Chapter Text
i.
Annabeth Chase did not often speak of her mortal family. She had her reasons, of course, and most demigods weren't inclined to pry- they had their own family issues, after all. What made Annabeth unique was that she seemed to prefer them. For most campers, summer was a respite from parents, teachers, and peers who could never truly understand the struggles of a demigod. For Annabeth, on the other hand, it seemed more like an obligation. She showed up every summer, sure, but she would disappear every so often for days on end, returning with only “family business” as explanation. That, combined with her reticent personality and general lack of interest in socialization, led a lot of campers to believe that the daughter of Athena just didn't like them.
What they didn't know, though, was that she was protecting them.
Anna Wayne was a mystery, even for the standards of her family. Unlike her adoptive brother Dick, she could never be spotted at any galas or public events, and even Gotham’s top (tabloid) journalists couldn't track down any public information on the girl.
Of course, this was all by design.
Anna couldn't risk anyone from camp putting two and two together, not with the stakes at hand. If Camp found out about her mortal family, someone (probably named Stoll) would do something stupid, and she really did not want to see the Batman's reaction to the reveal of a secret metahuman society living one state over. So, the daughter of Athena resolved herself to walk alone, shouldering the secrets of two families. She would never claim it was an easy life, as fraught with lies and danger as it was, but it was hers, and she wouldn’t trade it for the world.
And then he showed up.
It started off as any other night would. She headed down to the Cave, ready to go on patrol. As always, she took a moment to admire her suit before pulling it on. She'd made it a point to design it herself- because she'd seen Dick's first costume, and gods be damned, she was going to wear pants- and she was pretty happy with how it turned out. She had tried to strike a happy medium with the design; sleeker than Robin, less overtly menacing than Batman, so she could scare who needed scaring while still comforting their victims. And, as if by fate, that philosophy led her to the owl.
Her suit was similar to Batman's, at first glance: sleek and graceful, with as much skin coverage as possible, designed for stealth and flexibility in dark Gotham alleys. The similarities, though, only helped to highlight the differences. Most importantly among these was her cape, the crown jewel of her whole outfit. Like Batman's, her cape was long and wide enough to fully cloak her form. Unlike his, though, Annabeth's cloak opened to reveal an inner layer of silvery, downy fabric, which she meticulously kept as soft and fluffy as the day it was sewn. Partially because she was meticulous about everything, but mostly because her cape was detachable, and every shivering Gotham child comforted by its warmth and softness was another reminder of what her hard work meant. As of late, she'd also been giving it some technological upgrades, courtesy of her new laptop.
The rest of her suit followed the same color scheme- a black top with a stylized silver owl logo on the chest, black tights and boots, a silver utility belt, and a black domino mask shaped like an owl's head to finish off the whole ensemble. She'd discovered about halfway through the process of making the suit that she had a real talent for it; while she still preferred architecture, the act of designing a suit that went with the aesthetic of her family while still feeling uniquely Annabeth scratched a familiar itch in her brain. She felt like she had succeeded, though: while Batman menaced from the shadows and Robin distracted in neon hues, Owlet flitted through the spaces between, painting silver streaks through the Gotham skyline.
-----------------
The patrol started like any other. Owlet donned her suit, said a quick goodbye to Alfred, and slipped out into the city. Keeping to the skyline, she began her route for the night, making her way towards the harbor while keeping an eye out for crime along the way. It was a nice night, for Gotham standards anyway; the streets were relatively quiet, and the October air carried a sharp chill that cut through the smog and made Owlet hold her cloak a bit closer to her body. By the time she made it to the harbor, she'd only encountered a few routine muggings and those mostly resolved themselves, with the perpetrators turning tail at the sight of a Bat. She was already starting to daydream of her soft bed in the mansion and cups of Alfred's hot cocoa. She should've known better, though- in Gotham, silence wasn't a luxury. It was a warning.
Her earpiece crackled to life, Batman's gruff voice shocking her out of her thoughts. “Owlet, come in. We have an incident.”
She groaned, then tapped her earpiece. “I hear you. What's the situation?”
“It's Poison Ivy. She's holed up in a factory by the harbor. Robin and I are on our way, but you're closer.”
“Got it. I'll head that way now.”
-----------------
As it turned out, the building in question was only a few minutes away. Thankfully, that was enough time for Owlet to do some light research. Known for its unsafe working conditions and dirt-cheap wages, the Dare Enterprises factory was one of the top contributors of Gotham Harbor's pollution. It was an old building, probably not up to code, with only one main entrance. Unfortunately for Owlet, said entrance was currently choked with vines, so she'd have to find another way in. Scanning the side of the factory, she noticed a set of filthy windows right underneath the roof.
Not ideal, but it'd have to do. Moving as quickly and quietly as possible, Owlet scaled the side of the building, cracked the bottom of the window open, and slipped through the gap.
Somehow, the inside of the factorywas even worse than its exterior. The catwalk that Owlet found herself on was rusty and ill-maintained, to the point that she was surprised it could support her weight. The rest of the place was just as bad; the upper level choked with rusted catwalks, while the ground floor was littered with vats of a bright green ooze that almost seemed to glow. Frankly, the place was disgusting- Owlet wasn't sure how they managed to dump so much waste in the harbor when half of the stuff seemed to have ended up on the floor. Notably, though, the scene was missing one Poison Ivy. Instead, half-illuminated by the moonlight filtering in through the grimy factory windows stood a dark-haired boy Owlet didn't recognize.
Immediately, the part of her brain that was raised by Batman kicked into overdrive. Making sure to stay as quiet as possible, she studied the boy closer, trying to pick up on any possible clues to his identity. Firstly, and most obviously- his costume. Red boots seamlessly transitioned into green vines that snaked up his torso, creating a living suit entirely of plants. Definitely related to Ivy then, Owlet reasoned, no normal goon would wear that suit. Unlike Ivy, though, he wore a black domino mask. Something to hide. Next, his demeanor. Owlet was used to newer villains constantly looking over their shoulders in fear of the Batman, an effect he had on people by design. It took a more established rogue, one with scores of encounters with the Bats, to move around Gotham without fear. Or it took this guy, apparently. Quite opposed to Owlet's expectations, the masked man stood casually, without an ounce of tension in his shoulders. Actually, she was pretty sure he was picking dirt out from under his nails. He looked almost… bored. Like he was waiting for something. Or someone.
“Didn't anyone ever tell you that staring is rude?”
His voice echoed through the factory, tinged with amusement. Owlet's breath hitched. How did he- No. He had to be bluffing.
“I mean, I get it, I'd stare too,” the man continued, “but if you sit up there like a stalker forever people are gonna get the wrong idea.”
He took a step forward.
Directly toward the catwalk Owlet was standing on.
Fuck.
Silently, the owl-masked hero jumped from her catwalk, landing gracefully on the factory floor. As she straightened, the stranger flashed her a disarming, crooked grin. She idly noted that he needed a haircut.
“Hey there. Owlet, right?”
“Yes. And you are?”
“Ivy calls me Thorn. Can't say I'm a big fan, but,” the stranger- Thorn- shrugged, “it's all I've got.”
“So you are with Ivy.”
Thorn stared at her for a moment. Then, he cocked his head sarcastically, wordlessly gesturing at his suit.
“World's greatest detective, ladies and gentlemen.”
Okay. Owlet officially hated this guy. That was Batman's title, and she was sure Thorn knew that, but she gritted her teeth, refusing to rise to his provocation.
“Moving on,” she managed, trying her best to channel her inner Robin, “I don't suppose you'd be willing to tell me where Ivy is?”
The rogue tapped his chin contemplatively. “Nah.”
Nah???
Owlet took a deep, steadying breath. “I'm going to arrest you now,” she decided.
“You can try,” replied Thorn, that infuriating grin back on his face.
As she began to move forward, Owlet made an inner promise to not enjoy punching this guy in the face too much.
-----------------
Percy Jackson wasn't really sure how he ended up in Gotham.
He'd only been half-listening when his mom had been telling him about his new school, but he was pretty sure he remembered something about ‘No school in New York willing to take you’. Gotham schools were made of sterner stuff, he supposed, which would make sense, but he also wasn't a fan of the implication that only a city used to Joker attacks could handle him. Maybe that checked out, though, considering what he'd gotten himself into the moment he'd stepped foot into the city.
To be fair to himself, the woman had seemed perfectly nice at first. Normal, even, whatever that meant for Gotham. He'd met her while taking a stroll through a park after school, when she'd walked up to him and commented that he was ‘Blessed by nature’, probably an effect of his empathy link with Grover. They had talked for a while about fish and plants and stuff, and she'd invited him to help with some of her environmental work. He assumed she meant, like, walking around the city picking up trash with a pointy stick, but of course Gotham was Gotham and Percy was Percy, so naturally Pamela from the park was actually Poison fucking Ivy and “environmental work” was code for “putting on a ridiculous suit and committing acts of domestic terrorism”.
So. Long story short. That's how he ended up on his back in some dingy old Gotham factory in the middle of the night, staring up at the masked vigilante currently straddling his chest.
Not that he was complaining. Quite the opposite, actually. He would be a happy camper if the Fates decided to replace all the angry immortals in his life with cute blonde girls who beat him up a little and sat on him. He was a bit annoyed, though, at how short their fight had been. Sure, he was relatively untrained in hand-to-hand combat, but it was still a bit embarrassing to get manhandled and thrown over the shoulder of a normal mortal in a Halloween costume. He was pretty sure he lasted less than 30 seconds. He was able to avoid her attacks fine, but the moment he tried to retaliate she ducked under his punch, grabbed his arm, and-
Yeah. The childish part of his brain complained that she threw him a bit harder than was necessary, but he probably deserved it.
He cleared his throat, still staring up at the girl on his chest. “So, about that whole ‘arresting me’ thing…”
“You will be turned over to the authorities, yes.”
Percy groaned. “Come on, everyone gets one, right?”
Owlet snorted, and Percy swore he could see her eyebrows raise past her mask. “One crime? Yeah, nice try.”
Percy pretended to think for a moment. “Okay, well is there any way you can get them to go easy on me? I don't wanna end up in Arkham."
The girl in the mask scowled. “I suppose,” she said, as if the words burned on the way out, “I could put a good word in for you if you gave me some information on what you and Ivy are doing here.”
Got her.
Putting on his best relieved expression, Percy replied, “Sure, whatever you want. Ivy's doing something to all the machines in here, making sure the place can't keep running. She wanted to level the whole building, but I talked her out of it. Seemed like a little much, ya know?”
Owlet looked unconvinced. “Okay, so what are you doing here? Ivy normally works alone, I don't see why she'd change that now.”
“Oh, me? That's easy,” Percy replied casually, a smirk growing on his face.
“I'm the distraction.”
Immediately, Owlet's eyes narrowed, her body growing tense, but it was too late. Right on cue, vines lashed around the girl's arms, dragging them above her head and binding her wrists before yanking her off of Percy's chest. He stood up, stretching his arms appreciatively, before turning to face Ivy, who had stepped out of the shadows behind him.
“Took you long enough,” he grumbled.
Ivy sniffed. “You're welcome.”
Percy's face felt warm for some reason. He stuttered, “Uh, I assume we're done here?”
Ivy raised an eyebrow, but mercifully didn't comment. “Yeah. Let's get out of here before the reinforcements show up.”
Percy nodded. “Okay. You go on ahead, I'll find my own way out.”
Ivy's other eyebrow went up. Wordlessly, she turned and strode confidently towards the main entrance, vines receding from the doorway as she made her exit.
Once Percy was sure she was gone, he turned back to Owlet, who was staring daggers at him while struggling with her bindings. Feeling strangely bold, he walked up to within an arms’ length of the girl. He leaned forward, lightly tapped the tip of her nose with his index finger, then turned away, beginning to make his way towards the now-open exit. Giving the masked vigilante a lazy wave over his shoulder, he called, “See ya around, Bird Brain,” then slipped through the factory doors into the chilly Gotham night.
ii.
“Okay, Jackson, spill.”
Rachel Elizabeth Dare spoke indignantly, hands on her hips as she glared at Percy. “You can't just tell a girl there's something she needs to hear and then hang up! I've been dying of curiosity since last night! I swear, this better be good, or I will sic Batman on you and make you pay for your crimes.”
Percy winced. Okay, sure, maybe he was a bit abrupt on their phone call, but to be fair he had just gotten done running from Owlet. He'd needed someone to talk to, and since Iris messages didn't work in Gotham he couldn't go to Annabeth or Grover. That left Rachel, who had enthusiastically insisted on buying him a phone the moment she'd learned he would be in the one monster-free city in the country for the school year. As always, she'd somehow hit the nail on the head when it came to his issues, a habit which Percy never found less impressive with time. The reminder of the Bats did dampen the happiness of seeing his friend a bit though. He furrowed his eyebrows. “Yeah, I bet he'd like that,” he muttered, a little more loudly than he had intended.
Immediately, Rachel's eyebrows shot up past her hairline. “Perseus Jackson, you have been in Gotham for less than a month. Please, tell me you aren't in trouble with Batman.”
Percy suppressed a nervous chuckle. Fixing the redhead with his most earnest gaze, he replied, “Rachel, I promise that I am not in trouble with Batman.” As the girl visibly relaxed, he quickly followed up, “Technically, Batman wasn't there, so I'm in trouble with Owlet.”
Rachel stared at him flatly. “Dude. How.”
“I, uh, might have accidentally become a supervillain.”
Percy went into the full story from there; how he had started taking walks at the park near his apartment after school to unwind, how he had met Poison Ivy there and struck up a friendship with her, how he had unwittingly become a part of her schemes, and how he had confronted Owlet in the factory. By the time he finished, Rachel's jaw was hanging open. Percy waited patiently for her to regain her composure.
“So let me get this straight. You, Percy Jackson, flirted with someone. Intentionally.”
If he had a drink, he probably would've spit it out. “No- I wasn't- What-,” he stuttered, the tips of his ears burning from embarrassment. Rachel only stared at him, mouth quirked into an amused half-smile.
“You're telling me you met this girl for the first time, teased her relentlessly, let her sit on you, gave her a cute nickname, and booped her nose,” Rachel counted with her fingers as she spoke, then paused to take a dramatic deep breath, “and all of that wasn't flirting.”
Percy groaned. He probably should've expected Rachel to take a particular interest in this part of the story, given how many pointed rants he'd gone through about stupid boys who don't understand they're being flirted with until you kiss them, but he could've sworn there were more important things to be discussed. Like, ya know, how he was gonna stay out of Arkham Asylum for the next eight months. Little things like that. “Okay, fine,” he admitted, burying his head in his hands, “Maybe I flirted with her a little bit. Happy?”
“Not at all,” said Rachel, crossing her arms and sticking out her bottom lip in an exaggerated pout. “It would've made my life a lot easier to know that your type is dark and brooding.”
Percy was jealous of armadillos. He'd give every dollar he had right about now to be able to curl up into a little armored ball and roll away from this conversation. Actually, was it too late to turn himself in to the police?
As if sensing his weakness, Rachel suddenly barraged him with questions, a mischievous gleam in her eye.
“What's Poison Ivy like?”
“Nice, I guess. Not a fan of hers at the moment, but you'd probably like her.”
“Did you guys manage to put the factory out of commission?”
“I think so. Ivy did what she had to do, then we got out of there.”
“What did Owlet smell like?”
Brain still on autopilot, Percy responded, “Lemons. It was pretty nice, actually.”
He didn't realize what he had just said until Rachel started cackling. “Dude,” she wheezed between breaths, “You are gone. Don't forget my wedding invite, yeah?”
Percy was running out of comedic ways to describe his discomfort. “Actually, I'd rather we both forget this conversation happened,” he grumbled.
Rachel grinned like a shark that smelled blood. “That,” she crooned, “Can be arranged.”
A sigh. “What do you want from me.”
Rachel examined her nails theatrically. “Well, I was just thinking,” she said, “that I just so happen to be invited to a Wayne gala next weekend. Now, wouldn't it be just horrible if a wicked, dastardly villain were to kidnap a stunning yet helpless heiress? Why, she may be robbed of her chance to speak with Gotham's richest assholes!” She gasped in mock horror.
Percy wrinkled his nose. “I'm sorry, is the ‘stunning yet helpless heiress’ in the room with us? Besides, you go to these things all the time, why do you need to get out now?”
Rachel suddenly looked a bit sheepish. “M'da'strynasemup.”
Percy blinked. “I'm sorry?”
Her cheeks tinged pink. “I said, my dad's trying to set me up. With Bruce Wayne's son.”
Percy huffed. “You? With some rich kid? Good luck.”
Rachel darkened another shade. “Yeah, see, that's the problem. He's actually… kinda cool? Which honestly makes it more awkward.”
“How so?”
She pondered for a moment. “Okay. It's like,” she took a breath, “It's like… when you're about to start cleaning your room, but then someone comes in and tells you to clean it. Like, thanks, I was already going to do that, but now that I have to I don't want to, ya know?”
Percy snorted. “Yeah, except in this case the ‘room’ is the heir to the most powerful business empire in Gotham, who you were, and I quote,” he paused, making exaggerated air quotes with his fingers, “‘already going to do’.”
Rachel spluttered, her face turning the same shade as her freckles. Percy watched in amusement as she squirmed, content in dealing the same discomfort that he had just endured. After a few seconds, though, he decided to throw her a bone.
“So, you want me to kidnap you so you don't have to talk to Rich Boy-”
“Dick.”
“My fault.”
Rachel swatted his arm. “His name is Dick, idiot.”
Percy cleared his throat. “Right. So you don't have to talk to Dick. And then what?”
“And then,” said Rachel, sparkle returning to her eyes, “I hear that a certain Owl normally handles trouble at Wayne events. I get out of an awkward conversation, you get to talk to Owlet again. Win-win.”
Percy took a moment to consider this plan. Objectively, pretty stupid. He wanted to stay out of trouble, not give himself the biggest stage possible. He was able to get away from the Bats once with help and a plan, and this time he'd be going in with neither.
On the other hand. Owlet.
He grumbled. “Fine. I have one condition, though.”
“Shoot.”
“I wanna meet Dick.”