala ended. He never remembered them---they just left him with a crushing feeling of pure hopelessness and dread. It was almost like the day he saw Tartarus himself. Well, not really ‘saw’---his vision wasnt working at all at that point. But he could feel Tartarus’s size, the pure incomprehensible features that made up his body.

 

But somehow, this was a little different. 

 

He needed something to distract him. Something…

 

Percy felt around the room a bit. He could sense the weight of something on the side table. Most of it was fairly light---there was also something living. Not an animal. A plant? He focused on it a little harder. Flowers, actually. A bouquet of them, tied together. 

 

From his stay in the hospital, he distantly noted. He had gone through the cards rather quickly. They were all written in pen; recently, too, which he appreciated. He could feel the fresh ink, and didn't have to ask FRIDAY to read most of them to him. 

 

As he walked towards the table, he realized he must have left one at the bottom of the pile. Percy reached out and picked it up. It was written in pencil, which was strange. Everyone who knew Percy well enough to send him a card wouldn't write it in pencil. Cautiously, he called out to FRIDAY. “Hey, Fri? Who is this from?” He held out the card so she could see it.

 

“A ‘Nora Rider’, Mr. Jackson.”

 

What? Percy frowned. He didn't know anyone named---

 

Nora Rider. NR. Natasha Romanoff. 

It was the alias she used on their op in Korea together---in what seemed like a lifetime ago. How the hell did she send him a postcard? The Rogues were still in Wakanda.

(Yeah, Percy didn't doubt for a second that Tony didn't know where they were. His suspicions were confirmed a few weeks ago when the billionaire mentioned it. Tony knew. He just didn't give a shit. He was pretty much done with Steve Rodgers. (Which, good for him.))

 

Forget how, why would she send him a card? It's not like they were close. 

He tested a bit---there was nothing hazardous in the envelope. Nothing smelled off---the only thing he could smell was himself, along with the various other substances it had been in contact with; cardboard, a mailbag, the antiseptic smell of the hospital that still lingered. From what he could feel, with his hands and powers, it was just...normal. A card. 

 

Cautiously, he opened it. “Fri,” he asked, “could you read this for me?” He set the card on the top of the dresser. FRIDAY processed for a second. Then, she spoke. 

“Jackson,

We saw the news. Clint is worried. You better be alright. 

 

Some of the others want to talk. 

 

If you feel the same, there's a return address on the back.”

 

Percy let the AI’s words wash over him. “Is that it?”

“There is, indeed, a return address on the back. Would you like to hear that?” 

“No, that's fine.” 

 

Percy left the card on the dresser. 

 

He...he would talk to Tony about it later. Telling him would complicate things, sure, but if there was one thing Percy wouldn't lie to Tony about? It was this. Even the thought of talking to the Rogues behind his back made Percy feel guilty. 

 

(He felt like he was already hiding enough from his friend.) 

 

He would talk to him tonight, probably. The Spider-Kid was coming over again today, to Percy’s satisfaction. Tony seemed to like the kid, he really did. Percy knew the kid was hella smart, and while he tried his best, Percy wasn’t really into engineering like Tony was. Percy wasn’t a complete idiot when it came to sciences, to most people's disbelief. He had a knack for chemistry, was a natural in marine biology, and had skipped a year or two in math in middle school.

 

But still, he was no genius. He knew Tony felt a bit alone in the labs.

 

Although Banner didn't abandon Tony like the rest of the Avengers, he still left. And when Spidey was in the lab, Percy knew he helped fill the void a little.

 

He was glad he pushed Tony to actually talk to his damn kid. (He gave the kid an Instant Kill mode. Honestly. Why?)

 

It was still early in the morning---Percy didn't usually go out for his run for almost two hours. 

There was something else on the table. 

 

Percy picked it up, and slowly sat down on the edge of his bed. “FRIDAY?” He called, “Mind reading something else for me?”

 

He cracked open the file Fury gave him.

...It was at least worth looking into. 

 

---

 

Sunday, Sept. 27th.

11:24 AM.

Stark Tower, NY

 

Peter sat in the labs of Stark Tower once again, leaning over a table. Mr. Stark was working on an Iron Man gauntlet, doing...actually, Peter wasn't quite sure what he was doing. But he wasn't a nosy person, (Well, nosy about legal things.) so he didn't ask. 

 

The two had been talking a bit as they worked. Peter asked rapid questions about FRIDAY, the tower, the arc reactor, the new medical scanner SI was working on, and almost everything else he could think of.

Mr. Stark answered his questions with a faintly amused smile, patient as Peter rambled. He in turn asked Peter not just about his Spider-Manning, but also how his Aunt was doing, how he was doing in classes, even how Ned was. (Well, Mr. Stark called him Ted, but Peter had a feeling that was on purpose.)

 

It was...oddly nice.

 

The steady rhythm was broken when Mr. Stark’s phone rang. 

“Hey, Pep. What's going--- What? You’re shitting me. Dammit.” 

He lowered the phone to his chest for a second, then turned to Peter. “Small emergency. Nothing major, nobody dead. I do have to go real quick; you can stay here. Fri will be here if you need anything.” Mr. Stark turned and made a beeline to the door. “Don’t blow anything up!” He called behind him as he left.

 

Peter blinked a few times, startled, staring at Mr. Stark’s retreating back. 

 

“Uhm….”

 

What just happened?

 

“You are free to continue your work, Mr. Parker.” Ms. FRIDAY said from above. Peter tilted his head up to the ceiling. “Are you sure?” “Positive.”

 

Peter shrugged a little, but returned to his web shooters nonetheless. He worked in silence for a bit, intensely working on a new web solution. He was pulled from his concentration by a knock on the door. Peter turned to the entrance, eyes wide behind his safety goggles, still holding a beaker. Mr. Stark wouldn't knock, would he?

 

“Tony!” A voice called out. 

 

Nope. Not Mr. Stark. 

 

FRIDAY seemed to sense his panic. “Nothing to worry about, Mr. Parker. It's just Mr. Jackson looking for Boss.” Peter nodded slowly, but still kept his eyes on the door. Jackson? Who was that? His spidey sense wasn't going off…

 

“Oh, uh,” Peter’s voice cracked a little, and he winced. “He left. He got a call; from Ms. Potts, I think.”

 

“Damn,” the voice got a bit closer. “I needed to---”

 

A man walked into Peter’s view.

 

Oh no. Oh no no no no no no . 

 

Deathstroke himself stood in front of him, hands stuffed in his hoodie pocket. He got a clear view of the man’s face now. He had a sharp jaw and high cheekbones, dark brows, and a smattering of freckles across his bridge. He also had the most piercing green eyes Peter had ever seen.

 

Ned’s words hit him like a train.

“Oh, and the reason that nobody can confirm what he looks like is because all the stories are so different.”

Deathstroke was raising an eyebrow at him. Peter could see the scar on his jaw clearer now, along with the one across his eyes and temples. It looked like it must've hurt.

“And people who see him usually don't survive.”

 

“Hey, kid. Are you alright?” The super deadly unkillable mercenary asked.

 

“I-Well, I mean-Good? Yeah. I’m fine. Why do you ask?” It took Peter an embarrassingly long time to find his voice. 

 

Deathstroke just nodded. “Er, OK.”

 

Peter stared. The man didn't look super scary now---he was wearing bright purple socks with cartoon turtles on them. But then again, Peter wore shirts with corny science puns, and could bench a bus. 

 

“Do you know when Tony will be back?” The mercenary ventured slowly. 

 

“Uh, no. He said it wouldn't be too long.” Please hurry, Mr. Stark. 

 

Deathstroke nodded. “You mind if I wait here for a bit?”

 

Yes! Yes, yes, yes, yes, yesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyes “No.”

Dammit, Parker. 

 

The man shot him a surprisingly friendly smile, and plopped down on the chair Mr. Stark had been sitting in. “So,” he said lightly, “Spider-Man?”

 

Peter almost dropped the beaker. “Uhm.” 

 

“I don't know your actual name. Is that what I should call you?”

 

He...he didn't know? Wasn't he like, some sort of superspy? Peter's confusion must have shown on his face, because Deathstroke laughed a little. (It was a nice laugh, which was weird. Didn't  sound evil.) 

“I didn’t poke around your business, kid. Figured if you wanted to tell me your name, you would.”

“Oh.” Peter turned his head to the side a little, considering. 

Mr. Stark clearly trusted him. Peter could tell---FRIDAY had introduced Deathstroke as Jackson . A pretty normal name, actually. Peter was a little disappointed. But specifically, she had told him not to worry. And Mr. Stark had also joked about sending him to make sure Peter had gotten home alright. Now, Peter knew he was not Mr. Stark's top priority, but he liked to think that the superhero would at least send someone he trusts. 

 

Leap of faith time.

 

“My name is Peter. Peter Parker.”

The mercenary paused for a second, then held out a hand. “You can call me Percy.”

Peter shook his hand. Deathstroke's--or Percy’s hand was rough and calloused, a scar stretching across the back of his palm. His grip was firm, and his skin warm in contrast to Peter’s. (Something Peter had noted; since the Bite, his own skin had almost always been cold.)

 

“Nice to meet you.” Peter said politely. Ned was going to lose his mind. Peter was shaking hands with Deathstroke. 

“You too.” Percy smiled. (Were people’s teeth usually that sharp?)

 

A few minutes later, Percy sat back in the chair, spinning lazily as they waited for Mr. Stark to come back. Peter kept glancing at him out of the corner of his eye, anxious. He had been silent since his introduction, instead staring at the ceiling while Peter worked. 

 

Peter desperately wanted to fill the silence. He knew that he should avoid talking to the man---even if he didn't set off his spider sense. (Said sense had been very unreliable lately.) But...Percy seemed friendly. He had given Peter his name---something very few other people had. That had to imply a little bit of trust, right?

 

But what to say? ‘So, how many people have you killed?’ didn't really seem like a good place to start. Maybe the mercenary liked Star Wars? That would be easy to talk about. ...But what if he didn't? That would be awkward. Hm. Something everyone liked…

 

Oh!

 

“Do you like dogs?” 

 

Percy blinked. “What?”

 

Too late to go back now. “Dogs. Do you like dogs?”

 

The mercenary stared at him for a moment longer. Peter almost shrunk back, and opened his mouth to apologize.

But before he could, Percy’s face split into a wide grin. “Yeah. I have one. Want to meet her?”

Peter gasped excitedly. “Do I?” He exclaimed. 

 

(He could almost feel MJ hitting him with a hardback book, yelling Do not talk to random mercenaries! The ‘do you want to see my dog’ is a great way to get yourself thrown in the back of a white van! )

 

Percy smiled, and turned towards the door. He let out a loud, high pitched whistle.

 

A dog bounded into the room. Peter’s eyes lit up. 

 

You see, Peter Parker loved many things. Science, his friends, Aunt May, Star Wars...but one thing he really loved? Dogs. The bigger the better. 

And this dog? Peter was fairly sure this was the biggest dog he had ever seen. Including that St. Bernard he met in the park last month. 

 

The dog was big, going up to his ribs, her head even taller than that. She had a thick, black coat, and a green collar. “This is Mrs. O’Leary.” Percy introduced proudly. 

 

“Can I pet her?” Peter was standing now, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“She likes scratches behind the ears.” Percy suggested. 

 

Peter rushed forward, immediately enveloping the dog in a hug. (Or, well, tried. She was really big.) Mrs. O’Leary seemed really happy to see him as well. Her tail was wagging as she planted big kisses across Peter’s face. 

The teenager couldn't help it---he laughed. 

 

He spent a few minutes petting Mrs. O’Leary happily. She really did like scratches behind the ear. As he did, he spoke to Percy.

 

“I really like dogs. Like, the bigger and fluffier the better. She’s such a good girl! Reminds me of this one dog I met on the sidewalk a while ago---he was a Great Dane, and his name was Tadpole. I think of him every day. I would die for Tadpole without question. I was trying to tell my friend Ned about him the other day, but my teacher yelled at me! I had already finished all the work, and I tried to tell her that, but she didn't believe me! Even after I showed her, she told me to stop talking to Ned. So I just sent him the pictures I took of Tadpole instead, but it was still really mean.”

 

A small smile crossed Percy’s face. “Yeah, I’ve had my share of mean teachers. I got in big trouble once when I was 12 for calling my English teacher an old sot.” Peter looked up, startled. “What happened?” Percy shrugged. “He didn't seem to grasp the concept of dyslexia. I can't even tell you how many times he told me to ‘just read’ .” 

 

“Wow. What a jerk. Did you get suspended?”

 

“Expelled, actually.” 

 

“That's so unfair!” Peter protested. “You didn't even swear at him!”

 

Percy gave him a crooked grin. “Not in any languages he knew.”

 

This brought a startled laugh out of Peter.

So...maybe Deathstroke wasn't as scary as his name made him out to be. 

Peter knew Mr. Stark had slaughtered an entire terrorist organization---but he also talked to Dum-E like he was his baby. 

Dum-E was actually really cool. Peter planned on teaching him to play fetch. But with what? A stick? Or maybe he could get some kind of dodgeball? A soccer ball? What if he---

 

Peter was pulled out of his musings by his stomach rumbling. The tips of his ears turned pink. “Sorry, I forgot to pack a lunch.”

 

Percy frowned. “Don't you have an enhanced metabolism?” Peter’s eyes widened. “How did you know that?” He didn't think he had even told Mr. Stark that. Percy shrugged. “All that power has to come from somewhere. It makes sense.” 

 

He pat his leg twice and Mrs. O’Leary stood up. Peter stood with her, a hand still scratching her head. 

“C’mon, kid. There's food upstairs.”

Peter cast a hesitant glance around the lab. “Mr. Stark told me to stay here.”

Percy looked at the ceiling. “Fri, could you tell Tony I’m stealing his intern to feed him?”

“Sure thing, Mr. Jackson.” The AI responded, amused. “I’ll be sure to tell Boss about his enhanced metabolism, as well.” 

“You really don't need to! I’m fine, honest.” Peter tried.

Percy rolled his eyes. “Tony could afford to buy Canada. He can afford to feed you.”

“Boss says to not corrupt his intern. And that you better save some cookies for him.”

Percy grinned. “Thanks, Fri. Love you!”

“The sentiment is appreciated, Mr. Jackson.”

 

Mrs. O’Leary tugged on the edge of Peter’s hoodie, lightly pulling him to the elevator. It wasn't until the doors closed (and wow, he should be a bit more concerned with being in a small, enclosed space with one of the world's best mercenaries) that it hit him. “Wait. Intern?”

 

Percy shrugged. “It’s your official title. You need clearance somehow.” 

 

“Oh.”

 

The elevator took them to the common room floor FRIDAY had told Peter about. He could see a lounge and a big TV, as well as a large kitchen and dining room. Percy, with Mrs. O’Leary dragging Peter along, walked towards the kitchen island. 

 

The mercenary opened a cabinet and pulled out a large tupperware with a blue lid. Inside, in neat stacks, a batch of what looked like blue chocolate chip cookies sat. Percy pulled open the lid, and tilted the container towards Peter, who hesitated. “Why are they blue?”

Percy just shrugged. “Tastes better.”

...Alright. 

Peter cautiously took one. 

Percy sat across from him, fingers drumming idly on the counter top. “So, Peter. Tell me a bit about yourself.”

 

Peter hummed, turning his head. “Well, I live with my aunt in Queens. I have two best friends named Ned and MJ. They are both the greatest. Uh, I really like science. I go to Midtown on a scholarship. Everyone is pretty nice there---it where I met MJ, actually. Ned and I knew each other from middle school. He’s the one the convinced me to apply. I’m on the AcDec team. MJ is the captain of it. Everyone on the team is pretty cool. Except Flash, he sucks.”

 

“Flash?” Percy looked skeptical. “Someone named their kid Flash ?”

“Well, it's a nickname. His actual name is Eugene. But nobody really calls him that. Except MJ, when he pisses her off.” Peter shrugged. “Which, is a lot.”

 

He got a single, dark, arched brow. “What’s he do?”

Peter huffed. “He’s pretty harmless, just annoying. He calls Ned and I names and stuff. Mostly me, though. I also sit in front of him in a few classes, and he always throws stuff at the back of my head. It doesn't, hurt, but it makes my spidey sense all weird.”

Percy frowned. “He sounds like a jerk.” Then, “Spidey sense?”

 

“Oh,” Peter blushed. “It's a name Ned and I came up with. I have this...sixth sense, of sorts. It alerts me when something is dangerous.”

“Sounds useful.” Percy commented.

Peter crossed his arms. “Not really. I mean, it only works sometimes.” At Percy’s questioning gaze, he elaborated. “Like, I mean, there was this one time I saw you in the garage the last time I came here. You set it off like crazy. No offense. I mean, I don't think you want to hurt me. You probably could, but...yeah. Um, this time you didn't even set it off! And there was this time when I went to Delmar’s, this local sandwich place, and it made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I still have no clue why.”

 

Percy was staring at him, a cookie hanging out of the corner of his mouth.

 

“What?” Peter frowned.

 

“Hey, Peter, do you live near Delmar’s?”

 

“Uh, yeah. Same street. Why?”

 

Percy put the cookie down. “Ok, I just need to ask you a few things. Alright?”

 

Peter’s eyes darted to the side. “Percy, you're kinda stressing me out…”

 

The mercenary drummed his pointer finger on the table. “It’s nothing. I think.” He folded his arms on the table. “When did this happen?”

 

“September 2nd.”

 

Percy sucked in a sharp breath. “Ok. So.” He sighed. “The Maria Stark Foundation annual charity gala. You heard about it?

Peter bit his lip. “Yeah. It was terrifying.” 

“Tell me about it.” He snorted. “The shooter. We don't know much. Male, caucasian, fairly tall. Around 220 pounds.”

“That's pretty vague.” 

“Exactly the problem.”

 

Peter thought the man looked rather tired as he said it. The mercenary scrubbed a hand across his face. “There's just a lot we don't know. And if we charge in half-assed…” He shook his head. 

 

“But one thing we do know is he had to be here somewhere. To get all that equipment set up, he had to have been staying somewhere. Probably about a week or less before the gala, he would have arrived somewhere in New York. FRIDAY scanned almost every camera in the city and beyond, but there are a lot of blank spots. We looked through the footage of the train station, which was a bust. Same with all the cars entering the city. So most likely, our guy came in on a plane.”

 

Peter frowned. “Like, a private one?”

 

The green-eyed man shook his head. “We checked all personally chartered planes and landing strips. Nothing out of place. We’re thinking just a regular old airport. A few people were flagged on the cameras---we followed up with all of them but one. A ticket was bought for someone named Charles Brekker. Who, conveniently, does not exist.”

 

Eyes widening, Peter leaned forward. “That’s him? ‘Charles Brekker’?”

 

Percy nodded. “We are as sure as we can be. Body type matches---but he hid his face. Smart. The problem is we don't know where he went afterwards. He had to have been staying somewhere; Fri narrowed down a few locations based on what we had.” He pointed at Peter. “And one of them was somewhere along Ingram Street.”

 

Peter took in a breath. “You think that’s why my spidey sense went off?”

 

Percy nodded.

 

“I mean, maybe . But it's still kinda...iffy. Why would it go off on you the first time and not the next?”

 

The mercenary tilted his head thoughtfully. “It's based on intention, isn't it?”

The vigilante blinked. 

Percy elaborated. “I mean, does it go off around Tony?”

Peter didn't even have to think. “No.” 

“Well, why not? He’s not just Iron Man, but Tony Stark. At least a potential threat, right?”

“Mr. Stark would never hurt me.” Peter said adamantly. 

Percy nodded. “Exactly. It's intent. He’s not on the radar because he doesn't plan on hurting you. The first time, in the garage, I didn't know who you were for a second. Maybe that's why. The second time, I recognized you.”

 

Peter turned his head thoughtfully. It did make sense. But if that was the case… “You think I was in the same building as the man who tried to kill Mr. Stark and didn't even notice?” He said miserably. 

 

Percy gave him a sympathetic look. “It's not your fault, Peter.”

“My spidey sense went off! It was literally ringing alarm bells in my head, and I didn't do anything!” The teenager argued.

He was given a hard look. “Not your fault. If anything, it's mine.” 

 

Peter made a face. “How?” Percy looked down at the table. “I went to the museum beforehand and checked it out. There was only one room, connected to a balcony where a potential shooter would have been able to be. I was keeping an... eye on it. But someone I sorta used to know started talking to me. I got distracted. I only realized someone had gotten only the balcony a few seconds after we got on stage.” 

 

Peter processed that for a moment. Then,

 

“Wait, that was you ?”

Percy raised a brow. 

“You were the guard on stage?” Peter clarified.

“Oh. Yeah.” 

 

Peter waved his hands around wildly. “You got shot!”

“I’ve been shot before.”

“You don't build up a bullet resistance!”

 

Percy just shrugged. Peter buried his face in his hands. “Oh my god. This must be how Ned and MJ feel when they talk to me.”

Percy laughed. 

 

“But, did you notice anything... out of place that day?”

 

Peter shook his head. “I mean, yeah. When I went to Delmar’s, I heard water running two floors above. I thought it was weird; I didn't know anyone lived there.”

 

Percy stared at him. “That's because no one does.”

Notes:

peter: man.....deathstroke.....scary
mrs. o'leary: exists
peter: statement retracted

peter is Soft and i love him

guys i need your Hot Takes on who to ship percy with

Note: if romance does happen, it will be way later. Like, another story, later. lots of character development first.

Chapter 13: Recruitment

Summary:

Percy and Tony have an important talk

Notes:

Alex is the only thing standing between all of you and my incomprehensible grammar. be thankful.

also buckle up. i wrote this entire chapter listening to nothing but girl in red and fergalicious.

Thursday, Sept. 31st.

5:07 AM.

Stark Tower, NY

 

“You lost your chance”

 

Percy blinked, and suddenly he was standing in the dark. He had that familiar dream feeling---floaty and out of his body.

Whenever he dreamed, his powers always felt off; like it wasn't really him. It had been getting worse recently---stress, probably. He could still tell where he was, though. 

The room was cold, built of cinder block and steel. It was mostly empty, with a few metal shelves bolted to the walls. 

There was a smell, too. Something strangely sweet---it reminded him of when he used to visit his mom at work when he was young. The air here smelled like the candy shop, something his mom would bring home on her uniform. 

 

Two men stood in the center of the floor. One of them was wearing something heavy---tactical gear, Percy noted. A heavy bulletproof vest, and there was a sort of helmet in his hand. He was also wearing something on his back. A duffel? 

 

“I can do it.” The duffel wearing man snarled. 

 

“You had your shot. Literally. You missed. ”

 

“That wasn't my fault. The bastard shouldn't have been able to move that fast. How the hell did he even know I was there? Your people should have distracted him.”

 

Percy’s brow furrowed. He knew that voice. 

 

Duffel Guy took a step forward, continuing. “Got me thinking, actually. The only way he could have known…” Percy could sense him poking a finger into the other man's chest, “Is if someone told him.”

 

The other man was wearing a suit---or a suit jacket, at least. “Don’t try and pin this on me. You almost ruined everything. You shot him . How stupid can you get?” He shook his head. "You're a dead man."

 

Duffel Guy was making a very concerning noise. He sounded pissed. “If you had done your job right, and listened to me, it would have worked. I was leading the mission---”

 

A sense of deja vu hit Percy like a train.

His eyes widened.

 

“I’m mission leader for this---”

 

“Hey, Jackson. You’re all clear to go in.”

 

“What the hell was that?”

 

“Comms fuzzed out, it was an accident---”

 

“I didn't give the all clear---”

 

“If you had done your job right, and listened to me---”

 

So.

 It seemed Brock Rumlow didn’t come up with new lines in, what, two years? 

 

Percy listened back in on the conversation, suddenly a lot more interested. 

 

“Bull. You can’t aim for shit, Rumlow. You hit him three times and didn't even scratch Stark!”

 

Oh.

 

Oh , OK . 

 

White hot anger flooded his veins. Percy bared his teeth in a snarl, taking a step forward towards Suit and Rumlow. He was going to---

 

Percy’s eyes flew open. The ceiling of his apartment stared back at him, just like it always did. His legs were tangled under the gray comforter, Mrs. O’Leary snoring on the other end. He let his head hit the pillow again, closing his eyes tightly.

 

Alright. So, a lot to unpack there.

 

1- The shooter was Rumlow, the bastard. 

 

2- Rumlow was working with someone. Multiple people, maybe even for somebody. 

 

3- Percy wasn’t supposed to be hit. His wounds had been an accident. It wasn't supposed to happen.

 

4- There was something that was supposed to distract Percy, but didn’t. Somewhere along the lines, the plan fell through.

They didn't account for Percy. 

 

Oh, and

 

5- He was going to murder Brock Rumlow. 

 

That dream had answered a lot of things, but left him with even more questions. Who was Rumlow working for? It could be Hydra, but he was also a gun for hire. 

Why Tony? (Yeah, there were plenty of reasons, but a specific motive is always good to know.)

And, like Annabeth pointed out, why not stick around? Rumlow could have easily fired off a few more shots before he bolted. He could have killed Tony, but didn’t. 

 

The whole thing was fishy. 

 

And lastly, why did he see that? Demigod dreams only showed up with demigod things. Quests, monsters, fighting Gods, Titans, etc. Percy didn't even dream about the Hydra infiltration and Project Insight. He found out about that in a completely different way. 

 

So why the hell did he see that? 

 

Percy sighed, and shook his head. 

 

Later. For now, he needed to talk to Tony. 

 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thursday, Sept. 31st.

8:52 AM.

Stark Tower, NY

 

God, paperwork sucked.

 

It had always been the thing Tony hated most about being CEO. He thought giving the position to Pepper would absolve him of that hellscape of a duty. But not even then could he escape it. 

If someone had told him a few years ago that he would willingly be doing paperwork, he would have laughed in their faces and asked that they share whatever they were on.

 

But now? He rubbed a hand over his face, taking a moment to close his eyes for a respite from the documents. The current Sokovia Accords, in all their un-revised glory sat across the dining table, spread out and thoroughly marked up. He had been working for almost two hours now---barely a blink of an eye of lab time, but it felt like forever with this.

 

His computer was open in front of him, but he was having FRIDAY transpose his words. He was too burnt out to type. 

 

The engineer had been going over the conditions; making amendments, rewording paragraphs, and adding in lines where it was necessary. It was a long, painful process, but Tony hoped it would be worth it. If the U.N. was agreeable with his ideas, it could change everything. Tony had a lot of sway in the political world, and his take on the Accords would mean a lot. 

 

(...it would have meant a lot more if Rogers and his merry band had stayed to work things out with him. But, whatever.)

 

He was prepared to ask FRIDAY to get him another cup of coffee when he heard the elevator. “Hey, Percy?” He called, “Come here real quick?”

 

The man came into view a second later, wearing basketball shorts and a loose, faded shirt. His socks today were green, with pugs. 

“Morning.” The mercenary greeted, sitting across from him. A second later, he zeroed in on his coffee cup. “How much have you had?”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Only two.”

Percy squinted. “You were going to get another one.” He said accusingly. 

“...I hate it when you do that.”

“That much caffeine isn't good for you.” Percy said stubbornly.

 

Tony huffed. “ Anyways , that's so not the point. I, uh” He looked down at the documents, then back up at Percy. He took a deep breath. “I’m reviewing the Accords. I plan on proposing it to the U.N.''

 

Percy looked a little stunned. “Really?”

 

OK, OK. He wasn’t mad. Tony could work with this. 

 

“Yeah,” Tony shuffled the loose papers around a bit. “The one Ross presented to the team and I was just a rough draft. Nothing concrete. And... And I think what I have will be a lot better.”

 

Percy tilted his head. “Yeah?” He asked curiously. 

 

Tony nodded. “I, I printed out some of the big points I made for you.” He picked up the small cluster of sheets and slid them across the table. Percy picked them up, his mouth quirked up a little at the gesture. “You got these printed for me?” He asked, fingers running over the small bumps. 

 

Tony nodded. “Well, yeah. You needed to read them somehow.”

 

It might have just been his imagination, but it looked like Percy swallowed a bit thickly. “Thanks.” He murmured. 

 

And then he started to read. 

 

Tony watched on nervously as his brow furrowed in concentration, moving down the papers. Then to the next one, and the next. After a few minutes of agonizing silence, Percy set them down delicately on the table.

 

“Well?” Tony prompted, anxious. 

 

Percy blinked. “Well, I think they’re great. You did amazing, Tony.” 

 

Oh. That was… a lot more positive than he expected.

 

“You don't think I should stay out of it? I mean, I’m not a politician.” He inquired cautiously. Percy pulled a face. “Of course not. Politicians kinda suck.” Tony let out a short, surprised laugh.

 

“I do have a question, though.” His face grew serious. “The Rogues.”

 

“What about them?”

 

“Some of the stuff here...you want them to be let back into the U.S?”

 

“I do.” Tony tapped the table a few times, carefully picking his words. “It’s...If something happens. Something bad---something we can’t handle alone. We’ll need all the manpower we can get. A few of them could turn the tide of a battle.” Tony let out a humorless chuckle. “I doubt invaders would care about extradition treaties and war crimes.”

 

Percy tipped his head. “Fair. That’s not really what I was worried about, though. Where are they going to stay? Are they just going to come back to the team like nothing happened? Like...like they deserve your trust?”

 

Tony took in a small breath. Of course Percy would be concerned about that. He was a good friend; it's what he did. 

“I’m thinking a probationary period. A long one. Not just right back on the team again. If I can, I’m planning on expanding the team. There have to be people out there who fit the criteria.”

 

Percy nodded slowly. “What’s the criteria?”

 

“Well…” Tony said slowly. “I was thinking mostly enhanced people. People who can do things others can’t. A few exceptions; people like Romanoff, Barton, Wilson…” He breathed in, shaky. “People like you.”

 

 

“...what?”

 

Tony rushed forward. “I mean, if you want to. This isn’t even a formal invitation, just an idea. I need to get everything approved first, which will take ages. But we could use someone like you. Someone from this planet and century, whose loyalties aren’t SHIELD first. Someone trustworthy…” Tony cleared his throat. “A good friend.”

 

Percy took a moment to process this. 

 

“I...Tony. That means a lot to me; but I don’t think you want me on your team.”

 

Tony frowned. “Why’s that?”

 

“I…” Percy ducked his head, swallowing. “I’m not really good team material. I just...look at me. I have authority issues that go so deep they’re a core part of me, I don’t know when to cut my losses, and…” 

 

He let out a laugh. He didn't sound amused. 

 

“Tony, I am keeping so much shit from you. Stuff that, Gods, I wish I could tell you, but I can’t.”

 

Gods. Plural, Tony noted. Hmm. 

Percy’s religion wasn’t important right now, though.

 

“You are allowed to keep things from me, Percy. Fuck knows there’s shit I don’t share.”

 

“Nothing like this.” Percy said. He sounded miserable. 

 

“Hey.” Tony said. “You have your reasons. I trust you, Percy.” 

 

The mercenary looked up at him. He seemed like he was staring right into Tony’s soul. “I…” He began. “Thank you, Tony. That...it means a lot. I have a few things to tell you, too. Might be relevant.”

 

Tony raised a brow. 

 

Percy rested his elbows on the table. “First, I got a postcard in the hospital. Signed by Nora Rider.” 

 

Nora Rider? That didn’t sound like anyone Tony knew. And what did that have to do with the Avengers?

 

Nora Rider...NR. Natalie Rushman. Natasha Romanoff.

 

Shit. 

 

“So,” Tony said lightly. “Her aliases aren't very creative.” Percy snorted. “You’re telling me. Honestly, I can only go through airports as Peter Johnson so many times.” 

 

Tony grinned, but quickly sobered. “But what did she want?”

 

“Honestly? I’m not sure. It just said she hoped I was alright, and that they wanted to talk. There’s a return address if I feel the same.”

 

What the hell would the Rogues want with Percy? He knew Natasha and Clint were acquainted with him from SHIELD, but from what he had said, Tony had gathered they weren’t close. It sounded off. And he said as much.

 

“Sketchy.”

“I know, right?”

“Are you going to do it?”

 

Percy leaned back. “Honestly, I couldn’t care less. I figured I’d ask you.”

The engineer weighed his options. “Do you think they might have something important? It...it might be worth a shot.”

He received a loose shrug. “You never know with Romanoff. I highly doubt they have malicious intent, if that counts for anything. Pretty damn sure they want something, though.”

A weary sigh escaped Tony. “They always do.”

 

The two of them stayed in silence for a minute. Then Percy spoke up again.

“Speaking of people wanting something. I spoke to Fury.”

 

...what? Fury said Percy didn't work for him. 

 

“You guys are still in contact?”

Percy scrunched his nose. “No. That’s why it was so weird. He was just waiting for me in the park when I went out for a run. My cousin told me that he saw someone that matched his description in the hospital when I was still unconscious, too.”

 

Tony sighed. God, Fury was creepy. “What was it that he wanted?’

 

Percy ran his tongue across his top teeth, deliberating. “It was batshit crazy, is what it was. He...He said that the Avengers, and the world, needed support. But not SHIELD.”

 

Tony frowned. “What, like, the UN or something? If so,” he gestured to the papers littering the table. “working on it.”

 

“No, not that.” Percy looked troubled as he spoke. It formed a knot in Tony’s stomach. Whatever this was, it had clearly been weighing on him. “An organization like SHIELD. But...better. New. He said, quote, ‘Not another SHIELD. The world doesn't need a shield anymore.’ Whatever the hell that means.”

 

A new SHIELD…

Tony mulled the idea over in his head. “Do you think he was right?”

Percy shrugged. “To an extent, I suppose. The world already knows about all this shit; they don’t need a shield anymore. We need response. Something to handle the things the Avengers can’t; to back them up. To get ahead of the curve.” 

 

It made sense, Tony supposed. SHIELD, for all it’s problems, was helpful sometimes. To have government backing, someone who looked into every small thing the Avengers couldn't. SHIELD was the scalpel, the Avengers were the chainsaw. 

 

But how did they prevent another disaster like its predecessor?

 

“You said different . How does he intend on doing that?”

 

Percy fidgeted. “He doesn’t, actually. He...he wants me to do it.”

 

Tony blanched. “He just...he just came up to you and asked you to form a new secret agency that wasn’t as much of a fuck up as his?”

 

“Basically.” Percy said tiredly. 

 

Tired, but determined. Tony had met people like Percy before. People made of steel; who if they saw something they could do, they would do it. There was steely resolve on his face, and Tony knew that the decision had already been made.

And if there was anyone who could do it, it was Percy Jackson. 

 

“What an asshole. I think you could do it, though.” 

Percy gave him an amused look. “Really?”

“Why the hell not?” He shrugged.

 

Tilting his head up to the ceiling, Percy huffed out a laugh. “So you’ll be reinventing the Avengers while I form a new government organization?”

Tony nodded slowly. “Sounds about right.”

Percy shook his head. “ Merda, this is crazy.” He smiled. “I like it.”

 

Tony leaned across the table. “So. Do I have my first recruit?”

He held his breath while Percy looked at him. Eventually, the mercenary closed his eyes for a second, then slowly started to nod. “You do.”

 

Tony’s face stretched into a smile. He held out a hand.

“Welcome to the Avengers.”

 

Percy shook it.

“Happy to be here.”

Notes:

opinions on ironstrange and thruce please

friendly reminder that throughout this entire story percy has a progressively stronger new york accent

PS 'merda' was what google told me 'shit' was in Portuguese. please dont come for me if it was horribly wrong

Chapter 14: The Mission

Summary:

The hunt for Rumlow has begun!

Notes:

alex, the loml, thanks for beta-ing this

Friday, Oct. 1st.

1:16 PM.

Stark Tower, NY

 

The conference room was way too cold. 

 

Rhodey shivered a bit, pulling his jacket a bit tighter around himself. Tony sat in the chair next to him, with Percy across and Vision next to him. Mrs. O’Leary had her own chair, which she was sitting in, looking quite like she was paying attention to the group.There had been some debate on inviting Spider-Man, but they eventually decided that they would wait for a less important mission to start his Jr. Avengers status. 

(Oh, and for the Accords to stop being full of shit.)

 

Vision had been making himself scarce recently---something Rhodey understood. He knew losing Wanda had hurt him. The synthezoid was watching the rest of them silently, soaking in information as it was given. 

 

Percy was doing most of the talking, telling them everything they had collected on the shooter---who was, apparently, Brock Rumlow, also known as Crossbones. He had gotten a location from Parker, which was surprisingly helpful. They were able to follow a faint trail from the apartment above Delmar’s to a train, and then a plane going up north.

They had narrowed it down after that, to a smattering of potential bases where he would be hiding out afterwards. Now, a large map was laid across the table with pins in it. Rhodey had first brought out markers, but Tony had replaced them with tacks and pins. Rhodey had given him a strange look, but Tony just shrugged.

 

Percy drummed his fingers on the table, his brow pinched. “The one near the river is out. Empty. Same with the warehouse near 97th”

Rhodey tilted his head. “How do you know?”

Percy shrugged. “Friends of mine.”

“Your friends regularly check in on Hydra bases?”

Percy’s wicked grin was all he needed to see. 

 

Tony rolled his eyes. “You 100% sure?”

Percy nodded. 

 

Toy shrugged and pulled the pins. His eyes scanned the map. “That leaves...three. An abandoned building by a cannery, an apartment building by the coast, or…” He ran his fingers across the map. “An old maple syrup factory.”

 

At this, Percy sat up straight. “Did you say maple syrup?”

 

Vision gave him a curious look. “Is this particularly relevant?”

 

The mercenary nodded. “I, uh.” He stood up. “I’m going to make a call real quick. I...I might have something on this.”

 

Rhodey raised an eyebrow. “Al- right …” he drawled slowly.

 

Jackson walked out of the room, into the hallways. Tony watched him go with a frown, but turned back to the map anyway. “Where are we on approval for this?”

 

Rhodey sighed. The Review Board had been dragging their feet, and he wasn't sure why. Eventually, they had agreed, after much pushing from Rhodey. They had a pending approval to go in once they found the correct base. 

Tony’s reaction matched his once he told him. “What do you want to bet Ross has something to do with this?”

Rhodey groaned, letting his forehead thunk against the table. “I’d prefer to keep my money, thanks.”

Ever since the Rogues had escaped, Ross had been on their asses to find them. (Mostly Tony, as if he didn't already have a shit ton to do.) He had accused them of knowing exactly where the Rogues were, but just trying to sabotage the U.N. 

 

Which...like. Yeah.  

 

But mostly it was because they all hated Ross. Oh, and the whole pesky ‘he incarcerated them inhumanly in an unregistered prison in international waters without trial’ thing.

 

But mostly because he was a dick.

 

Rhodey lifted his head off the table when he heard footsteps. Percy poked his head through the doorway. “Are you alright?” He inquired, brow furrowed. Rhodey stuck up a thumb wordlessly. Percy blinked a couple times.
“He’s good.” Tony said, not looking up from the map.

 

Percy nodded hesitantly then retook his seat. “The maple factory. That’s where it is.”

Tony turned to him, a surprised look on his face. “How do you know that?”

“I...have a friend. I mean, I can’t really tell you who. But someone who owed me a favor. The least we should do is check that one out first.”

 

Rhodey’s gaze was skeptical, but when he turned to Tony, his friend was nodding. “If you are sure. I’ll put in the request.”

 

Vision didn’t object either, so Rhodey just shrugged. “Alright.”

 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Friday, Oct. 1st.

2:12 PM.

Stark Tower, NY

 

After the meeting, Tony gathered his papers. He had talked with Rhodey and Vision about the Accords; stuff he had already told Percy. 

 

Speaking of Percy.

 

Tony took a few quick steps to catch up with him. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“So,” Tony said bluntly, “you didn't make a phone call.”

“Nope.” Percy agreed.

“You gonna tell me what all that was about, then?”

“Once we get up to the common room.”

 

The two of them rode up the elevator in silence. Once they stepped out Percy started talking. “Remember how I told you that...that there are some things I have to keep from you?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“This is one of them. I...I know Rumlow was in the factory at least a day ago. I doubt he made it to any of the other bases since then. But I can’t really tell you how I know.”

 

Tony looked at Percy for a minute. “OK.” 

 

The mercenary looked surprised. “OK?”

 

Starting to walk into the kitchen, Tony nodded. “OK.”

 

Percy ducked his head to hide a smile. He followed Tony, leaning against the kitchen island. “I made brigadeiros.” He offered.

Tony gave him a questioning look. 

“It’s a...sort of fudge thing? You shape them into little balls and then cover them in sprinkles. My mom used to make them all the time when I was little.” 

 

Percy handed him the tupperware on the counter. Inside, in little blindly bright cupcake wrappers, were small truffle-looking things, covered in blue sprinkles. Tony took one and pulled it out of the wrapper. “Thanks.”

 

The inside was bright blue.

Percy was right---it was a sort of fudgy chocolate thing. 

 

“Thanks.” Tony said through a mouthful.

 

Percy just waved him off and leaned forward. “What’s the deal with Ross?” 

“What do you mean by that?”

“I heard you and Rhodey talking about him. I’ve never met the guy.”

“You heard that?” Tony asked, surprised. 

Percy just gave a small shrug. “I hear a lot that I’m not supposed to.” 

 

...comforting.

 

“He’s the one that introduced us to the Accords. Real uptight asshole. He hunted down Bruce for years--or, the Hulk, I guess.”

Whoever Ross was really targeting, it made Tony’s blood boil when he thought about it. Percy’s expression looked a bit similar to the one Tony knew he was wearing.

 

“He wants you to hunt down the Rogues?” Percy’s head was tilted, his brow furrowed. Tony nodded tiredly in response. “He’s convinced I’m helping them to try and...I don't even know. Overthrow him?” The engineer shrugged loosely. 

 

His explanation didn't really seem to appease Percy. “But, he wants you to hunt them down specifically?”

“Its what he’s pushing for, yeah.” Tony respond slowly, a little confused. “Why?” The mercenary hesitated for a second, then shook his head. “Nothing. I dunno. He just...I don’t like the sound of him.” 

 

Tony sighed. “Welcome to the club.”

 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Friday, Oct. 3rd.

1:05 AM.

Abandoned Red Hill Maple Syrup Factory, VT

 

Percy fiddled with the hilt of his knife, drumming his fingers across the leather grip. He was leaning against the trunk of a large sugar maple. The quinjet was a spot in the sky above him, getting larger as it moved closer.

 

Thankfully, Tony hadn’t questioned his refusal to fly too much. All he had said was “we all have our things.”

At this point, Percy wasn’t sure if Zeus would really strike him down. He was rather useful, if he did say so himself. Though the Gods, especially their king, weren’t really known for logical thinking and planning ahead. 

 

The jet touched down in the empty parking lot, blowing up dust and dead leaves as it did so. Fall had swept through like the flick of a paint brush, leaving everything stained red and orange. While Percy wasn’t usually one for views, he could still see the bright contrasting colors. He could also feel all of the leaves, their life cycle continuing as they colored. 

 

Tony, Rhodey, and Vision stepped off the ramp, each of them gazing around. The factory was about a mile from where they landed. The quinjet was quiet, but not silent enough to go completely unnoticed by the factory's inhabitants. They had done some scans the day before with drones---there were, indeed, lots of heat signatures in the building. Percy had been correct in his guess of the factory; it had taken him a minute, but once Tony mentioned ‘maple syrup’ he had gotten it. The sweet shop his mom worked at made a lot of maple candies, it was no surprise he recognized the smell. 

 

The entire area reeked of it to his sensitive nose. The factory itself, and all the sugar maple trees surrounding it and them for miles, stretching on like a sugary blanket over the ground. 

 

“Well,” Tony murmured once he reached Percy. “Looks like we have a bit of a walk.” Percy offered him a small smile as Vision and Rhodey caught up to them. The two of them were going to fly ahead, in stealth mode, and get a good look at and around the factory. Percy and Tony, on the other hand, were going to sneak around the back to position themselves. 

 

Once they got the cue to attack, the base would be surrounded. 

Or, at least, that was the hope.

 

Mrs. O’Leary bounded behind Percy and Tony as they walked across the forest dirt, occasionally darting off to chase a particularly promising bug.

The base itself wasn't actually that big---it was something the four of them could take out no problem. 

(Even if, officially, there were only three. In Tony’s words, Percy was ‘an Avenger in all the ways that mattered’. Legality was not something that mattered, apparently. Technically, Tony had explained, Percy being with them was allowed. He didn't have to be authorized---he wasn't legally an Avenger. Just a bodyguard doing his job. Either way, they didn't mention it to the Council)

 

The building only had three floors, including a basement. It wasn’t a processing plant, just where they used to bottle the already made syrup, so that much room wasn’t needed. The area was deserted, as well. The parking lot they had parked the quinjet in used to belong to some sort of supply store---when Percy had asked, Tony had told him none of them could read the sign either. Something about appliances, maybe. 

 

They slowly closed in on the location, hands stuffed in their pockets. It was a cold night, the wind particularly bitter and biting. 

Not quite a heroic approach; two men walking hunched in on themselves with a dog that kept snapping at crane flies. But whatever. They weren’t graded on style. 

 

(...Percy still shivered at the thought of Hephestus TV)

 

Tony’s suit was safely stored in the briefcase in his hand, looking deceptively normal. But Percy knew with either a tap or a voice command, the suit would envelop him in a little more than a second. The demigod had never really been one for engineering---he was a decent welder, thanks to Beckendorf, and later Leo, who both took advantage of his fire resistance to use as a metalworking partner. But he still couldn't help the awe that swelled up everytime he saw Tony use the suit. Tony had shown him the Mark 2; he had come a long way since then.

 

The two of them skirted around the boundary, staying in the trees, until they circled around to a loading bay. Percy tapped the side of his helmet and spoke after hearing the soft click. “Ready to move in.”

A second later, Rhodey’s voice crackled to life. “Hold. Vision is moving to the roof for a better vantage point.” 

“No prob, Platypus.” Tony hummed in reply, eyes focused on the doors to the loading bay. Percy followed suit, letting his senses map it out. The tall doors were stuck half open---they would be able to duck under them no problem. Past that, there was a door that led to the rest of the factory. Percy could feel people moving around there, though it was a little fuzzy due to the distance and amount of people. 

 

The majority of the people there were scientists, with a few guards muttered in between. 

And, of course, Rumlow. 

 

Percy couldn't pick him out at the moment; most of the guards would be dressed similarly and carry some of the same weapons. He would have to get closer first. 

 

“In position.” Vision said over the comms. 

“Alright, Iron Man? Deathstroke?”

“Ready.”

“Yep.”

Rhodey paused for a minute. “Alright. Clear to go in.”

 

Percy tried not to dwell on the last person who told him that, in favor of hunting said man down with a vengeance. 

Tony’s suit formed around him, and the two of them entered the loading bay.

 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Friday, Oct. 3rd.

1:41 AM.

Abandoned Red Hill Maple Syrup Factory, VT

 

It was dark outside, the stars glittering faintly. You couldn’t see stuff like that in New York, but out here, Tony caught glimpses of them, like a paint splatter across a dark canvas. He followed Deathstroke under the old shutter door. As he got closer, he noted that it must have been a rich, dark green at some point. Now it was mostly rust and scratches. 

“War Machine and I have entered the topmost floor of the building.” Vision reported.

Deathstroke stood next to him, a hand on the hilt of a knife strapped to his chest. It was a little alarming when Tony first caught sight of him leaning against the tree almost an hour ago, fully decked out in tactical gear. He expected it, sort of, when Percy pulled him aside and told him about his... reputation and work as a mercenary. And, well, all things considered, Deathstroke was a damn cool name.

 

“We’re inside.” Tony narrated.

“Stay by the door. Something's up.” War Machine replied.

Deathstroke stiffened a little bit at that. “What?”

“Vision is running facial recognition on the scientists, but...none of them are in the database we got.”

“Fri, what are they talking about?”

The AI pulled up a visual on Tony’s display. There were photos from War Machine’s view of the scientists on the right, and the collection of faces in the database the Accords Council had given them on the left. They were supposed to capture as many of the marks as they could---which would be a problem if none of them were here. 

 

“But all the others were empty.” Tony muttered, brow furrowed. Percy had been right; this was the only base that had people in it in the last two months. So what the hell happened?

 

“It’s possible we got the wrong data. I’ll try contacting---” War Machine’s voice was quickly cut off by a burst of loud static. Deathstroke winced, a hand reaching up to the side of his helmet as the comms readjusted themselves. What the hell had made something that loud---

Oh. 

 

Tony could hear it now, the rapid gunfire from across the factory. “We’re taking fire. I don’t get it; there shouldn't have been this many guards!” War Machine’s panicked voice yelled in his ear. 

 

“Where the hell are you?” Deathstroke barked out, his stance tense. The mercenary was looking around, the blank eyes of his helmet occasionally glinting on the light from the arc reactor.

 

“Middle of the top floor! Kind of a tight fit in here!” Tony was already moving. “On our way.” He wrenched the door open to meet a fully armed squadron of men. “Er, hi.”

They opened fire. The bullets bounced harmlessly off Tony’s suit as he advanced, Deathstroke behind him. They swept almost effortlessly through the crowd of assailants in their rush to help Vision and War Machine. 

 

Tony parted the crowd with repulsor blasts and small missiles to get to the stairs, while Deathstroke kept the crowd at bay behind him. Any other circumstance, Tony would have stopped to watch the mercenary work---it was fascinating. He was a whirlwind of sword strikes, keeping everyone far from him. It was the first time he had actually seen the man in action, but didn’t have the time to stop and gawk. 

 

Tony burst out of the stairwell to the floor War Machine last checked in on. “I’m at the top, honeybear. Where are you?” He could hear sounds of fighting echoing all over the place, off the walls and ceiling. “South” War Machine grunted; Tony could hear a repulsor charging up over the comms. 

 

Tony tried his best to move fast, but the space really was tight, especially in a flying metal suit. When he finally did turn the last corner, he saw a squad of agents, all wearing kevlar and wielding rifles, around Vision and War Machine. Tony quickly joined the fray, Deathstroke not far behind him. The took everyone out fairly easily; Vision phased in and out while Tony and War Machine took out stragglers from the outside. Deathstroke was in the middle, next to Vision, knees bent and sword drawn. Occasionally he would pull a knife from god knows where---at one point, he but the sword away and pulled out two escrima sticks. There was a large hole in the wall, Tony wasn’t sure who had made it. 

 

“Boss, there is another group of life forms two levels below you.” FRIDAY announced. Tony slammed his fist into an agent's face, and they flew to the floor. “Deathstroke!” He called as he ducked a punch. “Got some more in the sub-level.” The mercenary drove a dagger into a man’s leg. “On it!” He swept out a pair of legs and then darted out of the room. “We got this, Iron Man! Assist him.” War Machine spoke over the sounds of the fight. They were close enough to momentarily stop using the comms. 

 

Tony nodded and went to follow Deathstroke. 

 

Down a flight of stairs, across to the north side of the building, and then down another one. He caught Deathstroke going down the last set---he just jumped over the railing like a heathen. With a strong kick, the door fell right of its hinges, and the man walked cautiously into the basement, Tony behind him. Mrs. O’Leary was next to him--- the engineer wasn’t exactly sure when she had rejoined them. The basement was fairly dark; FRIDAY had activated night vision earlier, but had turned it off once they entered the lighted building. Once it was back on, Tony took a look around the room. It was mostly cinder block, with a few empty metal shelves bolted to the wall. The smell of maple syrup was stronger down here, Tony noted.

 

They came across the group in the first room; they all seemed to be wearing night vision goggles of some sort. Tony took a second to worry about Deathstroke---he wasn’t sure if his helmet had night vision or not. But when the man executed a textbook-perfect roundhouse kick in an agent’s face, he could see that his worry wasn’t needed. Night vision or not, he would do fine. 

 

They were almost finished when Deathstroke froze in the middle of slamming a man;s face into the wall. “What did you just say?” He ground out. Tony turned his head towards the pair. The agent gave the mercenary a bloody grin. “Time’s almost up.” He repeated. 

Tony fired a quick blast at the last person, and moved over to Deathstroke’s side. “What the hell does that mean?” He demanded.

The man just made a gesture like he was zipping his lips shut, still smiling. 

 

He stopped smiling when Deathstroke held a long, wicked looking knife to his throat. “Explain.” He snapped.

The agent swallowed. “I don’t care if you kill me.” But his voice was wavering. “I’ll die anyway.”
Deathstroke pushed the blade closer to his skin. “I bet I can make it more painful.” He promised. The agent took in a shaky breath. And then, so soft Tony almost missed it, “Hail Hydra, for the new order.” Then there was a loud crunch, and the man went limp. 

 

“Fuck,” Deathstroke swore, hand reaching out to his pulsepoint. “Some sort of pill.” Tony closed his eyes for a second. The man was dead, no doubt about it. The mercenary’s lowered head only confirmed it. 

“What the hell was he talking about?” Tony muttered, shaking his head. “The new world order? I’ve never heard that before.” 

Deathstroke shrugged. “Me neither.” He touched his finger to the side of his helmet. “Rhodes, we got everyone down here. One dead---commited suicide with some sort of pill embeded in his molar.”

“Shit, really?” Rhodes’ voice came in. “Damn. Everyone else secured?” 

“Yeah. Heading our way back up.”

“U.N. team is coming in 30. They have trucks to transport everyone. Vision and I are out front.”

“Be there in a minute.”

 

Tony led the way back to the hallway that connected to the stairs. “Ross is going to be pissed about this.” he muttered.

Deathstroke snorted behind him. “Well, I’m sure we---” He stopped cold, body going rigid. 

Quietly, he asked, “Do you hear that?”

 

Tony paused, and tilted his head. He hadn’t heard it before, over the sounds of the fight, but he could now.

 

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. 

 

Tony sucked in a breath.

 “Fri?”

“Scanning.” The AI responded.

 

The two of them waited, the heavy silence threatening to suffocate them. 

 

“Done.” The AI highlighted the location on Tony’s vision. 

“The wall. Behind a loose brick.” Tony moved towards one of the metal shelving units, feeling around on the wall for a loose cinder block. 

Deathstroke found it first, the brick making a scraping noise as it was pulled loose. 

 

The glow of the numbers illuminated the room with a scarlet haze. Deathstroke reached out to touch it, but faltered a few inches away. “How much time left?” He asked in a hushed voice. Tony blinked a couple times, eyes flicking to the numbers. 

 

Huh. Maybe it was a fake?

 

“It...zero. No time left, it---”

 

Then everything blew.

Notes:

hazel and nico were 100% going to find rumlow themselves, but percy was like 'guys i need to find him and turn him in so ross stops being mean to tony" and they were like ".....fine."

also: >:)

Chapter 15: Percy's Just.....Straight Up Wrecks Rumlow

Summary:

Percy after committing first degree homicide: ( ͡❛ ͜ʖ ͡❛)✌ (✿◠‿◠) ٩(˘◡˘)۶

Notes:

TW: blood and violence. look at the title.

thanks to black_victor_cachat, my friend alex, mayaellise, and SnufflesThePig

Friday, October 3rd

2:56 AM

Abandoned Red Hill Maple Syrup Factory, VT

 

God, Tony’s head hurt. 

He opened his eyes, groaning. Everything was dark---a little bit of his surroundings was illuminated by the arc reactor, letting him see the rubble. The room they were in was caved in, walls and roof crumbled. There was a small patch of sunlight streaming from far above---too far above. What the hell happened? All he remembered was Percy asking him---

 

Percy!

 

Tony looked around wildly, ignoring the throbbing pain the movement brought him. “Percy?” He hissed out. Tony tried to stand, and immediately regretted it. There was a large chunk of concrete on his legs, holding him down. “Percy?” He called, a bit louder. 

 

“Over here.” A distant voice groaned. “You alright?”

 

“Head hurts like a bitch and I can’t move my legs---somethings on them. You?” 

 

“Ribs hurt like hell. I think my ankle’s a little fucked up too.”

 

Tony sighed, letting his head fall back against the concrete. His vision was getting spotty---he only barely heard Percy speak. “Hades damnit. Comms are down, I’ll see it if I can-...” 

 

His vision went dark again.

 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

“Tony?” Percy called.

 

No response. 

 

“Tony?” He yelled louder.

 

He could feel the man laying across the room---his heart was beating steady and sure, despite his lack of response. His breathing was slow, he was probably unconscious. Percy took in a few steadying breaths, and slowly attempted to stand. His ankle really hurt, and each breath brought stabbing pain.

 

He drew in a little bit of water from the air to surround the injuries, bringing temporary relief. Percy took an unsteady step forward, pushing down a cry of pain. He hobbled over to where Tony was stuck. There was, just as he described, a large piece of rubble pinning his legs down. Percy slowly bent over and gripped either side. It was heavy, that’s for sure, but Percy would be able to lift it. 

 

Ignoring the shooting pain through his side, Percy slowly dragged it up, off Tony’s legs. “Fuck,” he muttered, letting it hit the floor a few feet away. “Tony?” No response. 

Now that he was closer, he inspected him fully. Percy could feel blood---small scrapes here and there, a slightly bigger gash on his forehead. Percy couldn't feel any internal bleeding or severely broken bones, but he was fairly sure he could sense a small fracture in the billionaire’s wrist. He was definitely concussed, too. 

 

Not too bad, all things considered. 

 

Once he was satisfied that his friend would be alright, Percy let himself try to estimate the other damage. The main door to the outside, plus the loading bay entrance Tony and he had entered in,  were all collapsed. There must have been multiple charges; Percy didn't hear them when they first came in, so they must not have been activated. It also made sense as to why FRIDAY didn't pick them up on her scans. 

 

So someone had to have set them.

 

And considering that there was one other heartbeat in this building?

 

Percy took in a slow breath. “Mrs. O’Leary?” He called. She wouldn't have gotten far---but there was no doubt she had shadow traveled away from the damage. 

The hellhound appeared in front of him with a worried whine. Percy crouched down. “Hey, girl.” He murmured, giving her a quick scratch behind the ear. “I’m going to go find someone real quick. Can you stay here and make sure Tony is safe?” She gave him an agreeable bark, then trotted over to where Tony was. 

Normally, Percy would have just had her shadow travel Tony out---but if he woke up in a completely different place while Percy was still inside...there wouldn't be much of an explanation for that. If things went south, she would grab him and get out, but only in certain death.

 

Satisfied his friend was safe, Percy dusted off his pants and stood. There was a door at the end of the hallway that would have led to a parking lot, but it was blocked---there was only one other door. It went to a part of the basement that was locked with a steel chain. There would have been another entrance to the locked room from the outside, but it was blocked now. 

 

The demigod adjusted his helmet, and cracked his knuckles through his gloves. The gloves connected to stiff wrist guards---he’d had to wear them ever since he was 14. Apparently carrying the sky can cause wrist problems. Not that Percy was complaining that much; they were heavy duty and had a layer of steel over them.

 

Percy took in a deep breath, taking in all the smells around him. Maple syrup was still there, but overpowered by dust and dirt. Rhodey and Vision had made it out, though. Probably calling for help at this very moment. 

 

But that didn't matter at the moment. Because Percy could also smell gunpowder and metal, kevlar and a specific aftershave. He could smell the blood running under Brock Rumlow’s veins. 

 

The man was behind a locked door.

As if that could protect him.

 

Percy flexed his fingers. 

 

He cast one last glance towards his friend’s crumpled form.

 

Time to go hunting. 

 

Percy made his way into the hallway, passing all the empty rooms until he hit the last one on the left. A heavy metal chain was wrapped around the two bar handles of the door, holding it shut. Inside, he could hear a heart beating, a breathing pattern change, and feel muscles tense as Percy’s footsteps were heard. 

 

The demigod wrapped a hand around the chains. With a sharp tug, the links broke and fell to the floor, the sound echoing down the hall. Percy could both feel and hear the uptick in man’s heartbeat at the sound. The door was still locked, though, through a regular old deadbolt. 

 

So Percy kicked it open.

 

The doors hit each wall with a bang as Percy strode in. Rumlow was standing there in full gear, eyes wide. Percy tilted his head as he took in the man’s outfit. It was heavy duty stuff; the tactical carrier and shoulder pads must’ve weighed at least eight pounds. It made his stance heavy, but strong. There was also a helmet---sort of like Percy’s, but bulkier, and with eyeholes. Strange---the man really should know to cover his eyes. 

 

Percy had heard of Crossbones, of course, but never really looked into the man much. Sticking your nose in places it didn't belong (especially if you weren't being paid for it) was a death sentence in Percy’s line of work.

 

“Who the hell are you?” Rumlow barked, taking a defensive stance. Percy noted he was also wearing a strange pair of arm guards---they were extremely thick and bulky. 

 

It was no surprise that Rumlow didn't recognize him---few did. Percy much preferred being unrecognizable. (Maybe it was trauma from being asked ‘hey are you the kid who had a nationwide manhunt going after him?’ for a couple years.)

 

Percy unsheathed his sword.

“Some people call me Deathstroke.”

 

Percy could feel the surprise from across the room. “ You’re the masked unknown working with Stark?” 

His silence was all the confirmation Rumlow needed. The man scoffed. “Why the hell are you with the Avengers? Whatever they’re paying you, I bet we could pay more.”

 

Percy narrowed his eyes. “Normally I’d consider that. But,” he lowered himself into a fighting stance. “You hurt someone I care about.”

 

Rumlow laughed. “A lot of people have said that to me.” Percy grinned---it looked closer to a snarl. “I’ll be the last.”

 

Rumlow charged. “Also, I really don’t like Nazis.” Percy added as he raised his sword, meeting the oncoming strike. 

So; he quickly figured out what the deal was with the arm guards. Some sort of hydraulic powered them, making the weighted end of them shoot forward with enough power to throw someone across the room. 

 

Rumlow aimed a punch at Percy’s stomach. The man was slow, but made up for it with devastatingly strong blows. Percy dodged and drove his armoured elbow into Rumlow’s chest. It wasn’t too effective through all the armor, but Rumlow wasn’t the only unfairly strong one in the fight. The man staggered back, swearing.

Rumlow flicked his wrist, and a long blade slid out of the top of his arm guards. “You’re going to regret this.” he hissed. Percy didn't dignify him with a response; he just exchanged his sword for two long hunting knives. The demigod charged first, ignoring his throbbing ankle, closing the few paces between them rapidly. Percy slashed at him with his left hand, driving the right one down to Rumlow’s thigh. The agent blocked one and narrowly dodged the other; it barely skimmed him. 

 

Percy could feel the blood that trickled down his pants leg. Rumlow slammed his arm heavily into the side of Percy’s ribs, then with a small whir, his arm guard hit him in the chest so hard it threw him almost a dozen feet away. Percy rolled backwards, landing on his feet in a crouch with a hand on the ground.

 

The demigod wasted no time in getting up, his ribs screaming in protest. This time he aimed a kick to his opponent's stomach, which hit, and then jumped out of the way of a swipe with one of the long blades. It made a shallow cut in the leg of his pants, right by his hip. 

“Who the hell are you?” Rumlow repeated himself as he landed a hit on Percy’s shoulder. “I’m devastated you don’t remember me, Rumlow.” The use of his name brought the agent a momentary pause, which Percy used. He jumped up, slamming his knee into Rumlow’s stomach, making him stagger back. Percy flipped the knife in his hand, knees bent, waiting for the man to stand. 

“I doubt you were worth remembering.” He snarled, standing up. This time he ran at Percy and slammed him into a wall. Percy ducked under his fist and returned it, the plating on his knuckles slamming against the ridiculous helmet. Rumlow caught himself with his left foot, so Percy went to his right, grabbing his arm and flipping him over his shoulder. “We’ll see.” Percy breathed out. Rumlow swept at his feet, startlingly fast, and Percy hit the ground. Suddenly Rumlow was on top of him, a hand around his throat. The other gripped the edge of Percy’s helmet and tugged it off. 

 

“Jackson?” Rumlow asked incredulously. Percy smiled, baring his teeth, knowing Rumlow could see it this time. He grabbed Rumlow’s wrist and twisted, wrenching his arm off of him. Percy rolled and took Rumlow’s ugly helmet with him. And---

 

Huh. Percy had felt the scar tissue twitching as Rumlow spoke, but now that it was exposed to the air, Percy could really feel the extensive damage. “Damn, Rumlow,” he whistled, standing up and tossing the helmet to the side. “You’re really an ugly son of bitch now, huh?” Rumlow snarled and stood. 

 

Percy ducked under a hit and pulled a dagger from his thigh---his knives had hit the floor a while ago. He swung a few wide arcs at Rumlow, the agent barely dodging them. “This some sort of vendetta thing? Pissed about the bomb?” Percy didn't notice the arm guard powering up until it was too late, and he was across the room on his back. Rumlow advanced. “You know that’s just the game, Jackson. Don't like it?” He lurched forward, a heavy foot slamming into the concrete where Percy’s head was a second before. “Don’t play.” 

 

Percy flipped back onto his feet. “Not even close.” He snapped. “What, then?” Rumlow asked. The demigod took out a pair of escrima sticks. “I said you tried to hurt a friend of mine.” Percy hinted as he raised his arms. 

 

Rumlow took a wild swipe at his chest, but Percy instead caught his elbow and slammed his own armoured one down onto the blade connected to the man’s arm guard. It snapped off, hitting the concrete with a clang. Percy kicked it away. 

 

“Tried? I don’t fail missions, Jackson. Not something you’d understand, of course.” Percy grit his teeth at the memory. “Yeah? Because you have shit aim, asshole. And I know you weren't supposed to hit me.”

 

Rumlow took in a breath. “How did you find out about that?” Percy smiled. “I hear a lot of things I’m not supposed to.” The demigod went low, slamming the escrima stick into his side, then following up with a strike to the face. Rumlow staggered back as Percy advanced. “What exactly did he say? Oh. Right. You’re a dead man.” The words seem to shake the agent to his core.

 

Rumlow aimed a kick---a poor one. Percy sidestepped and slammed the side of his arm into him. “It was only a matter of time.” He continued. Percy spun and delivered a hard kick to Rumlow’s left knee. The agent hit the ground, howling in pain. He tried to stand, but quickly fell back to his knees. Still, he swung at Percy. Rumlow was persistent, Percy would give him that. 

 

“I’m going to make you wish you killed me back on that boat.” 

 

Percy caught his wrist and wrenched his arm back. Rumlow bit his tongue to keep from crying out. “You tried to kill Tony.” Percy’s voice was low, quiet. Rumlow, even thoroughly beaten, laughed. 

 

“This is all for Stark? Honestly, Jackson. You know the kind of man he is.” 

 

“Yes. I do.” 

 

“And you think he, what, cares about you? He's selfish. The most self centered, egotistical---”

 

Percy twisted his arm, cutting Rumlow off as he yelled. Percy could sense the muscles and ligaments in the agent’s arms, the ball of his upper arm in his shoulder socket. He also felt it when he twisted and yanked it right out. 

 

“You really need to learn when to stop talking.” Percy breathed, shaking his head. 

 

Rumlow groaned, voice shaking. “Go to hell, Jackson.” 

 

The demigod let go of his arm, reholstering his escrima sticks. Instead, he grabbed his discarded knife off of the floor. The man’s heart beat had skyrocketed.

 

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

 

Percy smiled. “They don't accept returns.” 

 

Percy gripped Rumlow’s hair and yanked his head back. 

 

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. 

 

Rumlow didn’t respond. 

 

Probably too busy bleeding out from his jugular. 

 

Thump...Thump...Thump

 

Percy wiped his knife on the agent’s shoulder, then tucked it back in its sheath. 

 

Thump…….Thump…….

 

Percy hobbled back to the doorway, his ankle burning. 

 

……….Thump…………

 

He put a hand on the doorframe, leaning against it.

 

……………………

 

Percy didn't smile. He just limped back towards his friend.

 

---

 

Friday, October 3rd

2:54 AM

Abandoned Red Hill Maple Syrup Factory, VT

 

Rhodey was scared shitless. 

 

He and Vision had just finished clearing the top floor when Deathstroke checked in. 

 

“Rhodes, we got everyone down here. One dead---commited suicide with some sort of pill embeded in his molar.”

“Shit, really?” The silence confirmed it. “Damn. Everyone else secured?” 

“Yeah. Heading our way back up.”

“U.N. team is coming in 30. They have trucks to transport everyone. Vision and I are out front.”

“Be there in a minute.”

Rhodey turned back to Vision. The synthezoid was hovering a few feet away from the building, head tilted up. Rhodey hesitated for a moment before activating his thrusters and joining him. Vision broke the silence first, eyes still on the sky. 

 

“Did you know that a new constellation was discovered a few years ago?” 

 

Rhodey blinked a few times. “No, actually.” 

 

Vision hummed. “Yes. It’s called The Huntress. A noble name, don’t you think?” He sounded oddly wistful. 

 

After a hesitant nod, Vision continued. “Wanda first told me about it. She really liked looking at the stars.”

 

Oh. 

 

What should Rhodey say? Apologize, try to console him? 

Rhodey opened his mouth, but was cut off by an earth-shaking boom. Him and Vision both whipped around. And then were promptly blasted back a few meters shy of the tree line. 

 

Rhodey groaned. “The hell?” He muttered. His suit had made a gouge in the earth, like a long scratch mark. “Fri?” He moved his arms to push him into a sitting position. 

 

“I have lost connection to Boss’ suit. Attempting to reconnect as we speak.” 

 

Rhodey stood with difficulty. His shoulder hurt fairly bad, but he would live. “Vision?” He called out. The synthezoid was in a similar position to him, a rut formed in the dirt with him at the end. “You alright?” 

 

He nodded and stood. “An explosive. Probably more than one, planted in various parts around the building.” Vision noted, squinting at the building. Rhodey nodded in agreement. “Fri?” He asked again. “Still trying, Colonel. It’s slow-going.” She said apologetically. 

 

Rhodey took a deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut. Both Tony and Percy were still in there. Vision looked over at him. “I...I am sure they will be alright, Colonel.” The synthezoid said hesitantly.
“Of course they will be. They...they will be.” Rhodey ducked his head, hiding a sniff. “Right.” He looked back up at Vision. “I’ll call the Council. Tell them...I’ll tell them what went wrong. And we need backup, ASAP.” Vision nodded.

 

The two of them waited for almost half an hour before they got the notification backup had almost arrived. They had tried their own scannings of the building, but Tony and Percy were in the sublevels---they wouldn’t be able to find them. And there was no way the two of them could safely excavate them, either. God, they didn't even know where exactly they were. 

 

“Colonel!” FRIDAY exclaimed in his ear. “I’ve established a link!” 

Rhodey took in a sharp breath.

“Hey, Rhodes.” Percy’s voice came in through his helmet. “How you doing?”

Relief swept through him.

“Jackson…” Rhodey gave an exasperated sigh. (It almost sounded like a laugh.) “Not trapped under a building, at the moment.”

 

“Hm. Can’t relate. Sounds nice, though.”

Rhodey fought back a smile. Then,

“Wait. This is Tony’s line. Is he alright?” The Colonel asked frantically. 

He could hear the rustle of Percy’s nodding. “Concussed. A few scratches here and there, but he’ll live.” 

Thank God. “And you?”

 

Percy’s voice was hesitant. “Uh, a little worse for the wear.”

“...”

“Nothing super bad!” The mercenary assured quickly. “A few scratches, my ribs are bruised, and I think I sprained my ankle.” Then he added something quit Rhodey couldn’t make out.

“What?”

“Uh, well. You see...a Small stab wound.”

 

“You said neither of you were hurt when you checked in before the building blew.” Rhodey pointed out.

“Yep. This happened after.”

“Did one of the agents wake up?”

“No.”

 

There was more rustling, and he could hear Percy softly tell Mrs. O’Leary something. Shit, he had forgotten she was down there too.

 

“Rumlow was down here.” 

 

Rhodey’s eyes widened. “He got away? Are you alright? What the fuck did he do?”

“Oh, uh, he’s still down here. And I said it was a Small stab wound. I’ll live.”

“Can he hear you? Should we go silent?”

“Well, uh.” There was a spot of static. “He’s dead.”

 

Holy shit.

 

“He got crushed by rubble?”

“More like I spit in his face then slit his throat, but whatever floats your boat.”

This brought a startled laugh out of the Colonel. “You’re fucking crazy, Percy.”

“Probably. How long till you can get us out of here?”

“Estimated backup in 4 minutes. Can you guys hold out until then?”

“No problem. This isn't coming out of my vacation time, though.” 

Rhodey smiled. 

 

He heard the vehicles coming before he saw them. There was equipment in some of the trucks, Rhodey identified it as some heavy lifting construction equipment. 

 

Leading the group was a woman named Captain Johnson, who immediately made a beeline to Rhodey. 

She listened with rapt attention as he explained the situation, nodding here and there. “And you have confirmation that both are alive?” He nodded. “Last spoke to Jackson about 3 minutes ago.” She nodded. 

 

(And if she noticed that, officially, Percy wasn’t supposed to be there, she didn't say anything. Nor did she write it down in her report.)

 

“We’ll have them out in no time.” 

 

Vision and Rhodey helped here and there, flying chunks of concrete and steel away from the site. It wasn’t long before a large crater was formed in the rubble, and Rhodey could freely talk to Percy from the surface. 

 

Vision ended up being the one to lift Tony to them. Rhodey paled a bit at the sight of his bloody and unconscious friend, but remembered Percy’s words. He was pretty OK, all things considered. The mercenary himself appeared a few seconds after Tony did; rappel gear was thrown down to him and he climbed. Rhodey took in the damage with a critical eye, aware of the sudden silence that had fallen over the assembled EMTs and National Guardsmen. 

 

Most of them were frozen, staring at Percy with what looked like fear.

 

Rhodey flicked his gaze back to him. 

 

Percy was still dressed in full gear, though it was torn and bloody. His helmet was under his arm, a splatter of crimson across the side. His numerous weapons were still attached to him, save a single dagger. His hair was tousled and there was a cut on his cheek, along with some blood soaking into the fabric and kevlar on his thigh.

 

Ah. The small stab wound. 

 

“Hey.” Percy muttered. “Should I tell them where I left Rumlow?” 

Rhodey raised an eyebrow. “The alternative being?” 

“Well,” Percy hummed. (Rhodey already didn’t like this.) “If they are like, the worst, I was thinking I would leave it there like a Kinder Surprise Egg.”

Rhodey blinked. “What.”

The mercenary shrugged. “You know. Just… a fun little surprise.”

 

Rhodey took a deep breath. Dear God. “No, Percy. Do not do that.” 

“Fine. Boring.” He huffed, and then wandered off to go find Captain Johnson.

Rhodey shook his head. Tony was getting loaded into an ambulance---one of the medics had told him that Tony would be 100% fine, but still needed some medical attention. 

 

But somehow, Rhodey still felt worse for Captain Johnson.

Notes:

percy looking at his definitely broken ankle and ribs: uhhh yeah a small sprain and a few bruises, why?

mmmmm illegal kinder surprise egg

Chapter 16: Something Down In The Ice And The Moral Dilemma Of BARF

Summary:

Tony does some thinking, Percy does some reminiscing.

Notes:

FOREVER thanks to SnufflesThePig who drew some FANTASTIC art for this story. its on their instagram---@itreallyisthequietones
please please please go check it out! its so pretty!

also alex: your proof reading is a life saver.

This story has hit 10,000! thank you guys so much!

Saturday, October 4th

11:23 AM

Stark Tower, NY

 

Christ, Tony’s head hurt. 

 

He was laying on the couch, an arm hanging off the side. His doctor had limited any mentally strenuous activities. So reading, work, and anything involving a screen. FRIDAY had turned all the lights down low. (Tony had asked Percy if it bothered him. Percy just gave him a look. )

 

“The kids were worried. Peter especially.” The mercenary was sitting across from Tony on the loveseat, legs crossed with Mrs. O’Leary next to him, her chin resting on his thigh. His ankle was in a thick brace, and his ribs were wrapped. He had gotten a few stitches in his thigh as well, courtesy of his fight with Rumlow. Tony knew the whole situation was personal for Percy; Rumlow had tried to blow him up and then shot him a couple times, for hell's sake. Rhodey had later complained to Tony about how the man had underplayed his injuries---something which Tony got on his case for as well. Percy was holding his phone, the screen illuminating his face. Tony closed his eyes. “Yeah? What’d you say?” 

Though Tony couldn’t see him, he had the feeling Percy rolled his eyes. “I told them you’re fine and need to stop complaining.” Tony blindly chucked a pillow at him, which he dodged. Bastard.

 

“I can’t even get any work done.” Tony huffed.

Percy laughed. “I don’t think the break will kill you, Tony. The Accords can wait.” 

“I miss my lab.” The billionaire whined. 

“Your health is important. Shut up.”

 

Ah, the Percy Jackson brand of love. Sincere, affirming words immediately followed up by an insult.

 

Since Rhodey had asked Tony to stop making him new braces, and that the ones he had were better than he could’ve hoped for, Tony had been a bit bored. The idea had come to him while he was working on the new Accords. 

 

BARF could only reach surfaced memories---whatever the user was concentrating on. But...what if it could reach buried memories? Memories completely blocked by trauma, or head injuries.

 

…...Or maybe memories blocked by almost 80 years of brainwashing.

 

As soon as the thought came to him, Tony had been forced to take a moment of pause. Could BARF really help Barnes? If it could, should it? Tony knew, logically, that it wasn’t Barnes' fault. If it wasn't him, some other random Hydra operative would have done it. But still…

 

Tony had resented Howard for years because of the so-called ‘crash’. He remembered staring at his father’s liquor cabinet after he got the news of the accident, and couldn’t help the burning hot rage that simmered in him. His dad had always been a drunk---and a violent one, at that---but Tony never thought it would ever take a life. 

 

And even after, as Obie presses his first drink into his hand, Tony held onto that anger. And now, to find out it wasn’t even the man’s fault? It was all because of some fucking serum, and another man’s grab for power? 

 

Tony bit the inside of his cheek. The crash may not have been Howard's fault, but plenty of things still were. For fucks sake, Tony had just gotten around to letting Percy directly hand him stuff. 

 

“Hey,” Tony spoke up, voice soft. “What’s your father like?”

 

Percy startled. “What?”

Tony felt the tips of his ear heat up. “I, I was just...thinking.” He said lamely. The mercenary was giving him a strange look. “Everything alright?” Tony nodded, even though it was almost pitch black.”Yeah. Just….” He sighed.

 

Percy put his phone down and slipped off his headphones. “Well,” he hummed. “I never knew my dad, growing up.” Tony’s eyebrows raised a little. “All my mom ever said was that I looked a lot like him.”

 

Tony slowly pushed himself into a sitting position. “Wait, uh. The guy in the footage from the Chitauri battle?” 

 

Percy laughed a little. “Yeah, no. Paul’s great, really, but not my dad.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“My mom married this guy named Gabe when I was a kid.” Percy shook his head, a slightly pained look on his face. “He...he was an asshole. Good for nothing drunk. Didn't do much except yell at us and play poker.” 

 

Tony opened his mouth, but said nothing.

 

“He stuck around ‘till I was twelve. At one point accused me of kidnapping my mom and blowing up a building on live television. So,” Percy laughed bitterly.

 

“You were twelve .” Tony said incredulously. Percy shrugged. “Like he gave a shit.”

 

Christ. Percy had mentioned the whole kidnapping thing, and had given Tony permission to look into it. (“Good luck.” He had said.) Besides the stuff Tony had already read in his file, he found a few interviews and reports here and there. Kidnapped by a drug cartel at twelve. Hell, it was no wonder Percy was in the career path he was.

 

“Anyways,” the mercenary continued. “I met my dad for the first time around then, about a month or two before I turned thirteen. One of the first things he said to me was that he regretted the fact that I was born, actually.”

 

“I….” For one of the very first times in his life, Tony Stark was speechless. Well, except for, “What the fuck?”

 

“Eh, he’s gotten better. Then my mom met Paul when I was like 14, and he’s really cool. He helped me get into a school here when I was a teenager. I probably would’ve had to go to a military school otherwise. He makes my mom really happy, and Estelle rocks.” 

 

...alright. “Estelle; is that your sister?”

 

Tony could hear the smile in Percy’s voice. “Yeah. She’s the best.” He paused, then continued. “But, uh. Why do you ask? It was pretty random, and I really hope you aren’t that concussed.”

 

Tony snorted. “I’m not.” He cleared his throat. “It’s just...I had an idea. Something I was working on. It just...brought up some memories.” 

 

Percy nodded.”Yeah, I can get that.” He leaned back. “My dad and I...it's complicated, honestly. We’ll never really get to be that close. He has other family that has been around a lot longer. Wife, kids, all that. I’m a lot younger than the rest of them; hell, I haven’t even met them all. I’m always going to be the outsider around them.”

 

“He’s married?” Tony’s brow was furrowed.

“Yep. My dad cheated on his wife with my mom. She didn't even know he was married. My step-mom is pretty chill, considering, though. But one of my half-brothers?” Percy scowled. “He’s got a complex, I swear to the Gods. Enjoys lording over me the fact that he’s going to inherit everything. Like I care.” 

 

Head tilted, Tony asked “Inherit?”

 

This brought out a scoff. “The whole family is loaded. Course, that was super helpful when my mom and I were living in a one bedroom apartment in Hell's Kitchen.” Tony winced. “He didn’t even check up on you guys?” Percy shook his head. “He might’ve. But if he did, he didn’t do much about it.” The mercenary paused for a long second, then, in a quiet voice, like he was almost ashamed, he admitted, "It's really hard to not be bitter." 

 

Tony nodded slowly, taking Percy’s words in. “My dad wasn’t great either. Drank a lot. Yelled. Smacked me around a bit. For the longest time...I thought that’s what killed them. My parents, I mean. Cops told me he was driving drunk.” 

 

“Oh,” Percy breathed out. 

 

“After I found out what really happened…” Tony closed his eyes for a second. “It sucked. It really did. But I know Barnes wasn’t at fault.” He admitted. “It’s easier to think he was, but shit doesn't work like that.”

 

The mercenary nodded. “I...I get it.” Hesitantly, he added, “Do you think you could ever forgive him?” 

 

“I don’t know.” 

 

Tony turned his head. The sun had moved, forming s a small patch of light leaking from the window, a sharp contrast to the dim room. Percy was tapping his fingers lightly on his knee, the other hand scratching Mrs. O’Leary. 

 

“I think I have something that could help him. Help him a lot. But a part of me doesn't want to give it to him, if it works. Does that make me a bad person?” Tony asked suddenly, turning back towards Percy. 

 

“I don’t think so.” 

 

Tony nodded.

 

“But I know you. I get the type of person you are, Tony. You’re going to try and figure it out so you can give it to him. Because you’re a good person.” Percy spoke flatly and surely, like what he said was a simple fact. 

 

Tony tipped his head up towards his friend. “You think so?”

 

“No.” The mercenary hummed. “I know so.” 

 

---

 

Saturday, October 4th

5:43 PM

Stark Tower, NY

Percy sat, leaned back in his chair, laptop resting on his thighs. He had been trying to write a response to Romanoff’s card for a while without much success. What did you say to something like that, honestly? 

 

He planned on typing it out, then having FRIDAY proofread. The mailing address was somewhere in Dubai; Romanoff must’ve still had contacts somewhere. He wasn’t sure if she was honestly concerned about him, or if she was just curious. Maybe even suspicious.

 

 Percy had liked to think Clint and him friends, at least, but he knew the archer’s loyalty went to Romanoff over him. But would he have asked her to write the letter? 

 

It was after the shooting---Wakanda most likely had news stations from other countries. They could’ve watched it happen; as it did, or caught a headline after. Percy knew his name wasn’t disclosed to the public, but either of them could have recognized him on camera. 

 

The mercenary sighed.

 

All this shit was so complicated. 

 

He ended up writing something fairly simple; 

 

“I’m fine. Takes a lot more than that to take me down, Romanoff. 

 

What do they want to talk about?”

That brought up another point. What did the Rogues want with him? Romanoff had said ‘the others’. Not Clint, or even herself. Percy had never met any of the rest; the closest he had come was a couple years before he joined SHIELD, when he was still with the HSRD. 

 

He could still remember the day; as clear as the ice he had been surrounded with. He was wearing full snow gear, a parka pulled up over his face. A long pole with a red light blinking on the end, to signal his whereabouts, was in his hand.

 

A train of large armored cars was making their way across the snow---Percy could feel it, even from where he was standing. 

 

Almost ten minutes later, he could feel the first car stop. Two people stepped out, both in SHIELD issued snow gear similar to his own. 

 

“Captain Johnson?” He checked, not moving from his spot. 

The man with her snorted. “You get many other visitors out here?”

Johnson gave him a look, then turned back to Percy. “How long have you been out here?”

 

“Since this morning. A Russian oil team called it in about 18 hours ago.” Percy lied. Truthfully, he had been going for a swim; the temperature didn't bother him, and assured nobody would be around to see him. 

He had been approached by a smattering of sea creatures, all describing something big and strange stuck in the ice. 

 

Percy had followed them for about a mile and a half until he felt it. Whatever it was, it was heavy and hollow.

 

Johnson pulled a face. “How come nobody spotted it before?” She asked as Percy led them across the snow. In response, he shrugged. “It's not really that surprising. The landscape’s changing all the time.” He looked at the two of them from the corner of his eye. “You got any ideas what this thing is, exactly?”

 

Internally, he was praying it wasn’t some sort of SHIELD weapons test bullshit.

 

Johnson made a loose gesture with a gloved hand. “I don’t know. It's probably a weather balloon.” Percy held back a scoff. Hell of a balloon. “I don't think so. You don't have the right equipment for this, you know.”

 

The man ignored him. “How long until we can start craning it out?”

Percy raised a brow, slightly incredulous. He knew visibility was low here, but honestly. 

“I don’t think you quite understand. You guys are gonna need one hell of a crane.”

 

They took a few more steps. Percy could feel Johnson’s heart skip a bit as she caught sight of it. The plane---because that's what it was ---was massive. The true size was obstructed by the ice, but along the top, red reflector panels dotted it, showcasing at least a portion of its width. 

 

Percy later volunteered to be the first person to go into the ship, once they lasered a hole in the top. Unsurprisingly, nobody else really wanted to go in. Eventually Johnson gave him a hesitating look, then stepped forward. 

 

“It's not safe for you to go alone.” Percy smiled a little at that. There were definitely some good people affiliated with SHIELD, that’s for sure. 

 

The two of them rappelled down the hole, their feet hitting the ground with a bone-shaking echo. Johnson lifted her arm to her mouth. “Base, we’re in.” Percy took a few steps forward, letting his senses map the place out. It was definitely some sort of aircraft---but from where? He had never stepped foot in anything like it. There were piles of strange materials everywhere, and---

 

Johnson, a few paces away from him, slipped on the ice. Percy grabbed her arm, helping to steady her. “Careful.” He warned. Not everyone could sense the ice like him. 

He took a few more steps around. 

 

Something felt off about the whole place. 

 

He reached one of the walls. There was a deep gouge in the steel---Percy reached up with a gloved hand to feel it. Normally he would've had to take off his gloves to get a better feel, but the entire thing was coated in a thin sheet of ice, giving him an almost perfect image. 

 

The wound must’ve been made by something round. Like, perfectly round. Percy frowned a bit. Maybe a curved blade, of some sort.

 

There were also hatches in the bottom, under the bridge; large ones. Meant to drop smaller planes? A one man bomber vessel, most likely. There were also small turrets on the very top of the craft, Percy could feel the ice pressing down on it. But, oddly enough, they didn't feel like regular guns. The mechanisms inside were completely different. If he concentrated, Percy could feel a distant energy emitting from the inside. 

 

In the back end of the ship, near the engines, there was a large hole the tore completely through the wall, like something had rammed into it. Based off the way the metal was bent, Percy could tell that whatever had hit it came from the outside. 

 

Maybe one of the smaller planes that were above the hatches?

 

Percy slowly gravitated to the very middle, in front. A panel of square, broken windows sat on the floor. Here and there, across the walls, there were scorch marks and small craters in the walls and support pillars. Looking back, it almost reminded Percy what the target Tony used to test new repulsors felt like. 

 

Percy ran a hand lightly over the control panel. One cluster of the gauges was busted, the glass cracked like something had slammed into it. Some of the switches surrounding it were all flipped in the wrong direction, supporting the theory. 

 

And the strangest part of it was a big... thing right in the center a few feet from the control panels. It went to Percy’s waist, and was full of tubing and wires. There was a hollow space in the middle of it, the shape of a perfect cube. 

 

Next to it, about eight inches away, was a hole that burnt all the way through the ship. It was small...about the same size as whatever was in the hollow, cube-shaped space in the machine in front of him. 

 

Captain Johnson’s breathing was a little quick. Understandable, really. The whole thing was rather strange. It set the hairs on the back of Percy’s neck on end. Her heart rate was remarkably calm, though. Some sort of meditation?

 

Wait.

 

Now that he was paying attention, Percy could feel Johnson’s heart. It was quick and strong, not like the slow one that almost felt...faded.

They weren’t alone here.

 

Percy slid a hand into his jacket where a long knife was strapped to his side.

 

He took a few slow steps forward. The heartbeat was coming from...some ice? He crept even closer, then crouched down. There was definitely a body in there---actually, no. Saying ‘a body’ made it sound like it was dead. 

Whoever was in here, was, somehow, alive. Percy could feel slow breaths and a heartbeat, faint but strong and steady.

 

Percy skimmed a hand across the smooth surface, wiping off some snow. And he sucked in a sharp gasp once he did---Percy’s vision wasn't great by any means, but when he leaned in, he could still see the bright red white and blue. 

 

It was a round shield. 

 

“Captain,” He called out. “Is there a name of this ship anywhere?” 

 

Johnson paused for a moment, then replied, her voice echoing. “Yeah, painted on the side over here. The Valkyrie. Why?”

 

Percy swallowed. He tapped his wrist and brought it to his face. “Base, give me a line to the Commander.” 

The response was hesitant. “It’s 3 am, sir.”

 

Percy just shook his head, still crouched down. Johnson came over to him, her breath hitching once she took a look over his shoulder. 

 

“I don’t care what time it is. I think this one’s waited long enough.”

 

Later on, a team had extracted Rogers from the ice, iconic shield and all. Afterwards, it wasn’t any of Percy’s business what happened. He wasn't even an agent at the time—all of Roger's business in the 21st century was strictly SHIELD level seven and above.

 

“Fri?” He called up to the ceiling. “This look alright?”

The AI didn't respond for a second. “Brief and concise. I approve, Mr. Jackson.” 

“Can you send it out?”

“No problem.” 

“Thanks.”

 

Percy closed the computer and stood, stretching. For all of SHIELD’s faults, he, oddly enough, missed it. It was...exciting. There was always something new and interesting going on. But maybe, just maybe, he thought, giving a glance to Fury’s file on his table, he could end up doing something like that again. 

Notes:

percy casually mentioning something in his childhood: :)
everyone else, HORRIFIED: 0-0

originally the mention of him finding steve was going to be very brief, but then i fell into a wormhole of wanting to point a light at how perceptive and smart percy could be.

Chapter 17: Keeping Up With The Rogues

Summary:

The Rogues: A Reality TV Show

Notes:

I HAVENT SEEN BLACK WIDOW AND IF ANY OF YOU SPOIL IT I *WILL* ABANDON THIS STORY
you have been warned

thanks to: black_victor_cachat, SnufflesThePig, and my homie alex <3

Tuesday, October 7th

10:07 AM

Wakanda, Africa

 

Steve Rogers was irritated. 

 

Natasha had sent the letter more than a month before, but they had only received a reply about an hour ago. Natasha seemed to put a fair amount of faith into Jackson, but the man had certainly taken his time in getting back to them.

 

When the nondescript envelope had been dropped off Clint had hurriedly grabbed it, Natasha not far behind him. She was trying to appear calm, but as soon as the archer read out the words I’m fine she let out a breath and visibly relaxed.  

 

Bucky had been sitting on one of the arm chairs while they all gathered around the letter. It was printed out on plain paper, with a signature at the bottom. The stamp in the corner had a duck on it. Clint smiled when he saw it, shaking his head. 

Wanda and Sam both seemed a little confused, but had wandered over when they saw the two spies. 

 

“Is everything alright?” Wanda inquired, studying Natasha's face. To Steve’s dismay, the two had actually been in a couple of arguments recently. Though Natasha never really told him about what. The redhead nodded. “Just got some mail.” 

 

“From Jackson? He replied?” Sam asked incredulously. “He really wasn't in a rush, huh?” Wanda muttered. Natasha gave her a look.”He got shot three times, Wanda.” She reprimanded. Wanda huffed.

 

Clint looked to Sam. “Yeah. Wasn’t much, but we didn’t really expect more.” He cleared his throat. “I’m fine. Takes a lot more than that to take me down, Romanoff. What do they want to talk about?” He read aloud. 

 

Steve hummed consideringly. The man didn't sound outwardly hostile, though a bit cold. That was anticipated, though. Natasha had described him as quite professional, despite his fairly open personality. “What should we ask him first? About how he knew Hydra had infiltrated?” Sam suggested. 

 

Clint hesitated. “Well…” He looked to Natasha, who was looking cautious as well. 

 

“ Well , what?” Wanda asked.

 

“The two of them think Jackson is suspicious. During the gala shooting, he moved too fast for it to be normal. Like he was already moving before the shots.” Steve startled a little---Bucky was so quiet, all of them had almost forgotten he was there. Clint gave the ex-assassin a glare. 

 

“You think he’s Hydra?” Sam asked, eyes wide. 

 

Natasha pulled a face. “Hell no. The whole thing was a little off...but honestly? I don’t think he wants to hurt Tony.”

 

(The mention of his name brought mixed reactions. Wanda’s lip curled into a sneer and Bucky looked down with a flash of guilt across his face.)

 

Clint nodded. “There’s no way he’s Hydra, that’s for sure. We...we’re considering the fact he might have joined some other sort of organization. Mercs do that a lot---but it’s not necessarily bad.”

 

Steve worked his jaw a little. To be honest, he didn't really trust Jackson. He had faith in Natasha and Clint’s judgment, but everyone could make errors. “So you think this...other organization somehow warned Jackson?”

 

Clint shrugged. “Maybe. He looked pretty freaked out on stage when it happened, I doubt he knew about it too far beforehand.” 

 

Wanda leaned forward. “Weird. But what are we going to write back?” Natasha just pursed her lips. “We’ll figure it out.” 

 

We clearly being her and Clint.

 

Wanda pulled back, a small bit of anger on her face. 

 

Natasha paid her no mind, turning on her heel and striding past them. Clint followed the redhead out of the room, down the hall and out of the common room.

 

Steve exchanged a look with Sam. “Listen, Wanda. I’m sure she didn’t mean it. She’s probably just a little stressed.” The captain said with a placating smile. Wanda crossed her arms. “Maybe.” She muttered. “I just don’t get why she’s so mad. I didn’t do anything.” She continued, sounding puzzled. Sam opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off. Bucky stood, a stony expression on his face, and walked out, his steps echoing.

 

Sam gave Steve a quizzical look, to which he shrugged. Bucky had been acting a bit off since they came to Wakanda; but it was really to be expected. He had been through a lot. 

 

Steve turned back to Wanda.

 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Natasha was twirling a pencil in between her fingers as Clint read over the letter again. She knew there was real concern in his brow, though he tried to mask it. He had cared about Jackson, and really, Natasha held some of the same sentiment. The two of them were in no way close, but the one time they worked together, he had proved himself to be a worthy ally. 

 

Truthfully, Natasha was having a problem deciding what to ask him first. If she asked him too many questions too fast, he probably wouldn't respond at all. She needed to be careful---Natasha knew Jackson didn’t really trust her, and honestly, he would be a fool not to. SHIELD was a tough job, and you needed to watch your back. It wasn't for making friends. 

Clint was the one exception. 

 

Since they had arrived in Wakanda, Natasha had been a tad distant with the others. Especially once Scott left; Natasha wasn’t too fond of him, but he did have a way of de-escalating things. Clint was considering trying and getting a pardon like his; he really did miss Laura and the kids.

Things between her and Sam (and Scott, when he was there) were alright, all things considered. Everyone else...not so much.

 

Truthfully, Natasha had never really liked Wanda that much. She thought the Sokovian was too emotional for this kind of job. Call her frigid, but she really didn't think the other woman could handle it. Natasha had done many profiles in her life, and knew the signs of someone not fit for a job. To start off, Wanda had held a grudge for far too long against Stark. (Natasha didn't think she had the right to call him Tony anymore.)

It was unhealthy, and affected her work performance. Her control over her powers was, and still is, iffy at best. When Steve approved her for the mission to Lagos, Natasha hadn’t objected; she had trusted Steve’s judgment. Something she had sorely regretted later.

 

After that, she had...misjudged the situation, though it pained her to admit it. In Leipzig, Natasha has thought letting Steve go was the best option. But when she had seen Stark’s face in the hospital while Rhodes was getting scanned...she had regretted it. 

 

Natasha wasn’t an optimistic person; the Red Room wouldn’t allow that. She knew that if Stark and Steve kept fighting, what happened to Rhodes would be the best case scenario. They had gone about it all wrong. Reflecting on that now, though, she wasn’t quite sure if it could have ended any other way. In Wakanda, she had spent more time with Steve than ever, and she really took notice of how stubborn he was. No matter the counter argument or ideas of the opposing side, Steve never budged. At first she had admired it; a man who was so loyal to his ideals. But now she just saw him as someone who was adverse to compromise. 

 

After Stark threw that barb at her being a double agent at her...it had stung. She wasn't going to lie. So Natasha struck back; everyone was always ragging on Stark for his ego, she figured the man was so used to it he almost ignored it completely. She had been expecting some snark in return, something the billionaire seemed to have an abundance of. But instead, he had just turned his head away from her, and told her Ross was going to come for her.

 

It threw her off balance. 

 

So she told him he needed to watch his back. Once the whole Leipzig fight was blown open, people would be gunning for him, no doubt about it. It’s why she wasn’t too surprised when she heard about the shooting. Horrified and (scared) concerned, maybe, but not surprised. 

 

Since they fled to Wakanda, Natasha had found herself with more free time than ever before. And a lot of it, whether she liked it or not, ended up being used to do some reflection. The biggest realization that came to her was about Stark himself. 

 

The man had been playing her. 

 

It was no coincidence every time the two of them interacted, he only strengthened the picture of him painted in her mind. That he was just an irresponsible, drunk billionaire who never took anything serious. Somehow, he had overridden the knowledge that he had eliminated entire terrorist organizations by himself or that he invented a new element in less than 24 hours. It was genius, really. Natasha had been kicking herself for weeks over the fact that she didn't notice it.

 

Even though she didn't hold him in the highest regard, Natasha did care about him. So...she was glad someone like Jackson, loyal to a fault, stuck around with him. 

 

Natasha wasn’t so prideful she couldn't admit when she had messed up. And deep down she knew letting Steve go was a mistake. 

 

Barnes was the one who had told her what had actually happened in Siberia; Steve hadn’t mentioned the fight with Stark at all. And that’s really when the spy started to be a bit more wary of Steve Rogers. 

She began to realize that despite all of his reaching about loyalty and teamwork, he didn’t even hesitate to leave Stark behind. Because to him, Bucky was more important. Natasha was the one who urged him to write the letter, to at least try smooth things over. Barnes had, once again, walked over to her and informed her of what the captain had written, she almost screamed. 

 

Now, whenever she looked at Steve, instead of loyal, idealistic, and noble, all she could think of was patronizing, prideful, and selfish. 

 

Distantly, she wondered if Stark felt the same. Maybe he always had; maybe he had seen what didn't. 

 

A knock on the doorframe startled her out of her thoughts. Barnes was standing in the doorway, looking a tad awkward. Clint paused in his scrutiny of the letter and looked up at the ex-assassin. 

 

“Hey.” The archer greeted. 

 

“Hi.”

 

Natasha raised her brows a little. “Is...everything alright?” She ventured. “Oh, uh, yeah.” Barnes muttered. “I just…” He nodded towards the letter in Clint’s hand. “What are you going to reply?”

 

The redhead weighed her options internally. Barnes was quiet, almost too quiet. But he had been truthful with her about what Steve wrote in the letter, and what had happened in Siberia. (According to him, he didn’t really remember much of it at the time. Everything had been a bit hazy, and he couldn't remember clearly until after they left. He had made an effort to find out, and told Natasha almost immediately after, his face torn with guilt.)

 

Natasha just gestured to one of the couches. “Take a seat and help us find out.”

 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tuesday, October 7th

1:14 PM

Stark Tower, NY

 

Percy rode the elevator down, fingers drumming restlessly on his thigh. The edge of his sleeve brushed his palm a little, the old, frayed stitching tickling. The hoodie was a little big---it was actually Jason’s; Percy had stolen it from him the last time they had hung out. It was one of the New Rome University ones, detailed on the front with a rich gold. It had long faded since Jason had got it, leaving it just the base purple.

 

The elevator dinged. “Ground floor.” FRIDAY announced. 

“Thanks, Fri.”

 

Mrs. O’Leary followed him dutifully into the lobby, her feet padding across the marble floor. (Because of course the floor was marble. Honestly, Tony.) The two of them approached the front desk, carefully navigating around the crowds.

 

Percy lightly rapped his knuckles on the desktop. Lee paused in her typing, tearing her eyes away from the computer. “Hey, Jackson.” She nodded at him. “Just give me a minute.” 

He nodded as she clicked a few more things, her brow furrowed a little. She stood up a minute later, pushing out her wheeled office chair. "Shall we?"

 

Percy fought a smile. “We shall.” 

 

Lee grabbed her bag, and the two of them walked out of large front doors, down the sidewalk to a small cafe about a block away from the tower that was usually fairly empty this time of day. They took a table in the back, with Mrs. O’Leary opting to lay down under it. 

 

After they ordered, Lee crossed her arms on the table, regarding him curiously. "Something's bothering you." She stated. That was one of the things he'd always appreciated about Lee; the ex-agent never was one to beat around the bush. 

 

Percy sighed, running a hand through his hair as he leaned back in the booth. Figuring he'd give her the same courtesy, he spoke plainly. “I talked to Fury.” 

 

Lee blinked at him, staying silent for a moment as if trying to decipher a joke, face scrunched. When he said nothing, she leaned forward. "Are you serious?”

Percy just gave her a look, and she frowned. “When was this?”

 

“About two weeks ago. He was waiting for me at the park. Lea almost bit his hand off.” He explained tiredly. 

 

Though unnoticeable to most, Lee was clearly upset to Percy. He knew that she, like him, has mixed feeling about Fury. Whether or not he was a good man at his core, he had missed his own inner circle being infiltrated by their sworn enemies. And he hadn't been the only one to pay the price for it, Percy thought, looking at the tell-tale scar running down Lee's neck. Face tight, she reached down and scratched the dog behind the ear. "Good girl," Lee affirmed. Then, back to Percy. "What did he want?"

 

Here, the mercenary bit his lip. “It’s going to sound pretty ridiculous.” He warned. Lee just rested her chin in her palm. “Hit me with it.” Percy shrugged. “Alright then.”

 

He paused for a minute. Then, 

 

“He wants me to start up a new agency, like SHIELD. But better.”

 

Lee stared at him for a long while, lips parting in silent surprise. A waitress came by and gave them both their sandwiches. After the both thanked her and she was far enough away, Lee spoke. “Are you shitting me?” She asked incredulously. It was almost comical, watching her usually reserved demeanor thrown off so thoroughly. 

 

Percy sighed. “Gods above, I wish."

 

Lee was silent for a moment, nudging her fries around on her plate. He watched as she carefully took apart her sandwich, picked all the tomatoes off, then redistributed them into a neat, even layer atop the bread. "It makes sense." She finally said, looking at him consideringly. "You'd be the obvious choice to him. Your methods are very different from his, but you knew about Hydra when he didn't, so you were obviously doing something right." She had been working for SHIELD when the news broke, though she was all the way in the Triskelion. The epicenter of it all. It was one of the reasons Percy wished to speak to her; her perspective on the fall of SHIELD was far more internal than his.

The mercenary, mulling over her words, nodded mutely. It did make sense—Fury's way had failed spectacularly. It was logical for him to decide a far different approach was needed; which is where Percy was supposed to come in. 

 

Lee blinked at him a few times. “Well, are you going to do anything about it?” She asked idly. Not demanding, not pressuring him. Just curious. 

 

Percy rested his elbows on the table. “It's not something I can do alone."

 

The weight of what he was asking laid between them, heavy. Percy knew it would be risky; Lee would be giving up any chance at the normal life she had been making for herself. The ex-agent was giving him a long, considering look, her mouth pinched a little. Then, she sighed. "I like SI." She opened with. Then, "But I didn't go to med school and survive SHIELD training to spend the rest of my life behind a desk." 

 

Percy let out a breath. “Great.” 

 

For the rest of Lee’s lunch break, the two of them discussed the finer details. The first rule they agreed on; smaller than SHIELD. The organization had been vast, which was its ultimate downfall. Only people they trusted with their lives. Especially in times like these, with so much on the line, it needed to be comprised of trustworthy people. Luckily, most of the ex-agents they needed worked in the very same building as them.

 

When the SHIELD data dump had occurred, Tony had done his best to ensure that the agents, now left exposed and jobless, had somewhere to go. And a lot of them ended up working for him---in legal, HR, R&D, security, maintenance, or a secretary like Lee. 

 

Percy would bet almost everything he had that a good percentage of them would want in. They'd worked far too hard to get into SHIELD just for it to collapse beneath them.  

 

They wouldn’t be like SHIELD either; they would be focused mainly on the Avengers and the council’s affairs, instead of sticking their nose all over like their predecessor had done. The FBI existed for a reason; to this day Percy had no idea how or why Fury was sending him after drug lords and the like. 

 

Cleanup and evacuation, investigating things the Chitauri left behind, all stuff like that. Not infiltrating a casino in Cairo because someone there had dirt on a senator. (Percy was still bitter about that.)

 

They had also come up with a few other people to speak to. Bridgette Lehey, Aspen Anev, Daniel Wén-Campbell, and Ross Bunmi. All four were scattered across departments and levels of the tower, which would make it easier for them to get information. 

 

By the time the two had finished their food, they had a pretty solid plan laid out. 

 

It would be difficult; no doubt about it. But...looking at the notebook in front of them that Lee had detailed in fresh ink, Percy didn't think it was impossible.

Notes:

just imagine the rogues in wakanda....but like keeping up with the kardashians or total drama island

*ahem*

[bucky and steve are talking and smiling]
*voiceover* Bucky: and this bitch didnt even TELL me about siberia---

[Clint is sitting watching Wanda and Nat argue while drinking a daquiri with a small umbrella in it]
Clint: sometimes its really hard to be the like, most underappreciated here. you know? but then stuff like this happens

[random cuts to sam and bucky just. fistfighting.]

scott: so, tony---
[a dramatic sound effect plays at the name. everyone freezes and turns to scott. clint drops his yoghurt]

feel free to add more

Chapter 18: Ice Cream Helps Everything

Summary:

Tony meets with the Council

Notes:

alex, my love, thank you for beta-ing.

Friday, October 10th

3:46 PM

WSC Headquarters, DC

Tony was fairly sure he was sweating. 

 

Being nervous was a strange feeling. Tony grew up around crowds, always a main attraction of his father’s show. Hell, he had gone in front of the Senate without a twitch of anxiety. But here he was, leaning against a wall, feeling like his heart was going to beat out his chest. 

 

He was going to be called into the chamber any second now. Any second now, and he would present his first revisions for the Accords. Tony closed his eyes. Pepper, Rhodey, and Percy had all made the trip to DC with him, but they weren't allowed past the final checkpoint. Percy had been permitted to go a bit further with him, as his bodyguard, but nowhere near the doors to the chamber. 

 

(Percy had caught his mutterings about his slight panic as they walked across the marble. The mercenary had just smiled at him. 

 

“You’re worried, Tony. It’s normal.”

 

“Not for me.” 

 

“On the contrary. This is something you’re actually passionate about---not just a press conference. Of course you’re scared as hell.” He had looped an arm lightly around Tony’s shoulders and given him a quick half-hug before he had to go. 

 

Sometimes Tony felt like he didn’t deserve a friend like Percy.)

 

There was a small vent above Tony’s head, blowing cool air onto his warm face. Inside his suit jacket pockets, Tony’s hands were in fists, fingernails biting into his palms.

Deep breaths, Tony. 

 

He needed to stay professional; looking like he was about to have a panic attack was not going to help that. No jokes or anything either. For once in his life, Tony needed to be taken seriously. 

 

A woman poked her head out of the stately, imposing doors. Hair in a tight bun, her pantsuit neatly starched. “They’re ready for you, Mr. Stark.”
And then she was gone. 

 

Tony breathed in through his nose and worked his jaw. His fingers clenched and unclenched around the handle of his briefcase. Out through his mouth.

 

The World Security Council’s chamber wasn’t quite as big as the Senate’s, but it was rather lavish. The carpeted floor was a deep blue and all of the tables and benches were a perfectly shined dark wood. 

 

Rows of chairs and tables sat in semi circles around the room. The Council was fairly small, but there were still countless chairs empty. Tony knew every single person who was missing; he had helped oust most of them as members of Hydra. Which didn't put a lot of faith into Tony, but the Council was the one in charge of the Accords, so he’d work with what he got. 

 

Against the wall in the center of the chamber, was a large, ornate desk. A few yards away from that was where Tony was supposed to be. He set his briefcase on the tabletop and took his seat.

 

“Dr. Stark.”

 

Tony smiled back, hoping to whatever was listening that it looked calm. “Councilwoman Hanover.”

 

Willa Hanover was the head of the Council. She was fairly tall, and unfairly intimidating. She wore sharp glasses and her hair in an even, collarbone length cut. Tony kept her gaze, spine straight. 

 

She looked at him for a long minute, then gave the tiniest smile possible in return. 

 

“You may begin your presentation.”

 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Friday, October 10th

3:57 PM

WSC Headquarters, DC

 

The WSC really needed to invest in new chairs. The one Percy sat in was stiff backed and creaky, making a horrid noise every time he moved. One of his legs was pulled against his chest, the bottom of his sneaker on the seat. His hand was resting on his knee, restlessly scrolling through his phone.

 

(It had actually been a gift from Tony. He had tried to refuse at first, but Tony had insisted. Apparently “Everyone has a damn phone, Jackson.” and Tony had “no other way to contact you” and didn't “feel like learning the language of smoke signals.”)

 

The two of them had split up almost fifteen minutes prior, and Percy was worried as hell. Tony had been stressed---Percy could feel his rapid and fluttery pulse. The mercenary knew Tony would do great. He had put way too much thought and time into his presentation for anything otherwise. Everything was going to be fine.

 

Just fine. 

 

His conversation with Thalia was open, waiting for a response. The hunters had been clearing out a series of monster settlements that were in the sewers, much to her disgust. His phone buzzed.

 

‘It was seriously nasty as shit. I would’ve given anything to be your half sibling.” The earbud on his left came to life with FRIDAY’s voice. Percy snorted softly.

 

“Of course you do. Mine’s is the coolest out of the three.” He said aloud. FRIDAY transposed the message for him, then read it aloud to confirm. 

 

A minute later, he got a response. 

‘ Can’t argue there. About an hour in I was starting to wish I’d stayed a tree. Of course the biggest settlements are in the sewers. ’

Percy’s mouth twitched into a smile. Thalia personally thought it was an after effect of the Great Wars; most of the monsters were reformed, and tried for strength in numbers. Some laid low---most didn’t. 

 

“Could be worse. At least it wasn’t Jersey.” He responded, trying to be conscious of his words. Chances were somebody would check the footage, and he had to speak aloud to respond. He didn't want to risk saying anything suspicious. 

 

Percy turned off his phone with a tap of his middle finger, then leaned his head back against the eggshell colored wall. Letting his eyes shut, the mercenary let his focus float over to the chamber. Picking out Tony was easy; Percy had spent enough time around the man to be able to single him out anywhere. 

He had never met any of the other Council members, though. Except for Graves, whom he was painfully aware of, sitting in the back row. His nails bit into his palms. Percy still wasn't quite sure if Graves had been involved in the gala shooting, but the timing was much too convenient for him to overlook it. Percy hadn't made it this far by believing in coincidences. 

 

He focused on Graves and Tony specifically; if that bastard tried anything, Percy would be in that chamber faster than he could blink, consequences be damned. Mrs. O’Leary seemed to have caught on to his agitation; she was pacing up and down the halls, tail flicking with her steps. 

 

There was nothing he could do at the moment, though, and Percy hated it. There wasn’t much he hated more than feeling useless. 

 

For now, he just waited. 

 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Friday, October 10th

4:11 PM

WSC Headquarters, DC

 

“And where do you plan on housing these... New Avengers ?” Councilman Coehn leaned forward, gaze curious. Tony took a small breath. He knew the answer to this---had gone over it dozens of times in the last few days.

 

He cleared his throat. “The old Avengers Compound. It has enough distance from the city to be safe, but not far enough to hinder our response time. It would be much more cost effective as well. The building is already built to accommodate a team such as the one I’m proposing.”

 

Coehn raised a brow. “The old Avengers Compound that you own?”

 

Tony shuffled a small stack of papers. “If this is approved, not for long. I have no personal use for the building---I would sell it and the land around it to the Council, if you are amenable.” Coehn nodded, seemingly satisfied. 

 

Tony let out a relieved breath. The Council was actually taking everything rather well. It felt nice to talk to actually sane people instead of dealing with SHIELD, Ross, and the Ex-Avengers. There had been some debate, but that was expected, and Tony was prepared. 

 

A voice spoke up from the back. “I believe this is a...conflict of interests, don't you?”

 

Tony blinked, and zeroed in onto the speaker. Short black hair, gelled back, and greying at the temples. Tony would recognize that smug face anywhere. 

 

“What do you mean by that?” He asked politely. 

 

Graves gave a nonchalant shrug. “Oh, you know. I just think it's a tad unprofessional that you plan to invest in the Avengers again. We all know how that turned out last time.”

 

Hanover tilted her head a bit. “Is there a point to this, Graves?”

 

The councilman set his gaze to Tony, eyes narrowed. “Well, Mr. Stark here is in a bit of a conundrum. Sponsoring the Avengers once more would be quite the irresponsible and foolish endeavor; it didn't turn out well previously. Is that really the kind of man we want spearheading this whole thing? You’ll have to forgive me, Mr. Stark, if I find this whole thing rather short sighted.”

 

Councilwoman Stuart worked her jaw. “There is merit to the idea.” She admitted. “Why would you put so much of your time and money into this once more?”

 

She was clearly asking Tony, but Graves answered. “I have to wonder if there is another motive.” The man leaned forward. “Being the benefactor of the Avengers would put you in quite the position of power, Mr. Stark. Now, I know you are aware of this, so I must ask; is that what this is? A bid to control the most powerful special task forces on Earth?”

Councilman Broz gave Graves a wide look. “Chris, surely you don’t think---” Graves cut him off. “Or maybe not. Maybe you don't need to hold the income over their head---because you already have something on them. Funding the Avengers is a gamble that no sensible man would make. And Mr. Stark, assuming you are as smart as they say, your actions don't quite track. Unless, somehow, you know that the team will work out.”

 

The room fell silent. 

 

Graves raised a dark brow. “No response to that, Mr. Stark?”

 

Tony stared at Graves for a long minute. The billionaire had spent a long time learning how to read people---it was something he had to learn from a young age to survive. It was clear as day to him how smug Graves seemed. He was expecting Tony to backtrack, to crack a joke and move on. To discredit himself. 

 

And maybe it would’ve worked--- before. When Tony would’ve done anything to get the Rogues back, to bow his head and make concessions and give whatever he had. Christ, he was so tired of that. So tired of being the one to give everything, to expect and get nothing in return. 

 

Did Graves really think he was going to pull something off, here? He was expecting Tony Stark, drunk party-going news headline, not Iron Man, who’d been forged in metal and fire.

 

Stark men are made of iron, after all. 

 

Tony sat up straight. “Dr. Stark.”

 

Graves blinked. “Excuse me?”

 

“Not ‘Mr.’. It’s Dr. Stark , I earned my PhDs, and you are going to recognize that.” Graves spluttered, but Tony powered on. “I’m not exactly sure what you are trying to imply here, Councilman. But I can assure you I am making no attempts to conceal my intentions. I’m not trying to control the Avengers, I’m trying to keep this planet safe. Something I sincerely hope you can appreciate, considering nobody else seems to.”

 

He made direct eye contact with Graves. “All of your accusations are irrelevant, anyways. I have no plans to fund the Avengers at all. It is a improper, and never should have been happening in the first place. An oversight not on my part, might I add. I am attempting to add legitimacy and order to the Avengers, but in a way that would allow us to operate with the least amount of casualties.”

 

Broz nodded slowly. “Something we agree with.”

 

Tony smiled. “Great. Then we are in agreement that if the Avengers are government controlled, they should be government funded?”

 

Graves’ face slackened in shock. Tony kept his voice level, his eyes still on the man. “You-you don't plan to contribute to the Avengers?” Tony gave a small shrug. “No. Why should I?” He rested his elbows on the table, crossing his arms. “It’s exactly like you said. It’s a conflict of interest.” 

 

Graves just stared. 

 

Councilwoman Hanover’s mouth twitched. “A solid argument, Dr. Stark. You’ve brought up some valid points---we will surely take them into consideration.” 

 

Tony smiled at her---a genuine one, not the sharp one he had been giving Graves. “Session dismissed.” Hanover said loudly. 

 

Tony quickly gathered up his things. There was no point in staying late, and he really didn't want to be in the same room as Graves for any longer than he had to. 

 

His revisions would be thoroughly discussed while he wasn’t there, that Tony could be sure of. But he spent a long time making sure his arguments were sensible and iron-clad. Quite truthfully, the original Accords weren’t that bad. Not ideal, but far from horrible. Most of the bad parts were just Ross. Rogers would have known that if he had actually read through them. No, the Accords were not the problem. It had taken Tony a long time to learn this, too long, but neither was he.

 

Tony had never done anything to split up the team. He hadn't pushed them away, or given them too little. No. He didn’t do anything wrong. Sure, the fight at the airport could have been handled better, but that wasn't Tony’s call. 

 

Tony had always liked to think of himself as someone who didn't need to be taught a lesson more than once. But recently, he had realized something had slipped through. When Obie had stood above him in the penthouse, tearing out the reactor, Tony’s first thoughts were What did I do to make him do this?'' Because it was his fault, surely. His ego, his selfishness, his delusion that he was special . 

 

When Rushman had revealed herself as an agent and stabbed him with a syringe, he had wondered why she had double crossed him. What did he do to make her lie to him? When Rogers had left him there in that bunker, Tony had asked himself what had been the tipping point to make Rogers hate him. 

 

As he walked down the marble halls, Tony found the answer. 

 

Nothing. He had done nothing. 

 

Tony didn’t make Obie start selling under the table, didn't do anything to warrant corporate espionage. He didn't write the Accords, nor did he approve Maximoff for the mission to Lagos, or even build Ultron. Tony didn't send the bomb that killed Maximoff’s parents, he didn't make or sell it. He didn't do anything to make Rogers mistrust him so much he didn't call him during the Insight fiasco. 

 

Rogers didn't take his advice, his pleads, about the Accords because it wasn't about them, and Tony was a little pissed he was only realizing that now. It was about power, and how the little guy from Brooklynn didn't like people telling him what to do. Plain and simple. 

Tony let that revelation sink into him, past his skin and bones, straight into his soul. Because he wasn't doing this for Rogers. Not Rogers, or Barton, Wilson, Romanoff, Maximoff, not even Barnes or himself. Tony was rebuilding the Avengers to protect Earth. The Rogues were just going to have to get with the program.

 

“Tony!” Percy jogged up to him, Mrs. O’Leary at his side. “How did it go?” He asked excitedly. Tony smiled a little. “Not bad, all things considered.” The mercenary beamed at him. “Told you it would be fine. Pepper and Rhodey had to go---but they’ll be back at the hotel pretty soon. Car is out front.” 

 

The two of them walked down the wide stairs down to the sidewalk. All the way to the car, Tony gave him the details of what had happened, almost word for word. Percy listened with rapt attention, nodding here and there, even booing when Graves spoke, which brought a small laugh to Tony.

 

Things were mostly silent while Tony focused on the road. His fingers tapped absentmindedly on the wheel. Percy broke the quiet. “When they come back,” he said softly, and Tony didn't have to make any guesses about who ‘they’ were, “are they going to be working with you?” 

 

Tony sighed. “Honestly? I’m not sure.”

 

“Do you want to work with them?”

 

“....no.”

 

Percy nodded as if that’s all that mattered. “Then they won't. I'll make sure of it.”

 

Tony raised a brow, eyes darting over to look at him. “How are you going to---actually, I don't want to know.” Percy grinned, a laugh bubbling from his lips. “Probably for the best.” 

 

He suddenly jerked forward. “McDonald’s!”

Tony blinked. “What?”

 

“I want ice cream!” Percy demanded. 

 

“We aren't getting---” Tony tilted his head. “Fuck it. The Council is exhausting. ” He turned left, towards the drive through. Percy cheered.

 

Once the two had ordered, and the cashier had gotten over the fact that she was handing McFlurries to Tony Stark, they returned to the highway, Percy happily humming as he ate. Tony couldn't help but roll his eyes. World’s deadliest mercenary my ass. 

 

“You seem worried.” Percy commented as he spooned out a cluster of Oreo. 

 

Tony sighed again. Percy knew him too well. “Just thinking.” He said honestly. Percy nodded slowly. “Well, doing anything for the first time is hard.” He said sympathetically. Tony took and hand off the wheel to reach over and smack him. “Fuck you. I just bought you ice cream.” The mercenary shrugged, unbothered. “You’re rich. It’s your duty.” 

 

The inventor rolled his eyes. Percy sent him a grin. “But seriously, what's bothering you?” 

 

Tony didn't answer for a second, his eyes not leaving the road. “I...Just realizing, I guess.” Percy put down his spoon, giving Tony his full attention. “I didn't do anything to deserve the way they treated me, did I?” Tony asked softly. 

 

Percy took in a shallow breath. “Oh, Tony.” He murmured. Percy’s eyes flickered down to his scuffed converse. The same ones he had been wearing when they met, Tony noted. “Sometimes, people just do things, and there's nothing you can do to change their minds, no matter how hard you try.”

 

He sounded sad. “You sound like that's from experience.” 

 

“Yeah.” Percy agreed, slightly bitter. “It is.” He brought his gaze back to Tony. “Rogers was an asshole. There's nothing you could have done to deserve that, Tony. You deserved better.” 

 

And for what felt like the first time, Tony didn't find himself arguing.

Notes:

tony getting that self esteem!!!! hell yeah!!!! so proud ;,)

percy is like, the best friend ever, and nobody can change my mind

*ahem*

percy, pulling up in a convertable: get in loser we're going to go get some self esteem

Chapter 19: Peter Follows In Percy's Footsteps

Summary:

obligatory percy scaring the shit out of at least one of peter's classmates

Notes:

alex is a typo catching master and i love them very much

TW: some minor transphobia from flash

Monday, October 13th

11:27 AM

Midtown School Of Science And Technology, NY

 

 

Mr. Hampton had changed the seating chart early that morning. Normally, Peter would have been ecstatic---anything to get him away from Flash, who hadn’t grown tired of shooting bits of paper with a rubber band at the back of his neck since September. 

 

But now Ned was sitting in front of Flash, and Peter was two seats to his right. Peter’s fist was clenched, his nails surely making small red crescents into his palm. Mr. Hampton had left the classroom four minutes ago---Peter had been counting. Peter had overheard, accidentally, of course, there was a problem with the copier machine, and knew his English teacher was the go-to guy to fix it. Before he left to go help, he had set the class to do some silent reading, which, naturally, none of them were doing.

 

MJ was drawing. Probably him; he knew he looked deeply in crisis. Sally was hanging upside down in her chair and talking to Abe. Betty was laser focused on something on her phone, and Cindy was playing rock, paper, scissors with Charles. Nobody was paying attention to Ned and Flash. Why would they? They couldn’t hear what was going on. 

 

Peter could. He always could.

 

“C’mon, Leeds. Tell me what you’re doing.” Flash taunted. He was leaning forward in his chair, over his desk, speaking directly into Ned’s ear. 

 

“Leave me alone, Flash.” Ned muttered, not stopping his work. Peter squinted a little at his computer screen. He was fairly sure it was one of the coding projects they were working on for Karen. The current objective was to make her a friend. Ned wanted to name her Mia. 

 

“You working on something for Tony Stark, dipshit? You and Penis get the internship together, huh? Is that the story, now?” Flash’s face was pulled into a sneer. 

 

Ned didn’t respond. His eyes didn’t even leave his computer screen.

 

Flash didn’t seem to take to this well. He leaned in a little further. “You know what I think? I---” He was cut off by the bell ringing. Peter’s eyes flew to the clock. Thank God. Everyone stood and gathered their stuff, sweeping papers and books into bags. Nobody was faster than Ned and Peter, though, who were side by side and out of the classroom seconds after it rang.

 

“You alright?” Peter asked softly, once they had been pulled into the crowd of the hallways. Ned nodded slowly, his face downcast.

 

Peter’s eyes flitted to his friend, the ground, then back. “Do you want to eat outside today?” 

 

Ned nodded again.

 

Once they had both gotten their lunch trays, the two backtracked out of the cafeteria and out the side doors in the science wing. Workmen flitted in and out of the classroom doorways, carrying equipment. Peter had heard from Betty that somebody had made an anonymous donation to the chemistry program. Like, a big donation. 

 

It was chilly outside, with a slight breeze. The sun shone lightly through the clouds, warming up the ground. Still though, Peter appreciated his layers. Not being able to thermoregulate properly sucked. 

 

They both made themselves comfortable in a sunny spot in the grass. Peter shot MJ a quick text in case she wanted to join them.

She did not. 

 

(Apparently, Lisa Burner’s boyfriend had broken up with her for the third time that year. She was upset because she usually broke up with him. The last seven times, to be precise. And MJ didn't want to pass that scene up.)

 

In the meantime, Peter filled Ned in on what happened during his latest internship day. It had been pretty great; Mr. Stark had let him work on one of his old repulsors, and then Percy had taught him how to flip someone four times his size over his shoulder. 

 

All in all, a very productive day.

 

Ned seemed rather cheered up by his story, and once again started bugging him to let him meet Percy. 

 

“C’mon! It’ll be fun.” Ned urged. 

 

Peter huffed. “No. Because if you meet him, then MJ will have to meet him.”

 

Ned blinked a few times, a look of horror washing over his face. “I take that back immediately.” Peter couldn't help but laugh. 

Ned was wide-eyed. “How can you be laughing at a time like this? MJ already terrifies me every waking second. Her and Percy would probably make my heart give out. I can handle one at a time; no more.” 

 

Peter laughed so hard he choked on a carrot. Then Ned started laughing at him . 

 

The two of them ended up throwing the school’s slightly suspicious baby carrots at each other for the rest of lunch period, missing pretty much the entire time. One of Peter’s hit Ned in the chest, getting stuck in his pocket.

 

Ned snickered and reached up to pull it out. He caught his watch out of the corner of his eye. “Shit,” he looked up at his friend. “Bell’s gonna ring in a few.”

 

“Diddly-darn.” Peter muttered, ignoring Ned’s almost devastated look. Listen , May raised him not to swear. He was a Friendly Neighborhood Spiderman, he shouldn't use curse words. However, he can have fun with the alternatives. (Last week, he tried swearing with types of beans. MJ looked very close to losing it.)

 

They quickly shoved all their things in their respective backpacks and walked back towards the building, empty lunch trays in hand. 

 

“Listen, I don’t think that just because the Death Star---”

 

Peter was cut off by his spidey sense buzzing. He hurriedly shushed Ned, who trailed off with an inquisitive look.

Peter took a slow step forward, his brow furrowed. “Is it a…. arachnid thing?” Ned whispered. Blinking a few times, the vigilante stopped in his tracks, and looked to his friend. “ Arachnid thing?” He repeated incredulously. 

 

Ned nodded. “Yeah. You know, like…” He leaned in. “Spidery.”

 

“I-I knew what you meant. But arachnid thing ?”

 

“Hey, it was a good---”

 

Peter’s spider sense pinged again. He turned to the end of the hallway, where a door slammed open. A very irate Flash Thompson stormed out. His glare fixated on the two of them, his jaw set.

 

“You fuckers,” he hissed. “Which one of you snitched?”

 

Peter and Ned exchanged a look. “What?” They echoed, almost at the same time. 

 

Flash crossed his arms. “Don’t try and act like bigger idiots than you already are.” He snapped. “I know one of you told Morita I was the one who broke Nelson’s camera.” 

 

Leo Nelson was part of the Yearbook team, and one of Flash’s favorite targets. “You broke Leo’s camera?” Peter repeated, horrified. 

 

Flash took another step forward. “Drop the act, shithead. I know it was one of you.”

 

Ned frowned. “Don’t be a dick, Flash. It won’t make yours any bigger.” He said angrily. 

 

Flash almost looked stunned. He faltered a bit in his advance. “The hell did you just say, Leeds?”

 

Peter’s wide-eyed gaze snapped to his friend. Ned’s face was similarly shaken, as if he didn't mean to say that aloud. After a second, he set his jaw determinedly. He wasn’t going to back down. Peter took a step closer to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You heard him.” He said flatly. Flash clenched his fist. “You’d know all about dicks, wouldn't you?” 

 

A deathly silence fell over the three of them. “What?” Peter asked, his voice quiet.

 

Flash grinned. “I bet you spent a long time trying to figure out how to make yours bigger. Or how to get one in the first place.” His voice was dripping with venom. Flash took another step forward, his face close to Peter’s. “C’mon, Penis Parker. Say something.” He goaded. 

 

Peter just stared, his face pale. Ned moved in between the two. “That's way too far Flash. Even for you. Get the hell away from him.” 

 

He didn't budge. “What, you gonna make me, Leeds?” He reached a hand out and gave Ned a harsh shove, making him stumble back into the lockers. Ned’s head hit the metal with a loud, painful sounding thud. 

 

Peter rushed towards his friend. “What the hell is wrong with you?” He yelled, not looking at Flash. There was a small cut on the back of Ned’s neck, blood starting to trickle out. Flash scoffed. “I’m not the one lying about having an internship. Honestly, how pathetic can you get? Do you two need attention that bad?” Ned, a hand on the back of his neck, scowled. “Peter isn't lying, you ass. We’ve seen the way you act around your parents at AcDec meets, you’re the one who’s always seeking attention.” 

 

Flash took a quick step towards them, his fist clenched, clearly poised to hit. “You---” 

 

Peter took a quick step between the two. “Flash, don’t---”

 

What happened next all went so fast, Peter would’ve missed it if he blinked.

 

Flash grabbed him by the collar and shoved him backwards towards Ned, the chemist tripping and stumbling backwards. Flash pulled his arm back, ready to drive his knuckles right into Ned’s face. 

 

The next second, Peter was in front of him, his fist slamming into Flash’s face at an impossible speed. 

 

Flash hit the floor.

 

Ned swallowed audibly. “Holy shit.” Peter looked at him, then back at Flash. 

 

“Holy shit.” He repeated, his voice faint. 

 

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Monday, October 13th

12:22 PM

NJ 495, NY

 

Percy tapped his fingers impatiently on the wheel as he waited in the line of traffic. Apparently, Peter had gotten in trouble at school. May was at work, and called Tony, who had been put as the kid’s emergency contact. (Something Percy was fairly sure Peter didn't know about.) Tony had then delegated the duty to Percy. 

 

Pepper had him in a fairly important board meeting, so Tony had taken a quick step out to ask Percy if he was free. Luckily, he had just finished up with his lunch with Rachel and was heading back to the tower when he called. 

 

The radio was turned off, and Percy didn't bother to try and change that. He had shadow traveled to lunch and back, but didn’t think that would be a good way to bring Peter back to the tower. Tony had offhandedly shot him a text that said he could borrow one of his cars. 

 

...Percy technically didn't have a license. But Pierre Jorgensen (thanks, Mr. D), certified ornithologist, on the other hand, was a great driver.

 

To most people’s surprise, Percy was a capable driver. Paul and his mom had taught him before he had lost his vision, and the lessons stuck. Even after his eyes got damaged, he was still good. He could feel cars moving before people could see them, could smell gas starting up, could hear the click on a blinker from half a mile away. But still, there was a lot he couldn't do. Luckily for him, Tony often manic-invented for hours on end. So Friday could take the wheel no problem. 

 

He leaned back comfortably in the driver's seat, minding to keep his hands on the wheels just in case somebody looked over at him. He could hear the soft humming of the AI as she worked, mapping out the route and adjusting to the speed limit. With Fri in the car, he didn't even have to lift a finger, which he appreciated. He could drive decently, but it was beyond stressful—he would most likely mess up eventually. The last thing he needed was to be pulled over. 

 

But legally, he was not allowed to even be in the front seat. Tony Stark's AI is actually the one driving the car would probably not be a sufficient excuse. 

 

Like that ever stopped him. 

 

Mrs. O’Leary sat in the back, the window rolled down a little so she could stick her face out. Percy didn't have to check to know that there was drool splattered down the side of Tony’s ridiculously expensive car. 

 

Percy could see the bright of the red light, as well as feel the automatic sensors below the road start up. Fri rolled the car to a stop, and he patiently ignoring the people in the car next to him. The one driving, most likely a man, was giving Percy a narrow-eyed look. The demigod knew his side profile was a tad...intimidating. The scar on his jaw and across his eyes could easily been seen from the side, despite his tinted sunglasses. 

 

Percy just turned to the right, gave the driver and passenger a short, unfriendly smile, and then back to the road. He tapped the comm in his ear. “Fri, tell Tony I’m almost there, please.”

 

“Sure thing, Mr. Jackson.”

 

The light turned green, and she turned the car into Lincoln Tunnel. He could still feel indentations and cracks in the concrete caused by monsters and the Hunters. Thalia had told him all about their defense of the tunnel, and every time he drove through there, he could connect her story with the scars around it.  

 

“One new message from Father of Five . “Did you two break any traffic laws?” ’ Percy rolled his eyes. “Tell him that no, I did not. In fact, I have never broken a law in my life.” 

 

FRIDAY processed for a second. Then, “Boss is currently trying not to laugh in the middle of the meeting. Ms. Potts is glaring at him.” Percy grinned. “Thanks, Fri.”

 

“No problem.” She responded, amused.

Percy took control, now, pulling into the parking lot of Midtown, doing his best to line up the car. Parking neatly was a pain. The wide stripes of paint were easy to sense; Percy just hated parking.

 

He stepped out, giving a short whistle. Mrs. O’Leary jumped out of the back seat, closing the door behind her. (Of course she could work a car door. The first time Tony saw her do it, he was stunned into silence.)

 

After quickly adjusting her vest, the two of them started walking towards the doors. Percy stuffed his hands into his pockets. Peter would probably be stunned silent by seeing Percy drive, with Fri's help or no. As would the principal... best not let the man try and make eye contact with Percy. He would probably have an issue with Peter being driven home.

 

To be fair, though, the principal didn't know that Percy had once flown a fighter jet through a narrow gorge. 

 

Percy walked over to the front office. “Excuse me?” He asked politely. 

 

The secretary stopped typing, and paused to look up at him. “Oh, hello. My name is Mel, how can I help you?” She smiled at him. 

 

“Nice to meet you, Mel. I’m here for Peter Parker.” Mrs. O’Leary peaked her head over the counter. The secretary gave a slight gasp and reached over, hesitating a few inches away from her head. “Can I pet her?” Percy grinned. “I’d be offended if you didn't.” 

 

Mel laughed softly and gave Mrs. O’Leary a few scratches. “Peter Parker?” She hummed, eyes flitting down to a list on her desk. “Ah. Ms. Parker called ahead a bit ago, you’ve been added to the list of approved contacts. Dr. Jorgenson, is it?” Percy tried his best not to laugh at the name. “Please, call me PJ.” He held out a hand, which Mel shook. 

 

“A pleasure. Mr. Parker is waiting in Principal Morita’s office, just down the hall there.” She pointed with her pen, which didn't do much good to Percy. He could feel Peter’s unique heartbeat, though, in the room a few doors down. “Thank you.” She waved him off, and returned to her computer. 

 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Peter jogged his leg nervously, his eyes focused down at the floor. Flash was sitting silently across from him, his arms crossed, an ice pack pressed to his face. Mr. Thompson was sitting next to him, a furious expression on his face, directed at Peter.  

 

He had stormed into the office almost fifteen minutes ago, Morita had barely managed to stop the man from screaming his lungs out directly in Peter’s face. 

 

“Where the hell is your aunt?” He snapped at Peter. 

 

The boy swallowed. “I...She’s working right now.” He whispered.

 

Morita held a hand up. “We called his secondary contact. Dr. Jorgenson will be here any minute.” 

 

Peter tried to keep his face blank. Who the heck was Dr. Jorgenson? He didn't have a secondary contact, just Aunt May. Mr. Thompson huffed angrily. “I don't care. He needs to hurry up. There isn't anything to discuss, anyway. This delinquent,” he spat out, looking at Peter, “attacked my son. I’ll have him thrown in juvie.” 

 

Ned took in a sharp breath from the chair next to him. His mother was sitting across from him, shooting Mr. Thompson a dirty look. Ned wasn't supposed to be in the office with them, since he ‘technically’ hadn’t been involved in the fight. In response, Mrs. Leeds had started cussing up a storm at Morita, aggressively showing him the cut on Ned’s neck. Like any sane man, Morita relented. 

 

His friend reached out and grabbed his shaky hand. “Everything will be fine,” he murmured. Peter gave a hesitant nod. 

 

The radio on Morita’s desk buzzed. “Dr. Jorgenson is here.” Peter bit his lip. Honestly, who was this guy? 

 

As the door opened, Peter wished he hadn't asked. 

 

It opened with a bang. Percy Jackson stood there, Mrs. O’Leary at his side. Both Mrs. Leeds and Mr. Thompson’s brows shot nearly to their hairline. Which...yeah. Percy was wearing black pants and a faded tee, a flannel covering his arms. (Peter was fairly sure there was a speck of blood on it.) Dark sunglasses perched on his nose, and his hair was as messy as ever. 

 

Ned’s eyes widened. His head whipped towards Peter. “Is this PJ?” He whispered. Peter gave a distracted nod, eyes not leaving Percy. 

 

The mercenary smiled at him, dimples flashing. “Hey, kid. You alright?” 

 

Peter just nodded mutely, stunned. 

 

Percy took the empty seat next to him, ruffling his hair as he sat. He then turned to Morita. “So. What happened?”

 

Morita sighed, looking across the assembled people. “I’m still trying to figure that out myself, Dr., but we were waiting for everyone to be here to start.” Percy nodded. The principal turned to Ned first. 

“Mr. Leeds, can you tell us, from your view, what---” 

“I’m sorry,” Mr. Thompson interrupted, not sounding very sorry. “Who exactly are you?”

 

Percy, even sitting down, managed to look down at him. “Dr. Jorgenson. You can call me Dr. Jorgenson.” He said flatly. 

 

“And why exactly are you here? If the boy’s aunt cant even bother to show up---” 

 

Percy cut him off. “May is at work. I had a day off; not that it's any of your business. Who exactly are you to question me?”

 

Mr. Thompson looked rather pissed. “Harrison Thompson. His,” he looked at Flash, “father. Do you even have the legal right to be here? How do you know him?” 

 

If Percy looked any more unimpressed, he might hurt himself. “Cool it, Harrrison. This isn't one of your damn courtrooms.” He slung an arm loosely around Peter’s shoulders. “I’m his brother, obviously.” 

 

…

 

… 

 

… 

 

Ned disguised a laugh as a cough. “His brother ?” Mr. Thompson echoed incredulously. Percy smiled. It wasn't a pleasant one. “Yes, his brother , Harrison. Do you need your hearing checked?” He challenged. The lawyer looked between the two of them, who would be hard pressed to look more different, then just shook his head

 

Mrs. Leeds hid a smile.  “If you two are done,” She shot Mr. Thompson another dirty look, “can we get on with this?”

 

Morita nodded hurriedly. “Ned, if you would?”

 

Ned fidgeted. “Well,” he cleared his throat. “Peter and I went to eat outside. After we finished, I noticed the bell was a few minutes away from ringing. Our next classroom was pretty far, so we decided to start walking a bit early. We got into the hallway, and then Flash came out of Ms. Lyra’s class and started yelling at us.” 

 

Mr. Thompson growled. “My son would never--- ” Morita gave him a sharp glance. “Wait your turn.”

He gestured for Ned to go on.

 

“He accused us of telling the teachers that he broke Leo’s camera. Which, he did, but we weren’t the ones who told on him. Neither of us knew until he told us, actually. He wouldn't leave it, so I, uh…” Ned trailed off, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “I told him that being a dick wouldn't make his bigger.” 

 

Mr. Thompson looked outraged. Mrs. Leeds muffled a laugh into her hand. Percy didn't bother, snorting and biting his lip. Mortia gave Ned a tired look. “And then?”

 

Ned pursed his lips. “Then he started insulting Peter.” 

 

Percy’s eyes narrowed. “Mr, Parker,” Morita turned to him, “what did he say?”

 

Peter leaned a little further into Percy. “He made fun of me. Specifically for...for not having the correct anatomy.” Peter mumbled. 

 

It took a second for his words to settle in. Morita took in a sharp breath and sat up straighter, turning to Flash. Mrs. Leeds looked ready to get up and start yelling. But Percy stayed still. Suspiciously still. 

 

“Flash. Is this true?” Morita’s brow was knit.

 

Flash spluttered. “Of course not!”

 

“Liar!” Ned hissed. “At least own up to what you said.” 

 

Flash’s dad crossed his arms. “This is ridiculous! My son would never say such a thing?” 

 

“Bull,” Percy muttered, so quiet only Peter could hear it. 

 

“And then?” Morita pressed. 

 

Ned huffed. “I told Flash he went too far, and to leave us alone. Then he pushed me against the lockers, which is where I got the cut from. Peter tried to get in between us and pull me away. Flash pushed him too, and was about to hit him.” 

 

Mrs. Leeds narrowed her eyes at Flash. “That’s where the cut came from?” Flash didn’t answer, not making eye contact. She looked to Ned instead. “What happened after that?”

 

Ned gave a weak shrug. “Peter was faster.” He said simply.

 

Mrs. Needs and Morita both looked to Peter, a brow raised. He was fairly sure his entire face was red. “I didn't mean to hit him that hard.” 

 

Flash spoke up. “You broke my nose, you bastard.” He snapped. “Language.” Morita reprimanded. He took in a calming breath. “Flash, what is your side of the story?” 

 

Flash crossed his arms, frowning. “I came out of the classroom, and the two of them were there. I walked past them, and they just lost it. Leeds shoved me, then Pen- Parker punched me.”

 

There was a moment of silence. Percy narrowed his eyes. “What were you about to call him?” He said, voice deceptively soft. 

 

Flash clammed up. “Nothing. I just said Parker.” 

 

Ned made a face at him. “Bull. He calls him Penis Parker to make fun of him. He’s done it ever since Peter came out.”

 

“That's not true!” Flash said adamantly. 

 

Percy stared at him for a long time. Then he slowly leaned forward, staring at Flash over his sunglasses. The room suddenly felt deathly cold, energy seeming to crackle around them. Flash swallowed, making eye contact for the first time with Percy. Peter watched his eyes dart around on the newly visibly part of his face, taking in the scars. 

 

“Flash,” Percy said lowly, “tell the truth.” 

 

Peter did his best to not shiver at the tone. It sent goosebumps down his spine. Oddly enough, though, his spidey sense wasn't going off. (Maybe Percy really was onto something with the whole ‘intent’ thing.)

 

Flash looked as pale as the dead. “Yes.” He blurted out. “They told the truth. That’s what happened.” Percy held his gaze for a moment longer. Peter was fairly sure Flash was going to piss himself. “Eugene!” His father hissed. 

 

The mercenary sat back into the chair, his arm once again around Peter. “Thank you for your honesty.” And like a switch was flipped, the atmosphere around them went back to normal. Morita looked unnerved. 

 

“Alright, then.” He cleared his throat. “Flash, you are in quite a bit of trouble. You started the fight, in addition to violating our tolerance policy.” Flash nodded quickly, not looking at Percy, who was smiling pleasantly. 

 

Mr. Thompson scowled. “Just give him his detentions and get on with it. I want Parker in juvie.” He hissed. 

 

Morita gave the lawyer a dry look. “If anyone has a case, it’s Peter. This could be classified as a hate crime if they pushed for it.” That shut him up fast. 

 

Percy pointed at Flash. “He’s getting suspended.” He said flatly. Morita shrugged and nodded. “Yes. This is his second infraction. A third one and we will be looking into expulsion.” He gave Flash a harsh look. “You best do to watch yourself.” Flash kept quiet. 

 

Morita then turned to Ned. “Mr. Leeds did push Mr. Thompson, so he will also be suspended. Given that it was minor, and self defense, it will only last a day.” His gaze shifted to Percy and Peter. “Same with you, Mr. Parker. You did do...more damage, so yours will be for the remainder of the week.” 

 

Peter just gave a meek nod. Percy briefly tightened his arm around him in a small hug. “Now, both of you are free to go. The work given during your absence will be emailed to you. Mr. Thompson, you are going to need to stay behind so we can talk more.” 

 

Flash looked sullen, and his dad looked purple in the face. Ned and his mother were first out the door, then Peter, with Percy behind him. The mercenary gave Mr. Thompson a wave before he left, calling a “‘Till next time, Harrison!” Before the door swung shut. 

 

The four of them walked down the hall in silence. 

 

“MJ is going to be so pissed we got suspended without her.” Ned muttered. 

 

Peter couldn't help it. He laughed.

Notes:

flash is transphobic and gets knocked the fuck out <3

like, the insult wasnt even great. but peter broke his nose anyways, what an icon.

also ned is ALWAYS down to fight people who are mean to peter. dont let his kind face fool you.

if it wasnt clear, percy's 'footsteps' was just plain violence

Chapter 20: Why Does He Know So Much About Seaguls

Summary:

Suspension celebration, and some Shuri POV

Notes:

Shoutout to Black_Victor_Cachat for help with the take on Steve!

alex, my proof reader, my love....

thanks.

Monday, October 13th

1:06 PM

Midtown Parking Lot, NY

 

Christ, MJ was going to be mad at them. She would’ve liked the opportunity to be involved in fighting Flash. She would’ve loved the opportunity to take pictures of him out cold on the floor. When Ned voiced his thoughts aloud, Peter laughed. 

Good; he had looked far too serious for somebody who had just epically humiliated their bully. 

 

Ned wondered how long it would take for the rumors to start. Hell, he was considering texting Betty right now to get a head start. The least they could get out of all of this was a little street cred.

 

His mom had taken a few steps away from the rest of them, no doubt on the phone with his ma. Quite honestly, both of them would probably be pretty proud of him. Ma would, at least. He had been a little worried at his mom’s reaction, but then she had spent two minutes with Flash and his dad. Ned cast a quick glance to Peter, who was still smiling a little. He was pulled into Percy’s side, the mercenary ruffling his hair. They looked nothing alike, but Ned could see the whole brothers thing; it wasn't too much of an unbelievable cover. 

 

(Ned had a sneaking suspicion Percy chose that lie just to mess with everyone. It seemed like something he would do.)

 

Speak of the devil; Percy gave Ned a look, then turned towards his mom. “You know,” he hummed, “I’d say this calls for some celebration.” 

 

His mom paused putting her phone back in her purse. “Celebration?” She repeated dubiously. Percy smiled and nodded, undeterred. “Yeah. I mean, I’d say today was pretty successful.” Ned tilted his head back and forth. “I mean, that’s a way to look at it.” 

 

Percy gave a fond roll of his eyes. “Oh, come on. I doubt Thompson is going to be bothering you much longer; that’s a good thing, isn't it?”

 

Peter looked a little doubtful. “I knocked him out.”

 

He received a blank look in return. “Only for a second.” Percy dismissed. 

 

Ned’s mom looked at him and Peter for a long second. “Has Flash really been bothering you for that long?” ...both of them were suddenly very interested in the asphalt. 

Their silence was all the answer she needed. Ned’s mom nodded quickly, hastily shoving her phone into her purse. “We’re going to go get sundaes. With extra whipped cream.” She declared. Ned blinked, wide eyed. She strode to their minivan. “Dr. Jorgenson. Follow our car?” Percy grinned. “Sure thing.” 

 

(Ned didn't like the look of that smile.)

 

But he knew better than to doubt his mother, so he just mutely followed her into the car. 

 

The ride was...interesting. He sat in the passenger while Percy’s car, which looked expensive, followed them close behind. He wouldn't put it past the man to have stolen Mr. Stark’s car, honestly. Ned was craning his neck to look behind them, squinting at their windshield. It was hard to see inside the car, but he could’ve sworn he saw Peter and Percy wrestling. While driving. 

 

Once they pulled up and parked, Peter got out of the car like his life depended on it. Ned raised an eyebrow, but stayed silent. Percy just smiled without looking at him, like he didn't have to see him to know exactly what expression he was making. (Creepy as hell, but whatever.)

 

“Driving lesson.” He said flatly.

 

Behind him, Peter was trying to flatten his hair, which looked like he walked through a tornado. Ned just shook his head. Not worth it. 

 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Monday, October 13th

1:21 PM

Loren’s Ice Cream, NY

 

Peter had mixed feelings about the day he’d had. 

 

Flash had been a jerk all day, and Peter had really hurt him. He didn’t mean it, but he still felt awful. He had super strength; he couldn't go around punching people just because they made him mad. 

 

During the car ride, Percy had just given him a knowing glance. “Kid, brighten up a little. It wasn’t that bad.” 

 

Peter huffed. “I knocked him out, Percy.”

 

The mercenary raised a brow. “Did you mean to?”

 

“No!” Peter said, horrified. “Of course not!”

 

“Is it going to happen again?”

 

“No.”

 

Percy gave a light shrug. “Then I don’t see the problem.”

 

Peter clenched his fists. “The problem is that I hurt him! I can’t go around doing that. I’m supposed to be better than that.”

 

There was a moment of silence, only broken by the sound of Percy turning on the blinker. “Peter,” he said softly, “nobody can be perfect all the time. You shouldn't put that much pressure on yourself, especially when you’re only a kid.”

He got a frown in response. “I need to try.” He said stubbornly. “I have a lot more responsibilities than someone my age.” Oddly enough, his words seemed to make Percy look almost...tired. The man sighed, and it seemed like the weight of the world pressed down on him. “I get that. Trust me; I understand it more than most would. But part of accepting those responsibilities is moving on when you inevitably mess up.”

 

Inevitably? Did Percy really expect him to slip up that much? His expression must’ve shown his thoughts, because Percy turned away from the road to give him a small smile. “Hey. You’re doing great, Peter. You just got mad and defended your friend; it's what makes you human. It just shows you care.”

 

“...you think so?” Peter’s voice came out a lot more vulnerable than he meant it to. 

 

“Of course I do.” Percy gave him a lopsided smile. “Besides; I don’t know if you know this, but my family motto is talk shit, get hit. Thompson got what was coming to him. If it wasn’t you, it’d be someone else who dished out some karma.”

 

Peter fought back a smile. “That’s a weird motto.”

 

“Well, it’s yours now too, little brother. ”

 

“That was such a dumb cover. We look nothing alike.” The vigilante pointed out, but he was laughing.

Percy snorted. “Yeah, it was. Did you see how uncomfortable Harrison looked? Gods, what an ass.”

 

Peter didn’t object. He just turned on the radio, still smiling. 

 

When Percy pulled into the parking spot besides Ned’s (after some thoroughly traumatizing attempts at teaching Peter road laws), Peter moved to get out of the car. Percy stopped him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Peter. If Flash says something like that again, you know you can tell me, right? You shouldn't have to live with him saying that kind of shit.” Peter looked down for a second, then nodded. 

 

Percy suddenly grinned, making the somber mood dissipate. “You won’t even have to punch him if it happens again. I’ll just feed him to Mrs. O’Leary.” 

 

Squinting, Peter replied. “I don’t think she’s big enough to eat him.” 

 

For some reason, this just made Percy smile, then roughly rub his knuckes into the top of Peter’s head. Peter almost tripped on his shoelaces in his haste to get out of the car.

 

His day vastly improved once they got inside the ice cream parlour. It was a cute, 50’s style place. Mrs. Leeds insisted on paying for all of them, in thanks for Peter protecting her son, and to Percy for “putting the fear of God into those bastards”. 

 

(If Peter had been paying attention, he would’ve heard Percy murmur “Fear of the Gods , actually.”)

 

She refused all of their attempts to chip in. She leveled Percy with a look and said “You couldn't pay me back if you tried.” Peter almost winced; his ‘older brother’ was probably going to take that as a challenge. 

 

Ned got chocolate, Mrs. Leeds got rocky road, and Peter decided on rainbow sherbet. Percy was saving their booth, and had just requested Peter get him the ‘bluest thing they had’. 

 

The ice cream scooper, who’s name tag read Malia, raised a brow. “Just...blue?”

 

Ned gave a hapless shrug. “He said he doesn't care, he’ll eat it as long as it’s blue.” 

 

Peter almost shrunk back at the glint in Malia’s eyes. And rightfully so, because a few minutes later she emerged from the back with two scoops of what looked like a borderline toxic shade, drizzled with blue sauce(?) and cyan sprinkles. 

As they made their way back to the table, Malia kept a keen eye on them. When Percy saw the monstrosity up close, he gave a surprised little laugh. Ned and Peter exchanged an uneasy look. That shade of blue did not look healthy. Even by ice cream standards. 

 

Percy took a bite, turned his head a little, shrugged, then kept eating. Over at the counter, Malia looked delighted. “What does it taste like?” She called, chin resting in her palm, elbow propped on the counter. 

 

Percy hummed for a second, then made a few vague gestures. “Blue.” He concluded. In return, Malia smiled. “Perfect. Just what I was going for.”

 

Mrs. Leeds shook her head, smiling. Peter gave Percy’s scoops a dubious look. “I’ll...take your word for it.”

 

Later, Mrs. Leeds leaned forward a bit on the table. “So, Dr., what’s your field of study?” 

 

Uh oh. Peter and Ned both exchanged panicked looks. Percy just smiled calmly. “Mrs. Leeds, you can call me PJ. I’m an ornithologist.” 

 

“What?” Ned mouthed. Peter shrugged and crossed his fingers.

 

“Oh, really? That’s a little out of the park. What do you do?”

 

Percy ate a spoonful of pure sprinkles. “Right now, I’m working on a study on some seafowl that were affected by the aftereffects of the Chitauri invasion. We’re trying to estimate the impact of the alien radiation on the local wildlife.” 

 

Huh. That was actually a really believable cover story. Even more so once Percy started talking about seagulls. A few minutes in, Peter’s phone buzzed. Ned made eye contact, then started typing.

 

none pizza left beef: why tf does he know so much about seagulls

 

Peter shrugged.

 

strawbebby: i honestly have no clue

 

none pizza left beef: i mean at least this’ll keep my mom from asking about his job for a while

 

strawbebby: i guess

 

stawbebby: im a little worried. I don't even think real bird people care this much about seagulls

 

none pizza left beef: i… i want to see this play out

 

none pizza left beef: how long do you think they can go on

 

strawbebby: at least 10 more minutes

 

none pizza left beef: hmmmmm ill take that bet

 

Peter slipped his phone back into his pocket, then turned back to Percy, who was now gesturing wildly with his spoon. Oddly enough, Mrs. Leeds actually seemed rather interested. 

 

His phone buzzed again.

 

none pizza with left beef: shit. I forgot my mom was a bird watcher. 

 

Peter stifled a laugh. Maybe suspension wasn't that bad. 

 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Monday, October 13th

7:22 PM

Wakanda, Africa

 

Shuri had a dilemma. 

 

Sergeant Barnes’ treatment had plateaued; there was no use beating around the bush. Emotionally, he was still getting better; he has access to the best therapists in Wakanda, of course he was getting better. But Shuri was still no closer to getting the trigger words out of his head.

 

Shuri was smart. She, and everyone else, knew that. But she wasn’t a neurosurgeon. She had no experience in this area. 

 

For the first time in her life, she had no idea what to do. 

 

Quite truthfully, she wasn’t quite sure Wakanda was the best place for Sergeant Barnes. In addition to her not being sure how to help him, he needed a more...low stress environment. Shuri didn't think he would ever be comfortable in a completely removed, worry-free life. But in the palace, with Captain Rogers and his compatriots…

 

It wasn't ideal.

 

Shuri tried her best to avoid the Rogues and all of their drama. But sometimes, when she was working with him, Barnes would tell her some of the things that were happening. 

 

Lang had long ago asked for a copy of the accords and read through it. About a month after that, he headed home on a pardon. Barton was looking into something similar. Barnes always said the archer looked sad when he talked about his family.

 

Privately, Shuri thought it served him right. From her understanding (and snooping around) the man had been retired. Why he came out of it to help the Captain, she couldn't fathom.

 

Romanoff and Maximoff were at odds with each other. Barnes described the spy as being distant and cold with the witch, and doing her best to avoid her. Wilson was trying his best to keep the peace between the two, but neither would budge. 

 

When Shuri had asked his honest opinion about all of them, Barnes had hesitated. Shuri just lightly elbowed him and reminded him that he was free to give his opinion. 

 

“Well, uh,” He took in a breath. “Lang, when he was here, seemed like a pretty good guy. Comin' to the airport and getting involved in the fight...he thought it had been a mistake. He was prob'ly right, too. Had a daughter at home. Started makin' calls and talking to lawyers soon as he could; he got off pretty easy. I liked him well enough; never really talked to him much, though.”

 

He looked down at the floor of the lab. “Er, honestly, I haven’t been 'round any of them that much. Stevie tries to bring me into the fold when he can, but,” he frowned. “It started with Maximoff, frankly. She was one of the only ones I hadn’t, well, tried to kill. We bonded a bit about being victims of Hydra. She conveniently forgot t'mention that she volunteered. ” Barnes looked a little sick at the words.

 

“Romanoff was the one who told me. I haven’t talked to the damn witch since. Romanoff herself is alright, though. Barton is a lil' pushy sometimes, but overall, I’ve talked to 'em the most. She’s secretive. It puts me on edge a bit. Same with Barton. Sometimes he just seems too friendly, like he doesn't mean it.”

 

Shuri nodded slowly as she worked. “Spies are like that, or so I’ve heard.”

Barnes snorted. “Yeah, I guess. Wilson and Steve are pretty tight, from what I’ve seen. Honestly, I don’t think Wilson likes me all that much. He’d help me out, for sure, but I don’t see us becoming friends any time soon.”

 

It had been silent while Shuri had adjusted the screws in his shoulder. Barnes looked deep in thought, his brows furrowed and lips pursed. 

 

“Steve’s changed.” 

 

His voice was soft, almost unsure. “I...I know ‘m not the most reliable for reminiscing about the past, but he seems a lot different from what I remember.” He shook his head, a bitter smile on his face. “Maybe it's just ‘cause I remember him a foot and a half shorter.”

 

Shuri turned to face him. This was good; it was the most open he had ever been with her. “What do you mean?” She asked, a tad cautious. She needed to choose her tone carefully; be interested in what he was saying, but not prying. 

 

Luckily, it worked. “It’s… kinda hard to describe. I guess...self righteous? Sometimes he acts like he knows what’s best for everyone, and it grates on me sometimes, y’know?”

 

Barnes worked his jaw, a bit agitated. “I shouldn't hav’ta tell him that leaving a man to die in Siberia is a bad thing t’do. It comes from a good place, but he jus’ acts like he’s all superior ‘n shit. Especially...especially ‘bout Stark. He just...he wants t’help. He always has, but he’s blinded by achieving results, and not takin’ a minute to look at the consequences his actions bring.”

 

It was a tad surreal hearing him say something profound in the absolutely horrendous half-Brooklynn-half-Russian accent he had acquired, but Shuri did her best to ignore that. 

 

“That makes sense.” She assured. “Everyone gets distracted by their goals sometimes. Rogers takes that to a new level, that’s true, but it is up to him to understand that for himself, though.” 

 

Barnes sighed again. “Yeah. I know. Doesn't make it any better, though.”

 

Shuri had finished the rest of her maintenance in silence, leaving him to his thoughts. After he had left, she had just sat at one of her lab tables for a bit. Personally, Shuri had never really liked Rogers that much. She agreed with the Sergeant and then some. 

 

The safest hands are our own.

 

What kind of crap was that?

 

To an extent, she understood his reluctance to be controlled so closely by the government. It would be hypocritical of her to not, she was the princess of a nation that stayed hidden for hundreds of years. 

 

But when his apparent huge distrust of the government only came to light at the exact same time as the Accords were proposed and he found Barnes? Or the fact that he didn't try to do anything to help pick up the pieces after Hydra was exposed, to try and help make a government that they could trust?

 

It was weird.

 

Shuri may not be able to fully remove the trigger words from Sergeant Barnes, but she was still a damn genius. And she didn't even need to be one to come to the conclusion that his problem  wasn't just with the US government, or the UN. 

 

She just hoped he could realize that for himself. 

Notes:

yes, i did make ned and peter's contact names for each other dumb food memes. i will never forget none pizza with left beef.

i couldnt resist giving bucky a fucked up accent. dont look for remorse, im not sorry.

anyways, enjoy this fluff while you can <3

Chapter 21: Peter vs. A Window: The Ultimate Battle

Summary:

Peter joins JV avengers. so proud.

Notes:

Sorry for the delay. I got stuck without WIFI for a bit. Thank you to Alex, who proofread the entire thing in the middle of the night.

HEY GUYS CHECK IT OUT IM FAMOUS https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Fanfic/TheFile
Black_Victor_Cachat brought this to my attention! a million thanks <3

Sunday, October 26th

12:42 PM

Stark Tower, NY

 

Tony did his best to hide the smile stretching across his face as he walked into the living room. Percy was sitting on the couch, skimming his fingertips across the pages of an old, faded book. He occasionally paused and looked up to Peter; Mrs. O’Leary’s laid in the teenager’s lap, and he was petting her as he spoke. Rhodey and Pepper were sharing a couch, Pepper’s heels tossed near the coffee table. They were both listening to Peter with half amused, half fond smiles. 

 

Peter was in the middle of reporting some of the best moments from his patrols; most of them had to do with friendly animals he met. While he spoke, he gestured wildly with his hands, almost smacking himself in the face a couple times. 

 

Percy noticed him first. “Hey.” The mercenary greeted, not looking up. 

 

Peter paused and turned to look at the doorway. “Mr. Stark!” He exclaimed, waving. Pepper gave him a smile. “Tony. Did they make a decision?” She leaned forward. Rhodey looked at him expectantly, and even Percy slipped a finger in his book to hold his place, closing it. 

 

After giving the three a strange look, Peter turned back to Tony. “Decision?” He repeated, head tilted to the side. Oddly enough, it reminded Tony of a puppy. 

 

The engineer let the grin spread across his face. “Approved, as of,” he checked his watch, “20 minutes ago.” 

 

Percy laughed. “Fuck yeah!” 

 

“Language.” 

 

…

 

…

Tony didn't even register the words coming out of his mouth until he had said them. The three adults stared at him blankly for a second. Tony felt the tips of his ears redden. “There's a baby here.” He gestured loosely to Peter, criss cross on the floor. 

 

“Not a baby!” The baby protested. Tony rolled his eyes. “Anyways,” he barreled on, not making eye contact with Percy, who looked dangerously close to laughing again. “Article 23.7 got okayed.”

 

Peter scrunched his nose. “The one you proposed? What makes it so special?”

 

“Well, squirt, Article 23.7 outlines rules for team mates keeping identities secret.” Percy drawled. “And opens spots for a JV team.” 

 

He received a few uncomprehending blinks. Tony took over. 

 

“If somebody has a sponsor, of sorts, already on the team, they can join on a probationary basis. And,” he gave Peter a look. “If they are a minor, they don’t have to register their civilian identity.” 

 

“...what?” 

 

Pepper snorted. Percy leaned forward and gave Peter’s shoulder a light shove. “He means, if you want it, you can come on missions with us every now and then without having to take off the mask.”

 

Peter looked like he needed to reboot. “I...I can come with you guys?” 

 

Tony crossed his arms. “Well, I didn’t agree to be your sponsor for nothing.” 

 

The engineer was met with another bout of silence. Internally, Tony started to panic. Was this not what Peter wanted? Did he overstep somehow? Or make too many assumptions? What if---

 

Tony was thrown off the train of thought by an armful of Peter. The kid wrapped his arms tightly around Tony’s torso, his face in the crook of Tony’s neck. The billionaire stood frozen for a second, eyes wide. From the couch, he heard a scoff. Percy was giving him a Look. Tony’s brain caught up to him, and he carefully returned the hug. Peter was smiling so much Tony was fairly certain it was hurting his face. 

 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, thankyouthankyou---” Peter chanted. 

 

Rhodey must have sensed Tony’s slight panic. “I think he gets it, Pete. You’re crushing his ribs.” Peter let go so fast you’d think he got burned. “Sorry. It’s just-- I,--- Oh my God.” Peter said eloquently. 

 

Tony smiled at the kid. “Is that a yes?”

 

The billionaire had never seen someone nod so fast.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Friday, October 29th

3:12 PM

Stark Tower, NY

 

Lucky for Peter, the next mission came surprisingly soon. 

 

Mr. Stark had Happy pick him up after school and bring him to one of the conference rooms. The fact that Secretary Ross (who apparently was the worst) couldn't come to the briefing because of Peter’s identity was only a bonus. 

 

The conference room itself was freezing. One of the windows was open, letting the icy October air in. Peter curled his legs in tighter, hunched over in the cushy desk chair. (The fact that Thor might have sat in the very same chair almost made Peter pass out.)

 

Colonel Rhodes was at the head of the table, laying out details of the plan. Peter tried to pay attention, he really did, but it was just so cold. Mr. Stark and Mr. Vision were sitting on the opposite side of the table, facing the Colonel. Even Percy was paying attention, his chin cupped in his palm, elbow on the table. 

The overhead lights had been turned off, the only light steaming in was from that stupid window. Peter was not a hateful person, but he was pretty sure he hated that window. The sun wasn’t even out, hiding behind a patch of surly grey clouds. But nobody else seemed to care, so Peter just needed to deal. 

 

“The labs are spread out over seven small buildings, each---”

 

Peter suppressed a shiver. Sitting by the window was a dumb idea. Colonel Rhodes hadn’t even been talking that long; only about ten minutes. In that time, though, he had managed to explain a fair amount. An offshoot of the Hydra research division had set up shop somewhere in Canada, near Niagara Falls, startling close to home. Even worse, what they were experimenting on. 

 

Mutants. 

 

Mr. Stark had given Peter an uneasy glance when Rhodey first told them. Mutants all across the continent had been disappearing over the last two years; so spread out and sporadic there was no clue that they were connected. Some of them Peter’s age.

 

But mostly younger. 

 

Goosebumps crawled up his arm and down his spine; he wasn't sure if it was because of the temperature, or the information being laid in front of him. He shivered again. 

 

This time, Percy turned his head towards him. Voice low, quiet even for a whisper, he spoke. “Are you okay?” Peter’s enhanced early barely caught it. 

 

“Oh, uh, yeah. I mean, this is pretty awful, but I’ve seen worse.” He stuttered out in reply. The last thing he needed was people thinking he couldn't handle it. 

 

Percy looked skeptical. “Not what I mean, but alright.” His eyes (which, Peter just noticed, even in the dim lighting, were a vibrant shade of green, the light reflecting off them in an odd way) flicked back to Colonel Rhodes, then returned to Peter. “I can feel you shaking from here.”

 

An odd statement, considering they were sitting at least two feet apart, but Peter flushed nonetheless. “Sorry. I’m fine, promise.” 

 

Percy pulled another face, one of his brows arching. Then, without a word, he slipped off his jacket and held it out. Peter balked. “I can't take that!” He hissed in protest. Percy didn't even blink. “Take it or I’ll cause a much bigger scene.” He said sweetly. 

 

Peter narrowed his eyes, but the mercenary didn't budge. 

 

WIth a huff, he deflated, and took the offered jacket. “...thank you.” He muttered. Percy gave him a surprisingly soft smile and turned back to Colonel Rhodes. 

 

It was dark brown and fleece lined, made of a tough, almost leather-like material. Peter pulled it on, and holy crap it was warm. His enhanced nose caught a few strange things on it; metal, gunpowder, and something that almost smelled...electric? Mostly, though, it smelled like Percy; a mix of the sea breeze and lavender. He squished the side of his face into the collar and settled further into his chair. 

 

By the time the presentation was complete, Peter had honestly forgotten about the window. 

 

The mission was fairly simple; get in, secure all of the prisoners and scientists, and get out. Intelligence estimated about 15 captives and around 30 scientists and technicians. No more than a dozen guards; for such an important project, the base was actually tiny and spread out--- probably how they had avoided detection for so long. 

 

They were set up to go the next weekend; leaving right after school let out on Friday and returning Saturday night. Tony had assured Aunt May that Peter would be able to sleep on the quinjet. Monday was a teacher work day as well, so Peter would have time to catch up on it in case.

 

Peter was ecstatic. His first Avengers mission. 

 

Oh God.

 

If he weren’t in front of said Avengers, he might’ve passed out. 

 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Friday, November 5th

2:46 PM

Stark Tower, NY

 

The quinjet’s lack of noise was a blessing to Percy. Granted, he didn't have much experience with planes, but he still hated the noise. His hearing was pretty good, but it was mostly the fact that every loud rumble had him flinching like something was about to blow. 

 

He was already strapped into one of the seats, a duffel at his feet. Mrs. O’Leary had claimed the seat next to him, also securely seatbelted in. Vision was up front in the co-pilot seat, and Rhodey was sitting on Mrs. O’Leary’s other side.

 

Tony and Peter would be joining them any minute. (Tony had insisted on going over a packing list with Peter.) The ride wouldn't be too long, but Percy was already anxious to get off the plane. He had long ago called Zeus on his bluff; he rode planes and helicopters whenever he pleased, but still wasn't a fan of it. He was too useful to actually kill, he knew that. It was just the feeling of being so far from the sea that he didn't like. Logically, he knew he was sometimes further from the shore when he was on land than in the sky, but fears didn't have to be rational to exist. 

 

(For fucks sake, he was scared of drowning for like, what, two years? Drowning. )

 

He had told his sane family members about the mission a bit ago so they wouldn't be worried about his absence. In reality, though, everyone was used to him going AWOL every now and then; it was the life of a demigod, and they all did that same. 

 

Most recently, he had talked to Thalia when she had a little day off, somewhere in Iceland. It wasn't hard to shadow travel there and meet for lunch, and even though they did end up wrestling in a parking lot, he’d say they had a good time. She had complained some more about the absurd amount of time she was spending in the sewers lately, and he laughed at her without sympathy. 

 

Percy was pulled out of his thoughts by feeling the footfalls of Tony and Peter. Tony walked quickly and steadily, always with an easy confidence and pace. Peter was a little more hesitant in his strides, incredibly light on his feet. Percy always found you could tell a lot about a person by their body language; something he was excellent at understanding. When he spent a lot of time with someone, he could read their mannerisms as easily as a book. (Well, as easy as his books.) Shifting weight, heart rate, breathing pattern, blood flow, the tightening of muscles that most wouldn't see. (For example; he thought it was rather funny when Reyna got so pissed off while talking to a senator she clenched her fist in her pocket so hard she almost sprained a finger.)

 

Peter was excited, he could tell. He practically bounced his way to the helipad while Tony followed at a more steady pace. 

 

They both greeted him and dropped bags onto the floor. Tony went to sit in the cockpit, flipping and fiddling with so many overhead switches it made Percy dizzy. Peter, on the other hand, went to sit in the back, across from Percy. He was wearing his suit; the bright reds and blues made it easy for Percy to see him on the background of grays and blacks. He yanked off his mask. “This is so cool.” 

 

Percy smiled. “Yeah, I guess it is.” 

 

The rest of the ride was filled with light conversation, mostly from Peter, who was content to bombard Tony with questions about the schematics and workings of the quinjet. Mrs. O’Leary fell asleep a few minutes in, leaning against Percy’s leg, her massive head resting on his lap. 

 

Percy felt it before any of them could even see it out the windows; they were approaching their destination. Niagara Falls was huge, and he could feel the millions of gallons of water rushing over the edge like it was the blood pounding in his veins. 

 

He actually hadn't been to Canada in a while; he wasn't too fond of the country, quite honestly. He had done a mission or two in the area, but the longest he had stayed was the quest with Frank and Hazel, years ago. He distantly wondered if Boreas still lived in Quebec. ...Either way, he would probably avoid the area. Leo had told him all about that part of their quest while he was helping him out in forges. 

 

“We’ll be over the falls in a minute or two.” Tony called back, keeping his eyes ahead. In an instant, Peter glued himself to the window behind him. Percy, oddly enough, found himself standing beside him.. He wasn't really one for views, but he had always wanted to visit the Falls. He could feel them even closer now, almost directly under the jet. Peter let out a soft gasp, so he assumed they were visible.

He could make out the mass of blue; it was a pretty color, he would give it that. 

 

“Pretty cool, huh?” Tony mused, taking a second to look down to the ground. Peter nodded. “May went when she was a kid once; she wants to go again sometime soon. I’ll have to get a picture for her.” 

“Maybe after the mission.” Tony conceded. Rhodey rolled his eyes at the soft tone of his voice.

 

By the way Peter lit up, you would've thought Tony had just promised him the moon. 

 

“You know,” Percy hummed, “Horseshoe Falls is about 167 feet tall, and over 2,700 feet across at its crest? 681,750 gallons of water go over it every second. American falls is smaller, the drop is 90 to 120 feet and it spans over 940 feet. 75,750 gallons per second. In total, about 3,160 tons of water flow over Niagara Falls in the time it takes you to blink."

 

It was silent for a minute.

 

Tony broke it. “Cool. No idea why you know that, but it's cool.” Peter snorted. 

 

They started their descent less than half an hour later; Percy barely noticed. Either the quinjet was just that nice, or Tony was that good of a pilot. Both, probably. 

 

The landscape was startlingly familiar to that of their last mission. Lots of trees, the leaves coated in rich reds, vibrant oranges, and startling yellows. It was noticeably colder, but even the biting wind didn't bother Percy. Tony, Rhodey, and Peter all had heaters in their suits, so he doubted there would be any problems. (Percy wasn't sure if Vision could even get cold. It seemed a little rude to ask.)

One of the immediate differences, beside the huge-ass waterfall, was the lack of the sickly sweet maple in the air. Percy was quite thankful for that; he hadn't even been able to look at a bottle of maple syrup for a month after the bomb. 

 

Peter, with his mask back on, clambered out of the jet to stand next to Percy. Tony followed a minute later, already suited up, Rhodey matching his strides. Vision hovered behind them, looking around curiously. 

 

“Alright,” Rhodey announced. “We were able to get pretty damn close without them noticing, but we are going to have to go the rest of the way, less than a mile, on foot.” He looked at the group. “Er, mostly on foot.”

 

Right. Percy was now uncomfortably aware of the fact that he was the only one who couldn't fly or swing(?). Probably for the best, though. Maybe it was the whole “Earthshaker” thing, but Percy usually felt better with his feet planted firmly on the ground. 

 

Tony, Vision, and Rhodey all flew low to the ground, while Percy and Peter walked with Mrs. O’Leary. Every now and then Peter would jump up and swing from tree to tree, executing a fancy flip mid-air---Tony started calling out scores a few minutes in. Their footfalls made the frozen-over grass crunch as they stepped; it really was freezing. Too dry for snow; but perfect for frost. 

 

The others had pulled faces when they stepped out, but Percy reveled in the cold. Extreme temperatures had never bothered him, even as a kid. Having lava thrown at him really showed him how much he could stand; now he regularly went for swims at the Poles. The frost was just the tip of the iceberg (heh), it helped him get bearings of smaller, more detailed things. He could feel every blade of grass, every groove of tree bark. 

 

(He also liked the crunch of stepping on the grass.)

 

He could feel the base up ahead. The foundations ran pretty deep in the earth, obtrusive and sturdy. Vibrations of footsteps echoed across the dirt all the way to where he was standing. Whatever was in the lab contained a lot of liquids. He could feel large collections of full vials, plus tubes that seemed to go floor to ceiling. The sewers underneath weren’t occupied by the scientists, though, though he tried not to dwell too much on the large pipes. Though Thalia didn't have a nose like his, he now felt a little bad for her. Seriously, it smelled awful. 

 

Rhodey’s intel had been correct; seven small buildings scattered across the compound. The biggest one was in the middle. It was one story, and most likely the labs, based off the materials Percy could feel inside. On the right side of it, two smaller buildings resided. One was full of tables and chairs. A cafeteria, maybe? The other had bathrooms connected to it, so it was probably where everyone slept. There was a tall, thin tower with two people on top of it. A watchtower?

 

On the left of the main lab building, there was a long skinny structure made out of cinderblock with a low ceiling. And oh Gods, there were people in it. Small, tiny, malnourished people. Holding cells, then. In the front, standing in between the Avengers and the lab, a big storage shed and a loading bay were placed. 

 

Gravel paths connected all of the buildings to each other, but nobody was using them at the moment. Everybody was inside; probably due to the weather. 

 

There was one thing that confused Percy, though. In the very back, far, far away from the rest of the compound, a tall brick building was set. He honestly had no clue what it could be; there was a big shaft on one side, but other than that, it seemed fairly empty. 

 

There was a scuffing, staticy noise in his ear. “Alright, everyone connected?” Rhodey’s voice came in through the comms. Once everyone gave their affirmative, Tony spoke.

 

“The numbers we got were right. 15 prisoners, plus 23 scientists in the big lab building, 5 in the cafeteria, 2 in the loading bay. Guards are stationed at every entrance and exit, and there's a watch tower with two of ‘em at the top.” He reported over the comms. Percy looked at the band on his forearm. Hologram blueprints of the entire place were projected out sized up so he could see it better. (He definitely did not get emotional when Tony made it specially for him. He. Did. Not.)

 

“Vision, you approach and take out the guards in the tower. Iron Man, you clear the cafeteria with me. Deathstroke, you take Spider-Man to the loading bay and take out the two there. The guards rotate every 15 minutes; don’t get caught. If you do, make sure the alarm isn’t raised.” I s what Rhodey said. What Percy heard, on the other hand, was “ Percy, stick with Peter because you aren't officially here and therefore can ruthlessly kill anyone who hurts him.”

 

Probably the same thing, so, whatever. 

 

“Got it?” The Colonel checked.

 

Everyone voiced their agreement. 

 

“Alright. Let’s go.”

Notes:

oh no....i hope nothing goes wrong on the mission.....;)

Chapter 22: Percy Technically Helps Kidnaps Somebody

Summary:

Ah, the mission, featuring Percy getting tased.

Notes:

Nobody:
Me @ Alex: <3 <3 <3

If you guys missed it, this story now has a TV Tropes wiki page! The link is in the notes of the last chapter!

Thanks to Black_Victor_Cachat!

Friday, November 5th

5:14 PM

Near Algonquin Provincial Park, Ontario

 

Tony wasn't going to lie. He was worried. He knew it was the most logical choice for them to split up, but that didn't mean he liked it. Out of all people, though, he was glad it was Deathstroke who was paired up with Spider-Man.

 

He flew quietly after War Machine, keeping an eye on FRIDAY’s scanners. The living quarters were closest, so they went there first. Nobody was in them, but they were checking the building just in case. It was actually fairly boring. Creaky cots, closets with neatly folded and pressed clothes, and plain, empty walls. 

 

They went to the Cafeteria next. Five people were inside; all targets. Tony silently touched down on the grass outside and tapped his palm. A smaller laser started up at the tip of his pointer, and he efficiently cut through the lock. “On three?” War Machine nodded in affirmative. Tony held his hand up, counting down on his fingers. Then, in a startlingly strong kick, he kicked down the door. War Machine rushed in first, repulsors charged to stun. There were only two guards, one at each side of the room. Tony went for them first, ducking under a spur of gunfire and knocking out the first guard with a punch.

War Machine meanwhile secured all of the scientists. They, in stereotypical fashion, were mostly wearing lab coats. None of them were able to put up much of a fight, and he had no problem stunning them and tying them up. 

 

Tony leaped towards the other guard, kicking her solidly in the stomach and tossing her gun away. War Machine dragged her over to the other prisoners while Tony walked to the door. He pulled a small device off the side of his arm and stuck it to the door. “Calibrated.” FRIDAY’s smooth voice confirmed. It was a motion sensor that would let them know if any of the captives woke up early---something Tony had come up with a few months prior. They were excellent for spread out battlefields like this one. 

 

War Machine nodded at him, then tapped into his comm. “We’ve got five scientists and two guards secured. No injuries.” 

 

Vision came in next. “The three guards atop the watchtower have been neutralized.”

 

“Spider-Man? Deathstroke? You guys alright?” Tony checked.

 

There was a painful minute of silence before the response came in. Peter answered, sounding breathless. “Yep! We took care of the two guys here, no problem! Deathstroke threw one into a wall!” 

 

Tony let out a breath. “Alright. Rhodes?”

 

War Machine hummed, looking at the map from his HUD. “The guards will rotate in nine minutes; we need to be quick. The big lab has the rest of the scientists and guards in it, except for three around the prison building.”

 

Deathstroke spoke up quickly. “I can take the prison no problem; it’s the furthest away and I’m the quickest runner. You four take the lab---I couldn't make heads or tails of what’s inside anyways.” 

 

Tony frowned. The mercenary was no super genius like Tony, or had the entire internet in his head like Vision, but he sure as hell wasn’t an idiot. Maybe it had something to do with his vision? Or….maybe something about the prison? He remembered in the original file Fury had given him, it was noted that Deathstroke took a lot of jobs on people that hurt kids. Maybe that was it. 

 

It was a good plan, too. Whoever went to the cells would get a head start, and Deathstroke was the fastest on the ground out of all of them; flying or swinging would be too noticeable. Maybe Spider-Man could run faster than him, being a superhuman and all, but there was no way in hell Tony would let the kid go alone; and they would probably need four people to take the lab anyways. 

 

War Machine gave Tony a look, head turned. In response, he just shrugged. Seems good . The Colonel nodded. “Alright, Spider-Man, you come to us. Vision, stay on the tower and cover him. Deathstroke, you get to the holding cells.” 

 

“On it.”

 

Barely two minutes later, Spider-Man came through the door, Vision behind him. “Hi!” The vigilante chirped. Tony took a second to look over him. Not a single singe or cut was on him. Never let it be said that Deathstroke was bad at his job. 

 

“Hey, kid. You good? Anything hurt?” Tony got the impression Peter was rolling his eyes behind the mask. “I’m fine, Mr. Stark.” 

 

War Machine beckoned them both over. “Alright, here’s the plan. The lab is two floors; Vision will stay on the outside and get anyone that tries to escape. Spider-Man and Iron Man will enter from the top, I’ll come from the ground floor. We’ll meet in the middle; the stairwell is on the east side. We need to be quick; get in there before the shift changes and do not let them destroy any data.” 

 

Spider-Man nodded, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Got it.” War Machine looked up at Tony, who nodded. 

 

---

 

Percy tore across the grass, Mrs. O’Leary right behind him, keeping his ears open. He was thankful Iron Man had backed him up on the plan; he needed to be the one to get to the cells first. He had debated on saying something at the beginning, but that would have been suspicious. What would he say? That he dreamt about it? He preferred his team thinking he was at least a bit sane, thanks. The same dream had been replaying since the mission had gotten announced, in between chats with Annabeth, regular old terrors, and something else . He still wasn't quite sure what those dreams were. He never remembered them, just a vague feeling of bad that left him shaking hours afterwards. But that wasn’t important right now---the only thing that mattered was the recent ones that had started up.

 

---him, running across cold grass under a clear sky, the sun beginning to set---

 

---Percy had ducked under a low doorway, in full Deathstroke regalia, a hand on the knife sheathed on his thigh. The building was long and low, and the entire thing reeked---

 

---the walls were peeling, he could feel heart rates that were way too small, too fast, too scared---

 

---he got to the last cell, furthest from the door, and looked inside---

 

And of course, with his luck, that's usually all he ever saw. But, also with his luck, that’s all he needed to set him on edge. 

 

The prison was only a few meters away, and he slowed into a walk. He stopped outside the entrance. The doorway was really low---looking exactly like the one he dreamt of. Great, his suspicions were correct. 

 

He hated when that happened. 

 

Percy took in a deep breath. The room smelled awful, like waste and sweat and dirt. He could feel life inside, exactly 15 of them. Fuck, they were tiny. Kids. Percy swallowed. One of the things he hated most in the world was when people involved kids. When he first started doing mercenary work, he always kept an eye out for hits on abusers and child traffickers. It might have been deeply rooted to his own trauma, but that wasn’t something he liked to dwell on.

 

Crisis later, rescuing now. 

 

Three guards outside. One was standing right around the corner or the door, leaning against the wall. The other two were on the opposite side of the building, outside. It was laughably easy. He reached in and grabbed #1 by the collar, yanking him outside. The guard fell over, unbalanced, and Percy kicked the gun right out of his hand. The man righted himself, then pulled out a stun baton, crackling with electricity. Percy grunted as the guard jabbed it right into his ribs. 

 

Gods, he hated being tased. Percy took a staggering step back, then shook it off, and grabbed the bewildered man by the hair and slammed his face into the cinderblock wall. He went out like a light. For some reason, Hydra didn't account for Percy being extra durable and having shock resistance training. (Thanks, Thalia.)

 

#2 and #3 went almost as quick. One crumpled after meeting the flat of Percy’s blade and the other hit the ground after a precise hit to a nerve cluster. He gave all their confiscated guns to Mrs. O’Leary, who disappeared in the shadows and came back empty-pawed a moment later. He circled back around to the front of the building.

 

Percy put a hand on the dagger on his leg, and went through the doorway. He had to lean down a little to go through it---the ceiling really was low. Inside, it was dark and musty. There were multiple leaks that he could feel, he could hear the steady drip drip drip.

 

All of the kids were sitting on the concrete floors, hunched in on themselves. Percy’s blood boiled. It was freezing out here, especially on the ground. But he took a calming breath. Scaring the kids wouldn't help anyone. Instead, he let go of the knife handle and took slow, cautious steps to the first cell. By the height and weight, most likely a teenager. Percy crouched down. 

 

The kid’s heartbeat sped up. “Hey, hey. It’s alright.” Percy said softly. He quickly checked around for cameras. The room was extremely dark, but just in case. Deeming it safe, he slipped off his helmet. “I’m not here to hurt you.” 

 

They looked up at Percy. He still wore a mask under his helmet ever since Rumlow, but he figured it would be better for them to actually see his face. “Who are you?” They croaked out. Percy smiled. “My name is PJ. I work with the Avengers. This,” he gestured to Mrs. O’Leary, who walked into view, tongue hanging out of the side of her mouth, “is my dog. You call her Lea. We’re here to get you out.”

 

They sniffed. “I...my name is Emma.” She murmured. “Nice to meet you, Emma.” Percy returned. He held a hand out. She blinked a couple times, then shook it. 

 

Percy craned his neck, looking across at the rest of the cells. “Do you know if any of you are seriously hurt?” Emma shook her head. “They always patch us up.” She said quietly. Percy nodded slowly and stood. “Right. All of you will get checked out by EMT’s after this, as long as you’re OK with it.” Percy grabbed the lock. It was old, rusted. Percy pulled out a thin metal pin hidden on his forearm and got to work. 

 

It clicked open in less than a minute. “Can you stand?” Emma nodded shakily, pulling herself up and moving to the door. Percy took a few steps away so she wouldn't feel crowded. Mrs. O’Leary drifted over to the girl, nudging her hand with her nose. Emma laughed softly and scratched behind her ear. 

 

Percy moved on to the next cell. Emma and the Hellhound drifted behind him, a few feet away. The locks were all as similarly easy to get past as the first was, either by picking them or inconspicuously freezing them from the inside. Emma seemed to be the oldest; probably a year or two older than Peter. 

 

Percy shook his head, trying to keep the anger to himself. 

 

Why? At your age, you had already fought a war, killed countless monsters, titans, and even your own fellow demigods. Shit, you were probably halfway to Tartarus by then.

 

The thought hit him like a train. Where the hell did that come from? He shook his head. And everything I’ve done is to make sure something like that never happens again. He told himself.

 

“Are you alright?” Emma whispered.

 

Percy blinked. Oh. He had been standing, staring at the last lock for at least a minute. “Fine. Sorry.” He muttered. The door to the cell swung open. Emma coaxed the kid, who’s name was Scott, out, and he promptly attached himself to Percy’s leg. The demigod blinked a couple times, before resting a hand on his shoulder.

 

Percy tapped his comm. “I got everyone accounted for. They’re a little banged up, but nothing urgent.” 

 

“We’ve almost got everyone here. A few more hostiles than expected,” He heard the charge of a repulsor, “ But we’re handling it.” War Machine replied. “The relief team is coming in from the west. Captain Johnson again.” 

 

Percy nodded, even though the Colonel couldn't see it. “Cool. I’ll bring them there?” 

 

“Good luck.” 

 

Captain Johnson was one of the few mortal army personnel Percy had ever liked. They had known each other for years now, ever since they unearthed Rogers in the ice. (Sometimes, Percy contemplated stuffing him back in there. He could totally do it.) She had actually given him the names of a few of her contacts when he first started being Deathstroke. 

 

“Alright,” Percy turned to the assembled group of kids. (Minus Scott, who was still firmly attached to his leg.) “There’s a team with medical equipment about a hundred yards west. Can all of you make it?” 

 

“No problem.” Emma said, determined. She had picked up one of the younger kids, balancing him against her hip. Percy received a few other nods. “Alright. Scott, buddy,” Percy looked down and sighed. He picked the kid up by his armpits and instead put Scott up on his shoulders, much to his delight. “Wow, you're tall.” The boy muttered, patting Percy’s head. Percy just snorted.

 

They filed out of the cell block in pairs, Mrs. O’Leary heading up the back with Emma in the front. A group of army vehicles were parked in a semicircle at the edge of the clearing, along with a few ambulances. Percy ushered the smallest kids to the paramedics first, handing Scott off to a young woman with her hair in a bun. Emma stayed at the edge of the group, eying them nervously. Percy walked to her side. 

 

“They’ll be alright.” She muttered, sounding most like she was reassuring herself instead of him. 

 

“Do you know why they took us?” She asked as she turned to face up towards him. It was the first look he actually got of her. Her hair had been cut short like the rest of the kids; it had choppily grown out a bit, so she had been here for a while. Her face was streaked with dirt and a bit of blood. Her eyes---

 

Her eyes were a startling violet. 

 

Percy felt his heart stutter. “Emma,” he said slowly, “have your eyes always been that color?” 

 

She frowned. “What? I mean, yeah. Why?”

 

Percy bit his lip. Gods above, he hoped he was wrong. “Mutants. That's why they took you, everyone here is a mutant.” 

 

She crossed her arms. “But I’m not.” 

 

He gave a quick look around. Everyone seemed busy with the other kids, not paying attention to him and Emma. “Are you sure? Has anything... strange ever happened to you? Like...you saw something you couldn't quite explain?”

 

He had hit a spot. Emma’s eyes were wide. “I, well. It's...it's stupid.” 

 

“It might be the reason you’re here, so probably not.” He countered.

 

She stared down at the ground. “When I was a kid, we went on a field trip to an orchard in the 3rd grade, to learn about life cycles. Which was really stupid, because it was winter and everything was dead. But I could’ve sworn that some of the plants were growing where I was standing. Nobody believed me.” 

 

Fuck. 

 

She looked at him, purple eyes wide. Gods, her expression looked just like her brother’s the day Percy insisted he didn't return to fight after breaking his arm at the Battle of Manhattan. After Castor had died...Percy shook his head. 

 

“Do you know both of your biological parents?” 

 

She reeled back. “Excuse me?” 

 

“Its important. Do you?

 

Her cheeks turned pink. “Not my bio father. My mom married my step dad when I was a kid. I don’t really care, though, he’s great. He raised me.”

 

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck-

 

“Do you have any learning disabilities?” 

 

Emma was outright glaring at him now. “My mom thinks I have ADHD, but getting a diagnosis is really hard. Why does any of this matter?” 

 

That sealed the deal. “Emma…” he sighed. “This is going to sound weird. But you're not a mutant. You,” he gave her a weighted look, “are something else entirely.” 

 

---

 

Peter crouched on the wall, watching Mr. Stark and Colonel Rhodes drag the unconscious guards together. There had been a small incident where one of the scientists had panicked and tried shooting them with something, but Peter’s spidey-sense had caught it in time. 

 

Other than that, everything had went pretty good. His first mission! 

 

He hopped down, landing lightly next to Mr. Stark. “The relief team is parked out over there.” He pointed out one of the *ahem* new holes in the wall that might have been Peter-shaped. Mr. Stark nodded. “Did Deathstroke get there already?” 

 

Peter tilted his head, listening. He could hear Percy’s voice, along with another one that sounded like a teenage girl, but he couldn't quite make out what they were saying. It sounded almost...fuzzy. Maybe he had hit the wall harder than he thought. “Yeah. He’s there.” 

 

“Cool. C’mon, kid. We need to lead the team to these guys.” He toed at one of the unconscious scientists, then walked out of the room, beckoning for Peter to follow. 

 

---

 

Emma had taken some convincing. It wasn’t until they stepped away from everyone and the Avenger had uncapped a pen that turned into a sword did she believe the guy. The daughter of Dionysus (apparently) leaned against the trunk of a large oak, taking everything in. 

 

She looked up at PJ. “I can’t go with them. They think I’m a mutant .” She said suddenly.

 

“I know, I know. Shit, this wasn't supposed to happen anymore.” He looked stressed, pacing in front of her. His dog was sitting, watching calmly. What did that mean? She opened her mouth to ask, but he spoke first. 

 

“Alright. I need to be on the jet home, I can’t stick around with you forever. But I can get you to Camp, at least.” 

 

“Camp?” She echoed. 

 

“Camp Half-Blood. It’s a safe haven for people like us. They’ll take you in for as long as you want; explain everything.” 

 

PJ was digging around in one of his pockets, pulling out a round gold coin. He moved one of his hands, and Emma felt cool mist on her skin. A rainbow formed in front of them, and she couldn't help the small gasp. PJ smiled at her. “Never gets old.” 

 

He tossed the coin into the mist, and it disappeared. He muttered something under her breath she couldn't quite hear, and a fucking face appeared in the rainbow. 

 

“Hey, Piper. You’re still at Camp, right?” 

 

The woman, Piper, nodded. “Uh, yeah. Why? And why are you still in your gear?” Emma edged into view. “Uhm, hi?” She squeaked at the mist lady.

 

Piper blinked a few times. “Is she…?”

 

PJ nodded, an emotion Emma couldn't place on his face. “Found her in Ontario on a job.”

 

Piper looked a little pissed. “Hey, kid.” She asked, looking directly at her. “How old are you? Do you live in Ontario?”

 

She shook her head. “I live in Michigan. I’ll be 17 in a month, I think.” She hadn't been able to keep much track of the date while in the cells. 

 

PJ cut in. “I’m going to drop her off with Lea. Can you give her orientation? I need to be on the jet home.” 

 

Piper smiled. “Sure thing, Mr. Avenger.” She teased. PJ rolled his eyes. “Shut up.” Emma suddenly felt a little uncomfortable, like she was intruding. But Piper turned to her with a soft smile. “You’ll like it here. You actually have an older brother here, named Pollux. He’s nice, I promise.” PJ nodded in agreement. “There’ll be a phone, too, so you can call your mom.” 

 

Emma nodded. “Alright,” she breathed. “OK. How do we get to the Camp?” 

 

PJ and Piper smiled at her in unison, eerily similar.

 

…

 

Ok, it was official. Emma was not made to shadow travel, or whatever PJ had called it. After the spots faded from her vision, she looked around. 

 

They were standing on a tall hill overlooking a valley. She could spot a crystal clear lake and strawberry fields, volleyball courts and an archery range, large clumps of cabins and a baby blue farmhouse. A large forest stretched out to one side, lush and green. It was beautiful. 

 

PJ grinned, looking down at the valley. “Another thing that never gets old.” He murmured. He walked with her towards a lone pine tree with what looked like a dragon curled around it. (She...you know what? Emma was just kind of done for the day. She. Was. Done.)

 

The dragon gave her a look, which she returned, and it returned to its slumber. There was something in the tree, too. It looked like...a sheepskin rug? It shone in the sun, an iridescent gold. Piper had said she would give her ‘orientation’, so Emma just filed away all her questions for later.

 

Said woman jogged up the hill. She was dressed in shorts with a bright orange shirt tucked in. “Hey!” Her and PJ hugged, though it looked a tad uncomfortable with all his armor. They exchanged a few words in what sounded like Greek; oddly enough, she felt like if they had spoken a bit slower, she would have understood them.

 

Piper walked over to her and linked their arms. “Say bye, Emma. Mr. Important, here, has some business to take care of.” PJ rolled his eyes again, but waved to Emma nonetheless. He seemed a little surprised when she hugged him instead. “Thank you.” SHe murmured into his shoulder, so quiet Piper couldn't hear it.  He just nodded. 

 

Lea trotted up next to him, having finished sniffing at the dragon. He put a hand on her head. “I’ll come and visit.” He promised. Piper nodded. “You better.” PJ smiled, dimples flashing. 

 

“Wait,” Emma called as he took a few steps away. “How are you going to hide the fact that I just...disappeared?” 

 

PJ laughed. “Isn't it obvious?” He held up a hand and waggled his fingers. “Magic.” Then he disappeared. 

 

Piper hid a smile. “Dramatic.” She muttered.

Notes:

hey you guys know how you were all stressed about the mission going wrong

and you know how nothing went wrong

yeah i just wanted you to suffer. congrats. you were lied to.

Chapter 23: The Elephant In The Room

Summary:

The aftermath of the mission

Notes:

alex the proofreader is the real hero among us

Friday, November 5th

7:21 PM

Near Algonquin Provincial Park, Ontario

 

Percy was pissed. He quietly stewed in his anger while all the paramedics finished up. Some quick mist manipulation had fixed everything regarding Emma; Percy had long ago learned the best way to do it was instead of just trying to erase someone, you replace them. When somebody thought back to a memory where Emma was present, they would mix her up with one of the others. It would create some confusion as to who was where and when, but people would blame their own memory, not some sort of otherworldly force. 

 

Manipulating people was never something Percy liked doing. It was definitely one of his least favorite abilities. But, sometimes it was necessary to keep people safe. 

 

Didn't keep him from feeling like shit, though. 

 

He was confident in Piper to take care of Emma until she settled in. He knew Pollux would be ecstatic to have a new sibling. Losing Castor had hit him hard. Ever since that day, Percy had made an effort to meet every new demigod. If he was going to fight along somebody, they deserved his grief.

 

However, Pollux was not going to be happy to learn that Emma was almost seventeen. Seventeen. So that was literally every single thing he asked of the Gods that they didn't follow. They didn't release Calypso, and they didn’t claim all of their kids, or help them get to camp. 

 

Children had died fighting their stupid fucking war, and they couldnt even stick to a single promise for more than about five years. 

 

He hoped, for God's sake, that Emma was an outlier. If not, well…

 

The Fates have mercy on them, because Percy had lost the rest of his when he felt Annabeth’s heart stop. 

 

Percy looped back around to the jet, eyes cast down. He let himself wander a bit while Rhodey did one last check with Johnson. Apparently, Ross and some of his men were going to take over the site to do their own investigation. Based off of Tony’s scoff, Percy formed the conclusion that it was utter bullshit. The man was borderline delusional---it was most likely that he believed Tony was still working with the Rogues and there was some sort of evidence there. How that guy still had his job, Percy would never know.

 

It was even colder now, and the wind ruffled his hair. He was glad nobody had gotten hurt, though. Peter was ecstatic about the whole thing. After the two of them had taken down the guards in the loading bay, Peter had made him promise to teach him a disarming move he had used. Peter was...a lot. Like an excitable puppy. Frankly, when Percy had met him, he had instant flashbacks to a ten year old Nico Di Angelo. He wondered if Peter played Mythomagic---

 

Percy stopped, dead in his tracks. 

 

He had unconsciously wandered all the way around the lab, to the very end of the gravel path. He slowly looked up. In front of him, looming like a shadow, the tall brick building stood. Nobody had gone inside of it, and for good reason. Just being near the place had sent a chill down his spine. It just felt...wrong. So, so, so wrong. 

 

He still had no clue what it was used for. And frankly, something about it just warded him away. And, contrary to popular belief, Percy didn’t have a death wish, so he turned on his heel and hurried away. 

 

As he made his way back to the plane, the pieces to a completely different puzzle clicked into place. The postcard Thalia had sent him while he was in the hospital was from somewhere up north, in Canada. Though it felt like forever, that had only been a few months ago. The Hunters would probably have still been in the area when they had texted.

 

He looked down, remembering Thalia’s story about the sewers while he was waiting in the WSC building for Tony. The way she described them, he had felt something that matched that description on the walk to the mission site. The monsters in the sewers were probably there for Emma. 

 

Percy found himself thankful for the stench of the entire prison block, because that was probably the one thing that kept the monsters from pinpointing her location. Shit. It all made sense now. Thalia would have been just a few miles from the base. It looked like a regular mortal lab, why would they have gotten close? The Hunters always avoided mortals anyways. But still, it set him on edge. And again, he didn't know why. 

 

Perch shook his head as the jet came into view. He had been stressed lately, he knew. With the Accords and the new SHIELD, everything had been pretty tense. And on top of the dreams he’d been having on top of that…

 

He just got on the stupid jet. Maybe, if he was lucky, he would be able to get some sleep. 

 

…

 

…

 

He was never lucky. Percy had no idea why he even tried anymore. 

 

After everyone strapped in and Tony took off, Percy leaned his head back against the wall. In less than a minute, he was asleep. And it sucked. 

 

---

???

???

???

 

There was nobody here, it was so empty, why was it so empty something was wrong---

 

---Percy was laying on something cold. Something so, so cold. Why was he cold? Temperatures never bothered him, but something was wrong---

 

---it felt like he wasn’t in his body, like he was floating a foot away, and oh he couldn't move---

 

---he shouldn't be here it was a bad place, no, no, no, NO---

 

Everything was flashing by so fast Percy felt like he was going to throw up. So many different feelings pummeled him in the gut, giving him whiplash. Then, suddenly, it stopped. Everything was still. He got his bearings now; it was windy, he was outside. Night time. His feet were bare, he could feel the gravel beneath his toes. 

 

He looked up. The tall brick building looked back at him. 

 

It seemed different, now. More...bright? The colors were all wrong. Percy tilted his head. Then, the smell hit him. 

 

Blood.

 

The bricks weren’t red, they were painted with blood. It coated every crack and crevice, the scent so strong it almost knocked him over. Every hair on his body was standing on edge. What was with this place? He needed to go---

 

Come in. A voice murmured. 

 

Percy felt like every cell in his blood just froze over. 

 

Just open the door, Percy. Open the door. The voice said gently.

 

“No.” Percy whispered.

 

You will feel better if you open the door.

 

Percy did feel awful. He was shaking now, swaying on his feet. His head hurt.

 

“I don't want to.” He protested, but it sounded weak even to his own ears. 

 

You will soon. 

 

The door was right in front of him. Everything would be better if he just twisted the knob---

 

“Wake up. We’re almost home.” 

 

----------

Friday, November 5th

10:52 PM

Somewhere Above New York

 

“Wake Percy up, will you?” Tony called from the cockpit. Peter nodded and leaned over. The mercenary had fallen asleep almost immediately; something Tony had thought was a bit strange. Peter gently put a hand on his arm. “Hey,” he muttered, shaking lightly. “Wake up. We’re almost home.” 

 

Percy woke with a start, eyes flying open. Even so, he didn't make a noise. 

 

“What?” The mercenary muttered, rubbing his eyes. Tony laughed. “You slept throughout the entire ride, dumbass. We’re almost home.” Percy nodded. “Oh.” 

 

Peter frowned. “Are you alright?” He asked quietly. Percy looked surprised for a second, then nodded. “Yeah. Just a weird dream.” Peter perked up. “Oh! I got this really weird one the other day. It started with this lawn mower----” 

 

Tony listened to Peter talk for the rest of the ride with half an ear. Percy had looked a bit... off since the mission had ended. Had seeing the kids messed him up that much? Tony had taken a look around the cell block; it had been truly nasty. Tony cast a quick look back at the other two. Rhodey and Vision were both quiet, absorbed in their respective work. 

 

Tony knew Percy had been having nightmares. To be fair, though, so had Tony. They didn't talk about them often, usually just content in each other's presence afterwards. They usually put on a movie or cooked something. Percy stress baked a lot. They seemed to be getting a bit worse though. Tony really hoped it wasn't because of the team. Maybe he was selfish, God knows how often people told him he was, but...he really liked having Percy fight with them. But if there was something that was stressing him out, there was no question about what was more important. 

 

Tony just hoped it was something he could help with. 

 

He landed the quinjet on the roof, still contemplating. They were all dead tired, probably Percy too, even with the sleep he had gotten on the trip. 

 

Tony watched his team stand up and stretch, collecting their stuff and walking off the ramp one by one to go their separate ways.  Rhodey had to catch another plane to DC, and Vision rarely stayed at the tower anymore. Percy was last, slinging his duffel over his shoulder as giving Mrs. O’Leary a quick pat. Tony watched him, biting the inside of his cheek. The mercenary really did look tired.

 

Tomorrow. He would talk to him tomorrow. 

 

Even as he said it to himself, something just felt a little off about it. 

 

----

 

Friday, November 5th

11:37 PM

Stark Tower, NY

 

Percy couldn't wait until tomorrow morning. Something as important as this…

 

He dropped his bag on his bed, and changed out of his armor. He pulled on a pair of sweats and a shirt as Mrs. O’Leary made herself comfortable on the blankets. She had never really liked it where he was going.

 

Smart dog. 

 

Percy pulled on his shoes and walked out the door. “I’ll be back soon, Fri. I just need to clear my head.” He muttered as he ducked into the elevator. Everyone else had already gone to bed, and the tower was silent. 

 

The AI seemed a bit hesitant. “Alright, Mr. Jackson. Stay safe.” Percy shot a grin up at the ceiling. “When am I not?”

 

She didn’t dignify that with a response. 

 

As the elevator went down, Percy took a minute to think back on the dream he had. That was the problem; he could never really tell which ones were prophetic and which ones were just plain nightmares. Though, based on that one’s lack of clarity, it was probably just a nightmare. The real ones were usually just random scenes, not snippets of horrible feelings. 

 

Percy jogged his way down the sidewalk, feet going on autopilot. It wasn’t a trip he made often, but once you plan a battle to defend a place, you never forget how to get there. He breezed through the lobby doors, hands in his pockets. 

 

“600th floor, please.” 

 

The doorman didn't even look up at him. He just reached under the desk and handed Percy the key card. Percy just gave him a nod and stepped into the elevator. 

 

The music was as horrible as ever. Jesus, someone needed to change that. It was Livin’ on a Prayer currently. Percy had nothing against the song itself, but having it play while a demigod, who’s life had been made a living hell by the Gods, rode his way up the elevator to yell at them? Not the best choice. 

 

Suddenly, he wasn't alone in the elevator. His father stood next to him, dressed in board shorts and patterned shirt. He looked sad. “Dad.” 

 

“Percy.” 

 

Percy didn't even think about it. He leaned in and hugged his father. “Best of luck, Percy.” Poseidon murmured in his ear. “You know I will always support you.” Percy just nodded mutely. In that last second of their embrace, a thousand words were exchanged. 

 

“You are sure about this?”

 

Percy just closed his eyes. “You say it like I’ve been left any other choice.” 

 

His dad nodded once more. Then, he was gone---Zeus would have his head if he found out they had been talking. 

 

Olympus was just as pretty at night as it was during the day. Percy always took his time walking across the city, especially after. He could map out every single one of Annabeth’s designs by heart; could recite the excited rants she gave him about each piece. 

 

She used to curl up next to him and lay the computer across both of their legs while she showed him the blueprints. He never fully understood everything she said, but being able to see her eyes light up when he asked questions was enough. 

 

He couldn't do that anymore. 

 

Percy waved to the nature spirits he passed, offering them a small smile. Most of the naiads and dryads here had been ones who fought in the Titan or Giant war. Some of them, both. 

 

The doors to the throne room were heavy, but Percy had no problem pushing them open. Most of the Gods were gone---only Athena sat in her throne. She looked up, surprised. “Perseus.”

 

Percy offered her a small smile. The Goddess had really changed after Annabeth had died. Percy wouldn't call them friends, but he wouldn't call himself friends with any of them. But she was certainly...softer now. Her problem with him was that she never thought he truly loved Annabeth; but he supposed carving a bloody murder canyon out of Tartarus himself in grief and rage changed her view. The look she gave him was knowing, resigned. “You want me to summon the council?”

 

Percy nodded. “If you would.” 

 

The demigod moved to sit by the hearth. Hestia appeared next to him in a second, a grimace on her face. “I’m sorry.” Was the first thing she said. Percy swallowed. “I know. But they aren’t.” She had nothing to say after that.

 

In the next few minutes, the other Olympians flashed into the room. They all seemed confused, sans his father, especially by Percy and Hestia’s presence, but sat down nonetheless, waiting for their King. Zeus was the last to arrive. 

 

“What is the meaning of this, Athena?” He rumbled, sitting down. 

 

The wisdom Goddess just looked at Percy. Suddenly, all their eyes were on him. Poseidon looked at him for a long moment, then nodded once. It was all Percy needed. He didn’t stand, or go to bow to Zeus. He was at the hearth, and that is where he would stay. 

 

He kept his gaze downward. 

 

“Do you really value us that little?” Was the first thing that came out of his mouth. He received stunned silence in return, so he continued. “Because that's what it seems like. Your children died for this. Do you care? It doesn't seem like it.”

 

Hera raised a single brow. “Excuse me? What on Earth are you talking about?” 

 

Percy felt the frustration rise in his chest. “You don't even know?” He turned to face Dionysus, who had the audacity to look bored. “Her name is Emma. She’s 17, unclaimed, and was stuck in a Hydra experimentation lab in Ontario. Nobody ever came to her about camp, nobody even told her who her father was.” His voice was flat, monotone. 

 

Apollo took in a slow breath. “Dionysus?” 

 

The wine God shrugged. “She is at camp now. No harm done.” 

 

Percy heard the blood rush in his ears. “All of you should be ashamed.” He whispered. Zeus looked outraged. “Watch your tone, boy. You need to show some respect---” 

 

“For what?” Percy interrupted. “What’s a single thing any of you have ever done to deserve it?” Zeus honestly looked speechless. “We help you on your quests all the time!” Aphrodite pitched in, frowning.

 

Percy whipped around to face her. “Oh, wow. Thank you so much, my lady, for helping me complete the quests that you assigned me, to solve the problems you created. And, what exactly, did you do to help? Did you slay a monster, help us get somewhere? Did you protect Bianca, Zoe? Or was it Lee Fletcher, or Castor? Beckendorf, Michael Yew? What about Silena or Ethan? Was it Luke? Did you protect Annabeth?”

 

...

 

Dead silence. 

 

...

 

“You don't even know who half those people are.” 

 

The realization hit him like a truck. The last two names were recognized, but the first couple had gotten no reaction. A few of the Gods knew all of them; he could see it on Hermes, Apollo, and his dad’s face. But other than that…

 

“You...you don't know the names of the children you lined up to slaughter.” Percy whispered. 

 

“They were demigods, they did their duty. Dying in battle is an honor !” Ares burst out. Percy turned to face him, and the God flinched. “Shove your honors up your ass! I just wanted to live ‘till graduation!” Percy roared. 

 

“They died for family. What greater cause is there?” Hera insisted.

 

“Oh, like you would know anything about family.” Percy hissed. Hera reared back as if she’d hit him. “Don’t pull that fucking card. You didn't care about family when you took me from mine.”

 

Percy looked around at the council. “You’re cowards, all of you. Cowards who would rather send a child to fight monsters than for you to lift a finger to protect them.” 

 

Zeus looked dangerously close to smiting him. “We gave you your Camp.” 

 

Percy met his gaze, storms swirling in his irises. “Yes, Camp. A summer camp. A couple square miles that is the only safe place for us on Earth. Its not like you told us about the fucking demigod city out there waiting for us. You gave us a camp , that wasn't even protected from monsters until your daughter sacrificed herself and you got upset. You gave us a camp, but not cabins for all of the children. You gave us a camp, but not a second of your time.” 

 

Zeus opened his mouth to speak, but Percy cut him off. “You don't have the right to speak here, not about this.” Percy had definitely crossed the line, not even he would ever speak to the Gods this way. But he was just so tired . 

 

“Not when your own daughter was raised by an abusive drunk and became a runaway, believing her baby brother was dead, hunted by monsters that were set upon her because you couldn't follow a single oath and keep it in your pants.” His words were laced with venom, and he knew he must have looked furious. 

 

“The truth is, most of you don’t give a shit about us. You pretend when you need something done, but that's all it is. A lie. There was a reason I turned down immortality, I’d rather die than be like one of you. Because all you do is hurt people.” Percy’s voice dropped down to a whisper. 

 

“You hurt Hazel when she alone dealt with Gaea rising, you hurt Nico when you murdered his mother out of jealousy. You hurt Thalia when your lack of honor got her chased across the country, you hurt Annabeth when your own pride got every single one of your children cursed. You hurt Luke’s mother and the Oracle when you hurt her because of something she didn't do,” 

 

He pointed as he spoke. Zeus, Athena, Hades.

 

“You hurt Emma when you didn't take her to camp, you hurt Leo when you let him be dumped around in foster homes, you hurt Luke when he was so angry and none of you noticed. ” 

 

Dionysus, Hephestus, and then at all of them.

 

It was so silent you could've heard a pin drop. “If you had just been better parents, tried a little, the whole war never would have happened. Because your own kids thought Kronos had a better future in store for them than what they had with you.” 

 

That finally seemed to pound it into their thick skulls. 

 

“Percy…” Hermes whispered, but the demigod didn't give him the chance. 

 

“I asked for one thing.” And fuck, he hated how broken his voice sounded.

 

“One thing. One thing I bled for, one thing your kids died for. And you couldn't even bother.”

 

Percy wiped at his eyes with his thumb. He steeled himself, and looked back up. “So here’s how this is going to work.” 

 

Percy took a few steps closer towards the thrones. “Nothing like this will happen again. Ever, again. I don't care if you call if a slip up, an accident, whatever. You took the time to get some, you take the time to take care of your kid. You know what will happen if you don't.”

 

The air crackled with electricity. Zeus leaned forward. Percy always thought the Gods looked intimidating when they were that tall. But now...all he saw was the failure of a husband, a father, a king. “Is that a threat?” 

 

Percy didn't even blink. “Call it a prophecy. We all know how paranoid you get about those.”

 

He turned on his heel and walked out of the throne room.

 

---

 

His dad was once again in the elevator. Percy tried not to be bitter. He knew his dad cared about him, he knew it. The one thing Zeus actually gave a shit about was making sure his brothers stayed away from their children. When Percy was younger, he thought it was to make everything fair.

 

Now, he knew nothing was fair and Zeus was just afraid. 

 

His dad pulled him into another wordless hug. Percy let out a deep breath. “Dad, can you do me a favor?”

The sea God didn't even hesitate before nodding. 

 

“I...my friends. I want to tell them who I am.”

 

Poseidon raised a brow, an expression so like Percy’s own that it hurt. “They are completely mortal, I take it?” Percy nodded. “I trust them. I’m not taking no for an answer, either. I know a God can keep them sane. I’ll go beat up Ares again and make him do it, if I have to.”

 

This brought a genuine laugh out of his father. “Only you, Percy, could tell the entire Council to go fuck themselves and then demand a prize.” His eyes softened. “You deserve much more. But, for now, this is the least I can do. When you tell them, no harm will come to them.”

 

Percy smiled. “Thank you.” And he meant it. 

 

The elevator dinged. Percy stepped out, then hesitated. “Dad, there’s another thing. I…” He sighed. “Just, can all of you leave me alone for a bit? I need time, not the Gods watching me for some petty entertainment.” 

 

Poseidon nodded once. “We’ll leave you to your privacy.” He didn't try to make a promise; he knew how little those meant to Percy. Instead, he just disappeared into a gust of sea mist. 

 

Percy’s mind was blank when he jogged back to the tower. It was pitch black out, and well past midnight. But...he could tell them. Finally get everything off his chest; the powers, the monsters, the dreams…

 

But he waited this long, he told himself as he stepped into the elevator. (This one felt a lot more like home than the other one.)

 

He could wait until morning. 

 

It wasn’t until the elevator reached his floor did he realize FRIDAY hadn’t spoken to him. Percy froze, a familiar feeling coming over him. Why did he get the strangest sense of deja vu? It was-

 

The dream he had on the plane.

There was nobody here, it was so empty, why was it so empty something was wrong---

 

Percy didn't even have the chance to blink before something stuck in his neck. He had been so distracted he hadn't even felt the tranquilizer in his vicinity. 

 

Everything went black, and Percy fell to the floor.

Notes:

originally percy was just going to like, tell they gods they owed him one and that he deserved to tell tony and the others the truth about his parentage. but then i got into a real anti-establishment mood and made him just straight up scream at them.

so enjoy that i guess

Chapter 24: The Doctor

Summary:

Percy wakes up.

Notes:

yeah, shit's getting real.

?, November ?th

?????

Somewhere Dark

 

Tony’s head felt like someone had caved it in with a battering ram. He let out a low groan as he opened his eyes. Wherever they were, it was cold as hell. He squinted, trying to adjust his eyes to the darkness. Christ, what happened ? The last thing he remembered was going to sleep in the tower. 

 

Tony yanked on one of his arms. There was a thick metal shackle around his wrist, and he hissed as it pulled at his skin. This entire place stank, and Tony had never been more grateful that he didn't have super senses like Peter. 

 

Peter. 

 

Tony looked around wildly. Shit, if somebody had gotten into the tower…

 

Next to him, the kid was slumped over, similarly chained to the wall. “Pete,” Tony whispered. “Are you alright?” Peter didn't even move. “C’mon kid. Say something.” Tony’s voice had taken on more urgency. Fuck, if the kid was---

 

No. Tony could hear breathing. Thank every God out there, Peter was alive. Tony let out a breath and looked around. They were alone; Percy wasn’t there. The three of them were the only ones in the tower that night. Either the mercenary had escaped, or...or he wasn't with them for whatever reason. It was possible whoever had taken them had something personal against Percy---mercenaries lived dangerous lives. 

 

Tony leaned his head back. He just really hoped whatever had happened, he wasn't hurt.

 

---

 

The first time Percy woke up, he was in a truck, and his head felt like it was stuffed with cotton. He was laying down, and the road was bumpy. Whoever had taken him hadn’t bothered to restrain him at all. 

 

“Holy shit, I think he’s awake!”

 

“No fuckin’ way. We dosed ‘im with ‘nough stuff to take out an elephant.”

 

“Well he’s moving, so obviously not! Hit him again!”

 

Percy felt something cold press up against his neck, then a pinch, and he was out again.

 

---

 

The second time he woke up, he was in the air. There was an engine nearby, and it was loud as shit. It made Percy miss the quinjet. 

 

“The hell? Is he moving again?”

 

“Oh my God, he is. Fuck, do it again!”

 

Once again, a needle slipped into the side of Percy’s neck. 

 

---

 

Third time a charm. This time, he woke up in a lab. He was lying on a table, and everything hurt. Every muscle just felt like he’d run a marathon. Percy let his head flop to the side. He opened his eyes the tiniest bit. There was a shallow bin on a table next to him, filled with something metal and shiny.

 

 There was somebody near him. This time, Percy didn't bother trying to pretend to stay asleep. In a flash, he lunged to the side, grabbing whatever the hell was in that bin. He knew he had guessed correctly when he felt the familiar weight of a surgical knife. He rolled and jabbed the scalpel into the thigh of the man standing above him. The man screamed and Percy jumped up, ramming his shoulders into the enemy’s side. A swift punch later, the man crumpled to the tiled floor. Percy leaned against the table, breathing heavily. 

 

The guy was wearing a fucking lab coat. Percy looked around—he was obviously in some sort of lab, there was a mix of medical and science equipment scattered around. Percy tried his best to reach out with his senses, but it brought an immediate sharp pain to his head. He gasped, hand coming up to clutch his forehead. Fuck, everything was bright. He couldn’t use his powers. His hearing wasn’t super helpful; everything was so loud. It made his head hurt even worse. Everything smelled like antiseptic and metal and he couldn't differentiate anything like he was usually able to. 

 

He was almost completely, really blind. 

 

He was still wearing his pajamas, feet bare. The tile was cold, the same sterile white as the walls and ceiling. Percy took in another shaky breath, and began towards the hallway. There were two people outside the lab doors—trying to feel for them hurt like hell, but he could hear their heartbeats so loud he wanted to cry out in pain.

 

He steadied himself against the wall with one hand. His head was swimming, his stomach queasy. Christ, what did they dose him with? 

 

Percy dashed around the corner, catching the first guard by surprise and grabbing her gun. It was a big, heavy duty one, and Percy slammed the butt of it into her head. The second guard fumbled for what was probably a taser. Percy dropped the gun, grabbed his wrist and, in an uncharacteristic display of strength, threw the guard against a wall. He went down with a crack . 

 

Percy leaned heavily against the opposite wall, bending down to pick up the gun again. It was full of tranquilizer darts instead of bullets. He groaned, and tossed it back onto the floor. His breathing was ragged, vision spotty. But still, he pushed himself up and bent over, searching through the other guard's utility belt. The best weapon he had to offer was the stun baton he was going for. Percy sighed and unholstered it, giving it a few experimental twirls. 

 

The lab was bigger than he thought. Percy did his best to be quiet as he continued down the hallway, to another set of doors. There was a sign lit up above them. Percy couldn't quite make it out, but decided to operate under the hope that it said Exit. He pressed on the push bar, only to come face to face with a room with half a dozen more guards. Shit. He flipped a switch and felt the electricity crackle on the tip on his weapon. 

 

Time to get to work.

 

The baton was a fairly good weapon, all things considered. He wished he could’ve used Riptide, but all of them were unfortunately mortal. Percy let himself settle into a pattern; dodge, hit, block. 

 

Before he knew it, he was down four, two to go. He dodged a punch, then a swing from a baton similar to his own. He swept one guard's feet out, then blocked an electrified jab from the other. He grabbed one of the men by his lapels and hefted him up, slamming him into the large wall of windows. The glass cracked outwards like a spiderweb from where the guard’s head hit, and Percy dropped him. He gave the other one last punch, and he too went down. 

 

Percy leaned over, hands on his knees. While he tried to get his breath back (holy shit that drug had done a number on him ), he looked around the room. There were a few metal tables and chairs, plus the large windows, but other than that (and the bodies), it was quite plain.

 

Fuck, he was tired. Breathing hurts. Why did breathing hurt?

 

The heavy thud of footsteps echoed from the hallway. Percy groaned. More people, it sounded like at least ten. Heavy boots---definitely more armed guards. He didn't hear any alarms go off, but anybody could have found the carnage he left. 

 

A man entered the room, the guards behind him.

 

“Mr. Jackson.” He said slowly. “Come with us, and nobody will get hurt.” 

 

Percy bared his teeth. The man reared back. Percy knew he didn’t look...the best. He was barefoot and bloody, holding a high voltage stun baton. The guards didn’t have their guns out, but all of them were tense. “You can't escape. We have all the exits blocked off.” 

 

Percy stayed silent. He knew it was hopeless---he could barely stand without wobbling, let alone fight however many people were left.

 

No more exits. 

 

...Percy had always been pretty good at creating his own. 

 

The man in front seemed to recognize something in his eyes. “Wait, don’t---”

 

In an instant, Percy’s foot came down on one of the legs of a metal stool, flipping it up into his hand. He hefted it up and slammed it into the glass, right where he had smashed someone’s head in. The glass shattered, and Percy jumped. 

 

He hit the ground rolling. 

 

The grass was freezing. Percy didn't take time to look around. He just ran. 

 

He was being chased, he knew it. Footsteps thudded after him, people were yelling. Even high as hell on whatever , none of them would be able to catch him. He just needed to get away. A loud voice stopped him dead in his tracks. 

 

“If you want them to live, I suggest you stop running!”

 

Percy didn't turn around. The man, the same one from before, continued triumphantly.  

 

“Stark and... Peter , right?” 

 

The demigod’s fists clenched. He slowly moved to face him. “What?” His voice was hoarse. 

 

The man just smiled, hands in his pockets. He made some sort of hand gesture---Percy wasn't sure what. The guards surrounded him, guns out and pointing right at his chest. There was no way for Percy to call his bluff; he was basically useless now. But Percy could never risk something like that. 

 

Percy slowly put his hands above his head, and let them push him onto his knees. 

 

And in an all too familiar feeling, everything went dark. 

 

Hell of a time to ask the Gods to stop watching him, huh?

 

---

 

Tony woke up once more to the sound of movement. Peter was definitely sedated, he had gathered. The boy was sluggish, his words slurred. Whatever he had been dosed with was strong; Peter had barely even recognized Tony. 

 

He hated it.

 

What he hated even more, though, was what happened a second later.

 

Two people came into the room, both wearing identical black tactical clothes; Hydra uniforms. In between them, they were dragging a limp body. Tony’s heart caught in his throat. 

 

Percy was dead to the world, eyes half lidded. He was barefoot, feet coated in dirt and blood. His clothes were stained red in some places, and there was a big bruise on his cheekbone. “What did you do to him?” Tony demanded. 

 

The Hydra agents didn’t answer. They just dropped Percy in the middle of the cell and left, locking the door behind them. 

 

Tony wanted so desperately to lean over, to check him over, to make sure he was alright, but the chains around his wrists remained taught. Tony couldn't break out of them like Peter could, like…

 

Like Rogers could’ve. 

 

He wondered, distantly, if the Avengers hadn’t broken up, if they hadn’t left him, if he had just calmed down and listened to someone else for once in his life, would they have stayed? If he had been a better friend, a better man, would Banner have stuck around, would Romanoff not have betrayed him, would they have listened to him about Maximoff?

 

Tony had no way to find out.

 

The only thing he had was a heavy feeling as he stood, helpless, stuck in a cell with two of the people he cared about most bruised and drugged unconscious. 

 

---

 

Percy dreamed again. 

 

It was that same brick building. But it wasn’t covered with blood like the last time. Instead it was just Percy, standing in front of one of the walls, running his fingertips across the rough brick. 

 

It might have been raining, because his clothes felt damp, sticking to his skin. 

 

Percy blinked, looking at the wall. There was something on it, written, no, painted on in dark paint that smelled like blood---

 

His own fingers were bloody, he had been smearing it on the wall to spell something out---

 

He couldn't read it, what was it---

 

It wasn’t raining, the warm sticky feeling on every inch of his skin wasn't water it was red red red redred---

 

---

 

Percy was twitching in his sleep. Tony watched, horrified, as he curled up, face scrunched in pain. “Percy,” he yelled. Louder, “Percy!” 

 

The mercenary’s lips were moving, spelling out words Tony didn’t understand. At the end of the hallway, Tony heard a door open. Somebody was getting close. “Percy, please. Wake up!” Tony pleaded. 

 

A man strode into the cells. Two guards flanked him, and they each went for Percy, grabbing his arms and hauling him up. Tony thrashed, yanking at the chains. “Stop it, don’t touch him!” He was screaming. Peter didn’t react at all, head still hanging low, blinking slowly. 

 

He watched as Percy’s wrist’s were chained up like his and Peter’s, still in a fitful sleep. Why wasn’t he waking up? 

 

The man standing in front of them seemed to be thinking the same thing. Tony took a moment to study him. He was middle aged, with hair so blonde it was almost white. He was greying at the temples, and his eyes were an acidy green. He was dressed nicely, in slacks and a pressed button up. There was a freshly starched lab coat to finish it off, and a pair of glasses were perched on his nose. 

 

He reached a hand around the doorway, and grabbed a bucket Tony hadn’t been able to see. Without warning, the two Hydra agents stepped back from Percy, and the man splashed the icy contents over Percy’s head. 

 

This snapped him away, waking up with a wheezing gasp. Percy blinked a few times, looking around blearily. 

 

The man just smiled. “Glad you could join us, Deathstroke.” 

 

Tony looked between the two for a second. Percy wasn’t asleep any longer, but he still looked very out of it. Tony spoke instead. “Who the hell are you?”

 

He gave Tony an assessing look, then slid his hands in his pockets.His voice was smooth, holding little inflection nor cadence. “You can call me the Doctor." He supplied. "Most do.”

...That was one of the worst super villain names Tony had ever heard. Seriously, what the hell was that? But, the name sounded familiar for some reason. Tony narrowed his eyes at the Doctor. 

 

It hit him like a freight train.

 

Oh God, the kids. All of the mutant kids they had talked to said the people who experimented on them talked about a doctor. Not a doctor, The Doctor . None of the kids had ever seen him in person, but the name alone had made them flinch. The realization must have shown itself across his face, because the Doctor smiled again. It made the back of his neck prickle—there was just something off about the expression. 

 

Tony switched tactics. “What do you want with us?”

 

The Doctor didn't blink, eyes fixed eerily onto Tony. “Nothing. Not with all of you, anyways. You were just...unfortunate casualties. Though,” he considered, wandering further into the cell, “Maybe the extra work was worth it after all.” He stopped in front of Peter, grabbing him by the chin and lifting his head up. “He is a mutant, no?”

 

Tony spoke slowly. “You touch a hair on his head, and I’ll tear you limb from limb.” 

 

The Doctor smiled again, a dragged out muscle spasm that looked anything but pleasant, taking a few steps away, back into the middle of the cell. This time, his eyes were on Percy. “You,” the mercenary sluggishly lifted his head up. “What did you do with the girl?” 

 

Percy didn't respond, his head hanging low, clearly still suffering the affects of whatever he was dosed with. 

 

The Doctor's eyes went dark. “The girl." He repeated. "The oldest one. She was the most promising out of all the subjects, and you didn't take her with the rest of them. Did you kill her?”

 

Tony raised a brow. “Everyone went together. We didn't separate the kids; I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

 

The Doctor kept his gaze on Percy. “But he does.”

 

Percy, who was still drugged to high heavens, said nothing. 

 

“What did you do with her?" The Doctor repeated. "I was so close, so close!” His words were said with an uneasy intensity, eyes hard and unmoving from the mercenary's slumped form. He walked oddly, like moving was a conscious effort, not just muscle memory. His steps were jerky and short as he advanced on Percy. "So close." 

 

Tony's eyes flickered rapidly between the man and his vulnerable friend. "Close to what, exactly?" He interjected. 

 

The Doctor stopped abruptly, his face smoothing out. He didn't move his body to face Tony, rather just turning his head to face the man. "Mutants are a curious thing, are they not?" He said, seemingly more to himself than to Tony. "Nobody really knows how they can do what they do. Mental, emotional...perhaps something physical, a gland or a muscle the rest of us lack." Another grin was etched onto his face, but his eyes stayed still and empty. "How amazing would it be to be able to harness that? To sever that connection at the snap of a finger? Taking that power, the abilities of these creatures, it my life's work."

 

Chills ran down Tony's spine. He spoke of these things so casually, as if rattling of a grocery list or his itinerary for the day. The man was still standing deadly still, chin almost touching his shoulder with how he craned to look at Tony. 

 

"The answers with right within my grasp," He whispered, voice suddenly dropping. Suddenly, he lunged towards Percy, hand curling around his shoulder, leaning into his space. "But then you took my prime subject." He breathed directly into the mercenary's ear. 

 

Percy raised his eyes just enough to level the man with a glare. "You're insane." Percy breathed out. 

 

The Doctor brushed off these words easily. “When the winds of change blow, some people build walls and others build windmills." He said, voice distant and convicted. "I have chosen to be the second. My work will bring a new age upon us all, for the new world order." 

Unnoticed, Tony took in a sharp breath. He was taken back to their first mission, down in the sublevel of the building, right before the bomb went off. 

 

“Hail Hydra, for the new order.” Then there was a loud crunch, and the man went limp. 

 

The new world order.

 

That couldn't be a coincidence, could it? 

 

His eyes were fixed onto Percy, taking in every inch of his face hungrily, like he wanted to commit it to memory. "I forgive you for taking her." He said softly, a grotesque imitation of gentle as he stared. "You brought me a better test subject. Plus a spare."

 

It took Tony far too long to understand just what he meant. 

 

The Doctor gripped Percy's jaw, forcing his chin up to properly look at him. His right hand, in contrast to the bruising force of his left, lightly traced a line up Percy's face. The mercenary was wide-eyed, weakly jerking away from the contact, but to no avail. 

 

"I've never been able to get my hands on any of the adults. Too hard to make disappear." He mumbled, nail scratching down Percy's cheek. "But then you just waltz on in here. It's fate. It's a gift, don't you think?"

 

Oh.

 

Somehow, that all made sense. Percy, who was fast and strong and too smart for his own good, who'd been in far too many dangerous situations to not have had a little help. An icy numbness settled into Tony's chest. How could he have not seen? His own friend. Tony should have noticed. 

 

"Percy..." He breathed out, strangled. Percy, wide-eyed and panicked, made desperate eye contact with him. Tony tugged on his chains once more as the Doctor brushed a thumb under Percy's eye, across the pale scars that spanned his skin. "Percy." The man repeated, transfixed. "Not a bad name. Did you not tell your friend about you, Percy?" The way he said his name made Tony's skin crawl. He should've stayed quiet. Percy wasn't in any facial recognition databases; the man never would have had the satisfaction of knowing Percy's name. 

Not until Tony gave it to him like an idiot. No wonder Percy hadn't trusted him with his secret. 

 

Percy didn't reply, squeezing his eyes shut. 

 

The Doctor didn't seem bothered by this in the slightest. "I only found out myself some weeks ago. Watching you lift that concrete rubble was positively invigorating." He breathed.

The rubble made a lot more sense now. Tony had thought it was just luck when he woke up without being buried alive. But he was never lucky; he just had a good friend. 

"Multiple stun batons to the chest like it was nothing, not to mention that metabolism you must have." The Doctor mused. "We had to give you almost triple the dose of your friend," He said, eyes flickering across the cell to Peter's unconscious form. "You're escape attempt—truly fantastic. You incapacitated nine people and jumped out a window with a blood toxicity level of almost 36%." He said ardently. "I’ve never seen anything like it. Like you." His eyes gleamed. "You're perfect." The Doctor whispered reverently. "I actually find myself hoping you survive this."

Notes:

not gonna lie, writing this guy is fun. just straight up unhinged, you know?

and yeah i am aware the name is stupid. i just wanted something simple; something that dosent really seem like a name.

them having to sedate percy a bunch of times like he's a fucking bear is so funny to me---

Chapter 25: A Storm Falls Silent

Summary:

I'm not sorry.

Notes:

hey guys. remember a few chapter ago when i made a vaguely threatening note about something happening on the mission. and you guys freaked out. but nothing happened.

i double lied. congrats.

also lmao happy birthday perce

?, November ?th

?????

A Lab

 

If you asked him, Percy would tell you he could only recall bits and pieces of what happened in that lab. (If he told you at all.)

 

That was a half truth. He remembered some bits, not others. One thing he always left out, though, were the dreams. He always remembered the dreams. 

 

 

---

 

The voice was back. It still chilled him to the bone---it was unlike anything he had ever heard. Tartarus himself couldn't even compare to this---at least Percy was able to feel him.

 

You still haven’t opened the door. 

 

“I can’t.” 

 

Why not?

 

---

 

The Doctor stood above him, holding a clipboard. Someone was tying a strap around his arm. One of those heavy duty leather ones, like they would use in hospitals. Percy wanted to struggle, to fight, but everything was so hazy.

 

The strap was fastened. Then his other arm, then his legs, then his torso, then one around his neck. 

 

A pinch in the crook of his elbow, a syringe being pushed down on. He could feel something he didn't know entering his blood stream. Then another one needle, this one taking instead of giving. 

 

The lights were so bright, shining directly into his face. 

 

Percy closed his eyes, but it didn't help. 

 

---

 

What’s stopping you?

 

“I...I just can't. I don’t want to.”

 

---

 

Percy was pretty sure they were cutting open his skin.

 

 There was something cold and sharp, moving across his hip. His own blood was too warm against his skin. The thought of the red made him want to throw up, too similar to the dream he had in the cell.

 

But he couldn't; just like he couldn't think or get up or move or---

 

---

 

“Please don't make me open the door.” 

 

I don't have to make you.

 

---

 

There was another needle, now. This one was bigger, by his hip instead of his arm. Percy was fairly sure it was hollow. But they didn't want blood, the needle went down, down, down into his bone. He could feel it press against him, hyper aware.

 

They didn't bother sedating him. He wanted to scream all he could do was close his eyes. 

 

---

 

Percy was standing in the city, now. It was empty. Where was everyone? There were no pedestrians anywhere—it was Manhattan, there was always somebody out on the streets. The wind perfectly still; odd for this time of the year. Still, Percy shivered. 

 

---

 

He could hear the voices, now. The Doctor sounded excited. Percy didn’t like it. 

 

---

 

He could see the people, now. Every single one of them was face down on the pavement. Nobody was moving but Percy. He turned around, panic rising in his throat. 

 

---

 

Tony felt numb. They had taken Percy what felt like forever ago—Tony had no way of telling time—though Peter seemed to be doing better, now. He was holding his head up, looking around. He had also spoken a few words, though none of them made any sense. 

 

Percy was a mutant. 

 

Tony wasn’t sure why he kept going back to that. He had nothing against mutants, obviously, and it was Percy’s right to keep it a secret. He wouldn’t lie, though, it hurt that Percy hadn’t told him. But none of that mattered now, because Percy was his friend and was currently in the possession of a slimy, evil, absolutely off his rocker Doctor. 

 

He still had no idea where they were. Probably somewhere far, far away from the tower, far away from home and backup. The cell was always completely dark; Tony could only barely make out Peter’s outline. 

 

...

 

The Doctor scared him. Plain and simple. 

 

The man was clearly twisted in some way, the way he spoke said it all. But it wasn’t just that. 

 

The idea of being to take away mutant’s will terrified him. Maybe it was because of Barnes. Tony wouldn't deny that his heart sped up at the thought of another mindless enhanced assassin. Maybe it was because the process would be so much easier, so much more accessible. Maybe because instead of being strong and a bit faster like a supersoldier, they would be able to fly or shoot lasers or turn invisible and walk through walls. 

 

All of those reasons were part of it, but mainly it was the fact that the next Barnes wouldn't just be Barnes. 

 

It wouldn't be someone he had never met, someone he had no connection to. 

(Some would say a connection would be that he was one of Howard’s best friends, but it's not like his dad ever really spoke to him anyways.)

 

But no, the thing that really chilled him to his core was that the next one could be Peter, Percy, maybe even Bruce or Thor if he ever saw them again. It could be anyone, and Tony wasn’t sure if there would be a single thing he could do to save them. 

 

He wasn't sure if he would be able to stop them, either. 

 

(Another part of him didn't think he would want to try.) 

 

Peter was bright and happy, full of kindness and life. The kid was better than Tony would ever be. He couldn’t be turned into some sort of puppet like that. Percy was loyal and genuine, a steadfast teammate and a better friend. Someone who would rather die than hurt someone he cared about.

 

But both of them might have that choice taken away from them.

 

He pulled on the chains once more. They didn't give. 

 

Big man in a suit of armor. Take that off, and what are you?

 

Tony closed his eyes and let his head tip forward. 

 

I know guys with none of that worth ten of you.

 

So did Tony---and one of them was tied down to a lab table, probably dead.

 

---

 

This time, when Percy opened his eyes, the Doctor was looking directly at him. “Oh, good. You’re up!” 

 

If Percy could have, he would’ve spat at the man. He had the range. 

 

“We took some blood, you know. And, funny thing, I noticed a little anomaly!” The Doctor tutted. “And by that, I mean half of your DNA is missing. I know that isn't a mutant thing, because it’s just like little Emma!” 

 

His eyes held a manic look in them as he grabbed Percy’s arm. 

 

“You aren’t a mutant at all, you’re a demigod.”

 

Horror swept through him, crawling down his spine like ice water. The Doctor laughed again, and Percy was pretty sure this one sounded a little more off kilter than the last one. 

 

“Oh, that’s right, I know all about your type. You have all the power in the world, but hide it away. Selfish, Percy. You are selfish.” His grip on his arm tightened, knuckles turning white. “But it’s alright, because soon there won’t be a choice.” He tilted his head. “I wonder what you will be like when you really let loose, hm?” 

 

Percy finally found his voice. The words were hoarse and slurred, but they got the message across. “...’ow do you kn’w ‘bout us?”

 

The Doctor let go of him. “A vision.” He said grandly. “I was chosen! All of you were revealed to me, a sign from the higher power! My work will form the new world order, and you were dropped on my doorstep as a sign that it’s ready. I’m finally ready. It’s going to happen.” 

 

The last bit sounded like he was talking to himself more than Percy. The son of Poseidon stared at the Doctor blankly. Holy shit, this guy was crazy. 

 

But as the realization dawned on Percy he, oddly enough, could only find it in himself to feel pity. Nothing like this—the serum, the kidnappings,—had ever happened before. Because somebody like the Doctor never survived long enough after being shown the Godly world. Somebody had pulled the curtain back, and it was slowly driving him crazy. He wouldn't even have that long to live. 

 

So whatever had been happening couldn't have been going on that long. Or, at least, under the Doctor’s orders. The guy couldn't have known about everything for more than a month, maybe up to three if he was pushing it. So this whole project was rushed. A lot of funding, really quick. Percy held back a frown. 

 

The Doctor was pacing now, muttering to himself. 

 

He had been shown a world he wasn't supposed to, and now the man was being driven insane. 

 

Percy couldn't bring himself to stop staring in horror. 

 

---

 

This was finally his day. Years of research was finally coming to a head. First, it was just mutants. Kids, easily nabbed from homes and streets. They were useful, but not perfect. Then the updated orders came in, and he jumped onto the new task. 

 

A serum that could take away a mutant's control, so they could be primed and aimed at targets. It was genius, and he couldn't wait to be the one to do it. To crack the code, to solve the puzzle. He had always lived for puzzles. 

 

But it felt like something was missing. 

 

And it was a testament to his superior brains that he was right. He was shown a New World---one of Gods and monsters, hiding away and looking down on mere mortals like him. But they didn't want a God, they wanted a weapon. So he was presented with a demigod, then another, then another. 

 

The first few expired, but that was okay, because he was getting closer and closer with every single one. Having Deathstroke delivered to him was a sign, a miracle, almost an order, really. Finding out the mercenary was a demigod was a surprise, but a welcome one. This one seemed a little different from the others; he was practically radiating some sort of power. 

 

The best specimen yet. 

 

Deathstroke thought he could just make him forget about the girl with the purple eyes, but no, no no! He waggled his finger back and forth. He could see right through the demigod’s' tricks—he was enlightened. He was chosen for a reason, he was too smart to be lied to. 

 

He held the vial with reverence. 

 

Here it was. The solution. 

 

He pulled out a new syringe, uncapping the vial. It was a plain, clear color. Such an unassuming little thing, but it’s power would be told throughout the ages. 

 

Once the vial was empty, he moved back to the demigod’s side. 

 

Deathstroke was still pretty out of it, eyes unfocused and glassy. No surprise there. The amount of drugs they had to pump into his system was truly astonishing. 

 

He really was a fascinating subject, and he really hoped the mercenary lived through the whole thing. 

 

He lined up the syringe to his neck, and pushed. 

 

---

 

Poseidon always liked mortal beaches. Even in the cold, he found them beautiful. Maybe he was being arrogant, taking such pride in his domain, but he couldn't help it. The sea was one of the natural beauties of the world. 

 

The short trip was an attempt to get his mind off of things, but it didn’t help. Zeus was outraged, similar to Hera and Ares. Poseidon knew the three of them were usually the most shortsighted in matters, and it showed.

 

He wasn't going to lie, he was proud of his son. Nobody had ever spoken to the King of Olympus like that; not even the God of the seas himself. 

 

Then again, Percy was always so much braver than him.

 

Oh, Percy. 

 

Poseidon knew he wasn't the best father. He wasn't delusional like some of his fellow Council members. 

 

He put in an effort; he listened to Percy’s prayers, which, admittedly were usually him just ranting and rambling about his day and random subjects, but Poseidon listened. He listened when he wanted to be claimed, when he wanted answers about Tyson, when he needed a bit of luck or just someone to talk to. He listened to his son grieve, rage, and accept. 

 

But he could ever respond.

 

Zeus, despite all his shortcomings, was the King. And, like it or not, he was powerful. He would have known if Poseidon had responded, if he had gone to visit his son like he so wanted to. And he knew that whatever punishment he came up with would fall on Percy, not Poseidon. 

 

He knew all these things, but that still didn't make him a good father. Percy had always deserved better. But Poseidon could never find it in himself to regret having him. He was sorry it happened, sometimes, when he watched his son be hunted down, hurt, forced to watch his friends die. But Poseidon was selfish, and he loved his son, and could never regret his birth. 

 

So when Percy asked, after the first war, that the Gods do one very simple thing, he agreed easily. Truthfully, Poseidon didn't actually have that many children, demigod or not. When he was younger, yes, but now? Before Percy, the last one was almost two decades before the second World War. Before that, it was in the early 1800s---the ancestor of Shen Lun.

 

He always claimed his kids. 

 

Always. 

 

He should’ve warned Percy that the others might not follow that oath. They were immortal and carefree—why would they?

 

But he didn't, and Percy found out on his own. 

 

He always knew Percy was destined for greatness, even before he knew he was the child of the Great Prophecy. He wasn't surprised when Percy told him about the team he had joined—Earth’s Mightiest Heroes, they were called. Poseidon couldn't think of anyone more worthy than Percy to join. 

 

He wasn’t a fan of the extra danger he put himself in, but he knew better than trying to talk him out of it. 

 

But he did always keep an eye on his son. When he used went to the sea or stopped by Camp, Poseidon always took a second to look at him, to make sure he was alright. 

 

And he seemed...happier, now. 

 

So when Percy asked him to ensure his mortal friends' safety if Percy told them the truth, Poseidon didn't even hesitate. Anyone Percy thought was worthy to know deserved to. It wasn't a decision Percy made lightly. Poseidon wasn’t the god of madness, but the sea always did have an affinity for healing---they would be safe. 

 

Percy’s second request had hurt, but once again, Poseidon knew better than to argue. Percy needed time and he would get it. 

 

So he did some asking, some threatening, and some in between to ensure the Gods followed Percy’s wish. (Like he should have done the first time.)

 

It wasn’t much to give up---he did have other duties, and didn’t watch his son 24/7. He did have boundaries, you know. 

 

So he took a small trip to the coastline to get out of the palace, to take some time to be alone and enjoy the weather. It was late at night when Percy had made his journey to Olympus---he would likely still be home, either asleep or relaxing. Safe.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He dropped his trident when he felt his son die.

Notes:

heh...get it...hurricane season ends in november....when this takes place....

Chapter 26: The Brick Building

Summary:

Canada gets broken. Just a little.

Notes:

enjoy lmao

?, November ?th

?????

A Lab?

 

Percy was freezing. 

 

Whatever he had been injected with felt like lava flowing down his veins, burning him from the inside out. 

Because his life sucked , it was a familiar feeling. Almost like the Styx, or on Mt. St. Helens. His head didn't feel great either, it reminded him of the day he had sat on his dad’s throne to get his attention during the war. 

 

But then just like that, the warmth faded. All of it; Percy had never been colder.

 

---Percy was laying on something cold. Something so, so cold. Why was he cold? Temperatures never bothered him, but something was wrong---

 

He didn't bother closing his eyes; but let himself slip. 

 

---it felt like he wasn’t in his body, like he was floating a foot away, and oh he couldn't move---

 

Well. At least he knew that one was a prophetic dream, now. 

 

---

 

He watched keenly as the patient lost consciousness. He was actually kind of disappointed, now. This one had been promising, but he supposed his own judgement could have been skewed. 

 

He turned his head towards the heart monitor, which was slowly dipping. It got lower and lower, almost like a countdown. He sighed and pressed a small radio button on the table as the subject flatlined.

Maybe he was meant to be a sacrifice; that’s why he died so easily. 

 

The man had seemed like a fighter, too. It was almost funny how quickly he went.

 

Two armed agents came into the room, snapping to attention. He waved a loose hand, letting them relax. “Bring this one out,” he gave the body a look. “And bring the next two, please. Might as well give it another go. Take the mutant here, put Mr. Stark in one of the workshops.” 

 

The agents nodded and hurried off. They always seemed eager to stay away from the lab; but he understood. Not everyone was destined for greatness. It was alright to be a little intimidated. 

 

---

 

 Peter didn't understand what was happening. Everything was blurry and his arms felt like they were made of rubber. It was dark, wet, and, like, really cold. Peter missed the warmth of Percy’s jacket. He missed the warmth of the man himself. 

 

Where was Percy?

 

Peter wanted to ask, but his mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton. He didn't even object when people came into the cell and grabbed him by the arms, unchaining him. They dragged him away, he could hear yelling. It sounded like Mr. Stark, if he thought about it. Hmm. He hoped Mr. Stark was alright. 

 

Oh, look. They were taking Mr. Stark out too. They didn't have to drag him like they did Peter, he was walking on his own. 

 

They went outside at some point. Everything went from pitch black to so bright it hurt. Everything was bathed in orange light, though it was just a spotty blob to him. Could it have been morning already? Everything was just a blur to Peter; he didn't know if it had been a few minutes or a week. 

 

---

 

The agents had a deathgrip on Tony’s arms, a gun jammed into his ribs. There were two carrying Peter, a few feet in front of him. The boy was really out of it, his head rolling to the side. Tony instinctively ducked his head when they went outside---it was a big difference from the cell. 

 

The sun was rising. 

 

It bathed everything in a soft glow, making everything look deceptively gentle. The morning air was fresh and sweet, the air crisp and cool. But Tony couldn't enjoy it. Because as he was being marched to the lab, his mind was going into overdrive.

 

They were back at the base in Ontario . 

 

It was the exact same base, looking exactly how they left it. A cold feeling went down his spine---Ross and his men were supposed to be here, along with Captain Johnson and her people. Tony held a deep dislike for Ross, sure, but...they weren't here. He doubted that was by choice. He wondered how long it had taken for them to all be killed. 

 

They were taken across the gravel paths towards the big, white building. Somebody was at the door. 

 

The Doctor smiled at Tony, and this time, there was 100% something deeply wrong with him. He looked completely off. His glasses were crooked on his nose, and strings of his hair fell into his face. His shirt was wrinkled and Tony spotted what was probably blood on the tail and color of his coat. 

 

The instant it hit who’s it was, Tony lunged. 

 

He took the agents off guard; he got in one good hit before they tackled him to the ground. His arms were wrenched behind his back and he almost felt something pop, but it was worth it. The Doctor was sprawled on the ground, and one of his lenses was shattered. Tony smiled into the dirt. 

 

He was roughly hauled to his feet again, the grip on his arms now so tight he could barely feel it. The Doctor let out a startled laugh, dusting himself off. “Hey, now. No need to be so violent! What’s done is done, after all.” 

 

Tony spat at his feet. (It felt right, somehow.) “Where’s Percy?” 

 

The Doctor took his time, taking off his glasses and inspecting them. One lens was hopelessly ruined, but he just let out a warm huff of breath on the good lens, cleaning it off on his sleeve. He put them back on, then shrugged. 

 

“Right there.” 

 

He pointed behind Tony, where two agents were pulling a stretcher around the corner, diagonally from the cell block. 

 

Percy was on top of it, hand laying limp over the sides. 

 

Tony didn’t even register he had moved until he was by Percy’s side, reaching out desperately for any sort of sign of life. He pressed two fingers to the side of Percy’s neck, right under his chin.

 

Nothing. 

 

Percy was dead. 

 

Tony felt like ice water had been poured down his back. 

 

He was dead.

 

Everything felt odd, like he wasn’t actually standing there in the grass, like Tony was just on the outside looking in.

 

Percy had been murdered, and it was his fault. They were all taken directly from the tower, the tower Tony had built. If he had put in extra defenses, coded FRIDAY better, done anything more, they would still be at home.

 

Percy had felt safe there, and it had killed him.

 

The agents kept moving, taking the stretcher, and his friend’s body, with them. 

 

---

 

Stark seemed rather bleak. He had been expecting tears, maybe a scream or two, another attempt to attack him, maybe. But instead the man just stood there, face pale, eyes wide. His hands were shaking, but that was the most expression that he showed. 

 

The child seemed to notice something was wrong through his haze. “W’swr’ng?” He murmured. Stark said nothing, his eyes fixed on the grass where the body had been.

 

 “I---,” Stark’s voice cracked pathetically. 

 

Though, he supposed, that was the problem with all of the normal types. Stark, for all his brains, hadn’t been Chosen like he had. He was too emotional, too easily destroyed. One tiny thing happens, and everything goes numb. 

 

He held back a scoff. 

 

Maybe if the man was deep enough in his grief, he could be convinced into working for him. He wasn’t Chosen, but Anthony Stark was certainly useful. He spared the child another look---he seemed to care for this one as well; maybe if they held the mutant’s safety over him, Stark would comply. 

 

He hummed. It was worth a shot. He would have to ask his superiors first, but they had been trying to get their hands on Stark and his stuff for a while. He clapped his hands together, opening his mouth to speak. “Alright,---”

 

A blood-curdling scream interrupted him, filling the air. A startled bird cawed and abandoned a nearby tree, taking flight. 

 

It was coming from across the compound, up a hill, from the tall brick building, separated from the rest of the structures.

 

---

 

---he shouldn't be here it was a bad place, no, no, no, NO---

 

---

 

With a snap of his fingers, the two agents holding the mutant child dropped him into the grass, where he hit the ground without a sound. They raised their guns, eyes narrowed. The brick building itself was far from everything else, by design; close to 2000 feet away.  

 

The scream cut off as suddenly as it started. 

 

There was silence for a few long, long minutes. He watched the building closely. Why wasn't it starting? What was going on in there?

 

He hesitantly pulled out the radio in his coat pocket. “All units, to the main south entrance.” Not even a full minute later the rhythm thudding of heavy boots met his ears. Dozens of guards filed out of the doors, streaming out onto the damp grass. He watched the building a moment longer, then wordlessly pointed his pointer and middle finger at it. 

 

He, along with the two prisoners, trailed a good distance behind the small army. Stark was probably in shock, he just let himself be pulled along by a strong hand. The mutant was on his feet this time, being supported by an agent. Normally, he would’ve immediately dosed the boy again once he saw him able to stand, but he had bigger things on his mind right now.

They crested the small hill towards the doors. Everything looked normal---the strong iron doors were firmly shut, as they always were. Especially when the building was in use, they always needed to stay closed. 

 

On his count, the doors were yanked open and the first team---six agents in a diamond formation---went in. 

 

The second moved to follow, but the doors slammed shut in their faces as soon as the last member of the first group stepped over the threshold. 

No gunfire, no words, not even movement was heard.

Then, all at once, the sound of six bodies hitting the concrete floors.

It was so quiet after you could've heard a pin drop. 

 

The doors opened of their own accord, creaking in a way that sounded like a cry of pain. 

 

Nobody moved. Stark was staring, his eyes wide. The mutant’s brow was furrowed, eyes squinted at the doors. The agent holding him let go, hand moving to rest on her gun. The boy stumbled, but Stark caught him, wrapping an arm firmly around his side. 

 

What on Earth could be happening in there? It was almost like…

 

Oh. This was amazing. He had never seen anything like this before, this was...For once, he had found himself at a loss for words. The sheer range of his abilities…

 

“...what?” Stark croaked out. Hm, he must’ve been speaking his thoughts aloud once more. He didn’t bother replying, instead fixing his eyes on the door knob. “Team two. Go in.” 

 

As he spoke, the sky clouded over. The sun was covered, a giant shadow descending over the entire compound. The wind picked up, rustling at their clothes. 

 

The team lead stared at him. “You want us to go in?”

 

He rolled his eyes. “Yes, go in! Everything is fine, and you are not being paid to question me.” He snapped. The lead swallowed and nodded as her team formed around her. Her hand was shaking as she reached for the knob. Her gloved hand wrapped around the cool metal, and she flinched, like she expected something bad to happen. He tapped his foot, impatient. She twisted the knob and walked in.

 

This time, the door didn’t bother closing itself behind her, leaving the show available for viewing. 

 

The flashlights attached to their guns didn’t do much good; only lighting up the tiniest sliver of smooth concrete or brick wall of the interior. Then, in some sort of sick synchronization, they all dropped their guns, seizing up. It was almost like they had just been turned to statues---he would have considered it if he couldn't hear their ragged, erratic breathing. 

 

At exactly the same time, every single one hit the floor, dead. Their guns discarded on the concrete, illuminating patches of the floor. He could see one face---a young, brown haired man. Blood trickled out of the corner of his mouth.  

 

Truthfully, he lied when he said everything was safe to go in, but that was the price of innovation, the cost of moving forward in this world. He would pay it a thousand times over. 

 

He whipped around to look at the other assembled teams. Almost a dozen more; an ample amount to time and study how they would die. “Go.”

 

It was Stark who answered, not any of the guards he just ordered. “What...what have you done?” The billionaire croaked. 

 

He smiled at Stark; for someone so smart he could be so... close minded . “I’ve changed the world.”

 

The wind was stronger now, and he had to yell to be heard. Rain was sprinkling down onto them, quickly turning the grass to a swamp. Before he knew it, they were all ankle deep in water. 

 

The mutant spoke up. “You...they’ll die!” His color had improved considerably, and he seemed close to being able to stand on his own. Not anywhere close to the resistance his best subject had displayed, but it was still admirable. 

 

Thunder boomed overhead. The rain started coming down harder, ice cold. Then the building itself started to shake. A low rumble, at first, but it quickly escalated, and he could hear the foundation crumble. His agents scrambled back as glass skylights exploded and bricks started flying. He watched impassively as the cowards started running, dropping weapons and gear and fleeing to shelter, inside the labs and cafeteria. It was a long distance, and every step taken was fought by wind. 

 

Stark and the mutant took a few steps back, but made no effort to follow; they had no desire to get back inside that lab. The boy was holding on tightly to Stark, brown eyes wide. 

 

They were scared ! All of them were shaken by his work, what he had done! His project was completed, after years of toil and bloodshed. It had worked , and the evidence was blowing up all around him. He had thought his best subject’s ability was just strength, durability, maybe speed---but it was so much more.

 

He watched in awe as lightning started crackling, striking down wildly. It picked off a few or the worthless non-believers running for the doors of the lab, a flash and a boom. The wind was so strong now he could barely stay on his feet, ice hitting his skin like bullets. 

 

It was glorious. 

 

This was what they needed, a weapon of mass destruction, something they could just aim and fire without restraint. The subject was surely mindless now, having completely lost any sort of control he once had. 

 

Another earthquake hit, this time bigger in both magnitude and area. He was fairly sure the storage area behind the lab had collapsed, and the roof of the cell block had begun to cave in. But first, before all of that, the brick building exploded; the remains of walls and foundations going airborne. 

 

It went down with a loud crash, and the winds picked up pieces of scaffolding and chunks of wall before they even hit the ground, flying past him so fast they were but a blur. He couldn't see Stark and the mutant anymore; maybe because they were far away, maybe because the visibility was low, maybe because nothing else mattered now but his success. 

 

---

 

Peter was shaking in his arms. The storm was sudden and shook him to the bone. It was cold and raining, lightning was flashing down multiple times a second, the wind had flipped over a military grade vehicle over by the loading bay, and one by one the buildings were coming down, entombing the people inside. 

 

Tony had no pity for Hydra agents, especially these ones, but even he could still recognize that must have been an awful way to die. 

 

The Doctor was standing a few meters away, face tilted up towards the sky, laughing. 

 

The maniac was acting like this was the Second Coming, his arms spread wide.

 

Tony felt sick. The storm was wild and untamed and harsh, and nothing like the man he knew. Nothing like the Percy who would bring him lunches down in the lab, who took Peter out for ice cream, who smiled and laughed. That Percy had died. 

 

Now, the storm destroyed everything in the vicinity, ripping up trees and tearing into buildings like they were made of clay. 

 

Tony didn’t know if Percy was alive or not---maybe the serum had brought him back or done something to him, but none of this was voluntary, he knew that much. It had worked. The secret to taking over and controlling any mutant and their abilities was here, and he and Peter were going to die with it. 

 

The Doctor was shouting something to the wind, completely unhinged. It was then, Tony realized something. 

 

Percy wasn’t being controlled; that was the problem. There was no control, no moderation. The Doctor wanted to be able to aim and shoot like a weapon, but this was the equivalent of trying to carry around a 100-ton nuke instead of a pistol. He wouldn't be able to stop this; there was no reasoning with this storm. 

 

---

 

He let out a triumphant cry; face turned up into the storm he had brought on. This was all his work; nobody would ever dare to doubt him again. This was marvelous, it was everything he had ever hoped for.

 

His goal was forgotten in favor of the awe that set in. Demigods were like landmines; they were used and then exploded after death. 

 

Going out with a bang. 

 

He was still smiling when a chunk of concrete the size of a SUV hit him, crushing his skull in the blink of an eye. 

 

---

 

Peter wasn’t prepared to watch a man die, but then again, he was prepared for absolutely none of this. The drugs were wearing off, but he still felt strange. The wind and rain, which was practically hail, were both freezing, but Peter didn’t even feel a chill. 

 

Was he going into shock, or something? He doubted it. His head hurt a bit, but other than that, he felt fine. 

 

Mr. Stark’s arm was still around him, and neither of them moved. It’s not like there was anywhere to go---all the buildings were reduced to dust. Instead the two of them stood, dripping wet, staring up at the funnel cloud. Debris was swirling about them, bits of building and metal and he caught a look of what looked like a torn in half tank ---but it wasn't just wind now; there was water being pulled in, like the first ever whirlpool on land. 

 

None of it hit them. His spidey sense wasn't even going off, even as a support beam three times his height flew at 60mph only a few feet away from him. A storm had started in less than a few minutes, and they were right in the middle of it. It was almost like…

 

It was almost like it was avoiding them. 

 

It made sense---the one in a million chances of the lighting not hitting them, the debris avoiding them, the fact that Peter wasn’t even cold . 

 

His mind flashed back to the meeting, the window, Percy’s jacket. 

 

Percy had always known he was sensitive to the cold. 

 

Peter didn't even hesitate, he ducked under Mr. Stark’s arm and ran forward, out of their little spot, towards the collapsed pile of bricks. He heard Mr. Stark yell something, probably his name, then swear and run after him. 

 

Peter tried listening for him, for a heartbeat, but the storm was too loud. (That was it. The storm was too loud, not that there wasn't a heartbeat)

 

The dug his fingers under pierces of brick, clawing at concrete, lifting it up and trying to unearth Percy. He was here somewhere, he had to be---

 

He flipped over a chunk of ceiling. There was a hand on top of it, palm up, not moving but there. He scrambled, moving over towards where the arm would be, grabbing more pieces of rubble, tossing them aside with a single mind determination. 

 

Mr. Stark was behind him now, hands on his shoulders, trying to pull him back. Peter struggled. “I found him! I found him!” He yelled. He didn’t notice it then, but Mr. Stark could actually hear him.

 

There was no more wind to obscure their voices, no more lightning and thunder to interrupt them, no more earthquakes to shake them.

 

The storm was over. 

 

Peter yanked another hunk of twisted metal up. It was the biggest one yet, and his arms strained, his legs shook, but he lifted it and pushed it away. His breathing was wet, and he was crying. 

 

It didn't help.

 

It didn't help, because Percy Jackson's lifeless body laid in the middle of the crater he had unearthed.

Notes:

I just thought it would be a really cool idea for, like, demigods to just release all their power after death. anyways.

Chapter 27: Epilogue

Summary:

the end!

Sunday, November 28th

11:43 AM

St. Patrick’s Cathedral, NY

 

The funeral was nice, all things considered. 

 

People spoke; Tony didn't recognize any of them. Their words were warm; painting a tale of bravery and kindness, leadership and determination. He never introduced himself to anyone; how would he? As a friend through work ? 

 

He barely noticed when people started leaving. Others stayed, drifting around like they were lost. In a way, Tony supposed, they were. 

 

He tilted his head up to stare at the ceiling. It was a beautiful place for a funeral; the columns stretched high above his head, forming arches graceful on either side to meet the other ones. The stained glass windows were tall and wide, and the light shining in made a rainbow on the intricate floors. The pews were dark, polished wood, forming perfect rows and lines. 

 

It wasn’t a bad place to be laid to rest, Tony supposed. 

 

He lingered for a moment longer before leaving---he had sat himself in the very back, away from people’s eyes. The last thing he needed right now was to be recognized. Nobody heard him go. 

 

The walk was fairly quick, only five blocks north, but Tony took his time, hands stuffed in his pockets. It was cold today, the clouds a dreary grey that covered the sun like smog. Nonetheless, the city was bustling. A woman passed by, swinging a young girl in her arms. Two teenagers were holding hands, smiling at eachother like they were the only thing that mattered. A young man walked by, walking a fluffy black dog, smiling---

 

Tony looked away.

 

Mrs. O’Leary hadn’t really been the same since...since everything. Half the time, she was in the tower, curled up in a ball. Sometimes people watched her---Percy’s cousins had done most of it. Even when she was there, the tower felt painfully silent without her owner. 

 

Peter still came by, two times a week. Often more, though. Tony never objected---the company was nice. He was worried about the kid, it would be strange not to be. But Peter was doing his best---he went on patrols, to AcDec meets, to hang out with Ned. On day’s Tony felt like he couldn't breathe, Peter was there with a smile and a question about one of his projects. 

 

Tony walked into the lobby, giving a wave to Lee as he passed. The secretary nodded back, a halfhearted smile on his face. Tony had been the one to tell him about Percy and the mission, and ever since then, they had been...not friendly, but the two acknowledged each other when they could.

 

He took the elevator up, greeting FRIDAY. Pepper was sitting on the couch, reading over something on her StarkPad. She looked up when he walked in. “How was the funeral?” She asked softly. 

 

Tony toes off his shoes. “It...fine, I guess. Pretty.” 

 

She nodded understandably, and patted the couch cushion next to her. Tony sat without protest, and she wrapped an arm around him. He leaned into the embrace.

 

---

Tuesday, November 30th

2:57 AM

Stark Tower, NY

 

BARF was coming along nicely. 

 

Tony had been working on it with single-minded determination. He stayed up late, woke up early. (Percy wouldn't have approved.) He tweaked this, scrapped that, changed things and started over, re-designing and creating. 

 

He truly had been on the fence about whether or not he would give the tech to Wakanda, to Barnes. But...ever since he saw what that serum could do, ever since he realized that what happened to Percy could’ve happened to anyone, even someone as young and innocent as Peter…

 

It had given him a new outlook. Everything of that serum had been destroyed; all of the research was on paper or offline to prevent hacks and leaks. (Charts and notebooks can't stand up to a category five hurricane, a freak lightning storm, a 9.6 earthquake, an EF5 tornado, and a flash flood, if you were wondering.) But Tony still wanted everything like it erased; the Winter Soldier program was long gone, but it still left victims. Tony could help at least one of them, so he did. 

 

He was pretty close. A few weeks, maybe a month, and he would be done.

 

The real question was what would he do after?

 

---

Thursday, December 2nd

9:25 AM

Midtown School Of Science And Technology, NY

 

Peter had never been more thankful for school. 

 

And that was saying a lot; he loved school. It was simple, it was easy, it was boring. (Especially now that Flash didn’t bother him anymore. Percy really did always look out for him.)

 

Peter needed some boring.

 

He had been so excited, so anxious for his first Avengers mission. He wanted to prove himself, wanted to help Mr. Stark, wanted to be better, it was new and interesting and he couldn't wait. 

 

It was strange, how much had changed in such a short time. 

 

“Hey, dude. Partners?” 

 

Peter startled, turning to face Ned. “What?” 

 

His friend raised a brow. “Partner project. You and me?” 

 

Shoot, Peter hadn’t been listening to Mr. Harrington. What was the last thing he remembered…? “Yeah.” He looked down for a second, then back up at Ned with a sheepish smile. “What on?” Ned raised a brow and rolled his eyes, but explained nonetheless.

 

Ned was a good friend like that. 

 

Across the room, MJ gave him a concerned look. He did his best to give her a convincing smile in return. 

 

She didn't look like she bought it. 

 

---

 

Thursday, December 2nd

3:55 PM

Stark Tower, NY

 

Peter and Tony walked down the hall in silence, their feet echoing. Peter broke it first.

 

“I don’t want him to miss Christmas. He wouldn't have, either.” Peter mumbled. 

 

Tony wrapped him in a one-armed hug. “I know.” 

 

The somber mood followed them for the rest of the day.

 

---

Saturday, December 4th

7:21 AM

Stark Tower, NY

 

Tony opened the door to the medbay, his head absorbed in the blueprint on the StarkPad, not looking up. 

 

He leaned against one of the tables by the door, putting the finishing touches on a digitally rendered circuit when he saw the movement out of the corner of his eye. He looked up, startled.

 

Percy stood in front of him, right in the middle of the medbay like he shouldn't be anywhere else. Tony was pretty sure his heart stopped. Was he hallucinating? Because if that's where he was at, mental health wise...

 

But the more he looked, the stranger it got. This wasn’t Percy---this man was taller, with smile lines and hair greying at the temples, his skin weathered and deeply tanned. But other than that, he looked exactly like his son.

 

 (Because who else could he be? Percy had mentioned how alike his dad and him looked.)

 

“Hi?” Tony tried, more than a little weirded out. How the hell did he get in here? Not only did he not have access, but FRIDAY should have said something. 

 

Percy’s father smiled. “A pleasure to finally meet you, Anthony.” He stuck a hand out.

 

Tony blinked a few times, then shook it. “Uh, it’s Tony. Nice to meet you too. How...how did you get in here? No offense.” 

 

The man smiled. “Percy learned his tricks from somewhere, you know.” His voice carried a somber note to it. “Though I can’t take credit for everything---far from it, really.” Tony’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. Chances were, Percy had to get his powers from him. The mutant gene, if that’s what Percy had, was more commonly passed down from parents of the same gender as the child---father to son was more likely than mother to son. 

 

“Right. Do...do you need anything?”

 

The man shook his head. “Just a minute of your time.” He fixed Tony with his gaze, his eyes just a startling as Percy’s. “Percy seemed quite fond of you when we spoke.” He turned his head. “I see, now, that that faith was not misplaced.” 

 

“I...thank you.” Tony’s voice was rough, and he looked down. “I’m glad I got to meet him.” He said honestly. 

 

Percy’s father nodded. “He would be glad to hear it.” 

 

They stood in silence for a moment, eyes both cast to the floor. Then, the man gave him one last smile and walked to the door. Tony’s eyes followed him, so he did a double take when he just... disappeared. 

 

He faded into mist, and Tony was hit with the scent of sea air. It reminded him of walking down to the lobby that warm July day, finding Percy there with a dog and a duffel bag, who smiled at Tony and made him laugh for the first time in forever.

 

He shook his head.

 

---

 

Tuesday, December 7th

1:06 PM

WSC Headquarters, DC

 

Tony clicked his briefcase shut, straightening his tie. 

 

He walked with purpose, the latest victory with the Accords fresh in his mind. Graves had tried something again---he always did, but Tony was well equipped to handle it. 

 

“Stark.” 

 

Tony looked up.

 

“Ross.” He greeted cooly. He gave the man a nod, which he returned, and then they both kept walking their separate ways.

 

There had been a few survivors to tell the tale of the ambush. Ross, Johnson, and his men had been in an envoy, going towards the site. Johnson’s team was already there---the Captain just went back to escort the new people and debrief Ross. 

 

Then, landmines blew, and the shooting started. Two of the almost 40 soldiers survived, though one was still in the ICU. Two, plus Ross, unfortunately. The man did have a thick bandage, a sling, and a slight limp, though, to remember the occasion.

 

Johnson’s team, who had been left at the site, were completely slaughtered. 

 

Tony got in the car, pulling out his phone. Rhodey and him were going to meet up for lunch soon---he tried to focus on that instead. 

 

---

 

Annabeth’s chin rested on his shoulder, her arms tight around him. 

 

“I’m glad I get to see you again. I’m sorry it’s this soon.” She whispered. 

 

---

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When Percy woke up, he was staring at something bright. 

 

He turned his head to shy away from the light, eyes closing once more. There was a warm hand on his forehead. 

 

“Perseus?” 

 

Percy cracked an eye open. “H’y, Dad.” He murmured. 

 

Poseidon smiled at him. “You know, this is the second time Apollo has had to pretend to be a mortal doctor in four months, right?” Percy’s mouth curved into a smile. His dad swept Percy’s hair off his forehead. “You, Perseus Jackson, are the reason I’m going gray.”

 

This time Percy outright laughed. He immediately regretted it---his chest felt like someone was jumping on it. He was fairly sure he had heard Tony use that exact line on Peter when he did something dumb.

 

Percy sobered up and swallowed. “What happened?” His voice was soft.

 

Poseidon gave a deep, weary sigh, and scrubbed a hand across his face. “Truthfully, I’m not fully sure. What I do know was that I felt you die, Percy.” 

 

The demigod winced. 

 

The God of the seas continued. “Whatever that man, ” he spat out the name like it was a curse, “gave you, it made you lose control of your abilities. You would have burnt yourself out if you had kept going---nobody is meant to use that much power.”

 

He gave Percy a sad look. “I spoke to Thanatos. You did die---but somehow, not fully. The closest thing Apollo and I can guess is that you stopped your own heart, Percy. You stopped your own heart, but kept yourself alive with your powers.”

 

Forget his powers, that gave him a heart attack. He didn’t remember that at all. To be fair, though, everything was pretty much a painful blur at that point.

 

“It was probably a defense mechanism.” The words seemed to pain his father as he forced them out. “You were hurt, and wanted it to stop. So you just…” He trailed off. 

 

“That...fuck, that actually kind of makes sense.” Percy whispered. He looked up at his dad. “The guy...he was using me as a test subject, like Emma. It...it hurt, and I…” Percy bit his lip.

 

“There was this big brick building at the compound. When we first went there for the mission, I didn’t know what it was, but I just didn't like it for some reason. So I avoided it, I couldn't figure out what it was for, but I just hated it for some reason.”

 

His dad leaned forward in the chair.

 

“I figured it out after I...after I died. They dragged me out there, and…” He blinked away a sudden onslaught of tears. “It was an incinerator, dad. That’s where they burned all the bodies. All of the mutant kids, the army personnel who had been watching over the site, the other demigods . There were more, the Doctor said there were---his most effective test subjects, actually.” 

 

His dad had gone pale, but Percy wasn’t done.

 

“I...I remember the feeling of burning. It sucked , and they had done that to dozens of kids. And I just freaked out. I killed those people, dad, I used their own blood against them, and then I kept going---” Percy choked off. 

 

His dad didn't speak, just leaned forward and gave Percy a hug. Percy leaned into it and tried to ignore the wet feeling in his eyes, clinging to his dad like he was 12 again. 

 

---

 

When Tony pulled into the garage, Peter in the passenger seat, FRIDAY immediately connected to the speaker. “Boss, get to the medbay. As quickly as possible.” Tony and Peter shared a look, then ran. 

 

The elevator had never felt slower. 

 

Shit, what was wrong? Could Percy be seizing, be flatlining? He hadn’t visited him since after Tony had met his father---he had gone straight to DC. They matched each other step for step as they ran down the hallways and then into the medbay. Tony grabbed the curtain and yanked it open.

 

Percy Jackson was sitting up, legs crossed, looking directly at him.

 

“Hey.”

 

Tony blinked, and suddenly Peter was speeding towards the mercenary, launching himself at him and wrapping his arms around his neck. Percy let out a small oof, but hugged Peter back. Tony waited a second before coming to Percy’s side, tugging both him and Peter into an awkward, three way hug, Peter accidentally elbowing him in the face.

 

He wouldn’t have had it any other way. 

 

Once all the hugging was done, Tony pulled up a chair to his bedside. Peter remained stubbornly attached to Percy’ side, and the mercenary scooched over to make room for him. “What's today?” Percy asked suddenly. 

 

Tony looked away for a second, before taking a deep breath. “December 7th. It’s been almost a month. We...we weren't sure if you were going to wake up. When we found you...Percy you didn't have a pulse.” 

 

Percy looked down. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out, his brow furrowed. Tony took pity on him and continued. “You...missed a bit. Uh, some of my amendments got signed into the Accords.” He offered.

 

“We won an AcDec meet---it was so cool! We crushed the other team.” Peter added in. Percy smiled at him. 

 

“Captain Johnson's funeral was on the 28th.” Tony said softly. Percy’s head snapped up. “I missed it?” Tony nodded, biting his lip. “I went. It was beautiful.” The mercenary leaned back, a slightly guilty look on his face. 

 

In the silence, Tony took a moment to look at Percy. His face was pale and drawn, his cheeks sunken in and his eyes ringed with dark bags. But he was alive , he had woken up, and that’s all that mattered. 

 

They were all quiet for a second before Peter spoke up. “Okay, can we, like, stop avoiding this? Because obviously there was something the two of us missed.” He said, gesturing between him and Tony. 

 

The engineer fought a smile at his bluntness. Peter seemed to realize what he said, because his face turned pink. “Uh, no offense.” 

 

Percy let out a short laugh. “None taken. But, it’s, uh, a long story.” 

 

Tony leaned forward and shrugged. “We have time. Start from the beginning---the very beginning. Don’t leave anything out.” 

 

Percy raised an eyebrow. “I don't think we do have time for that. This whole thing starts at the beginning. Like, the beginning of everything.” 

 

Peter gave him a confused glance. Tony looked similar. “What?”

 

Percy’s signature crooked grin appeared on his face. “Tony, what do you know about the Greek Gods?”

Notes:

yeah the funeral was captain johnson's lmao

I had this whole arc and shit planned out after Percy's death but one of my friends traded me a pringle to keep percy alive, so I scrapped all of it. out of the kindness of my heart.

but, uh, yeah. this is it! the end! wohoo!
thank you to everyone who read, kudo-ed and commented. i love all of you :)
special thanks to my two friends, alex, who read and edited everything, and EdeneSychee who was the one who lovingly bullied me into posting this. Edene has their own story up---check them out!

a sequel WILL be coming---fairly soon. keep an eye out!
-denimbeans

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 2 of The File