PERSEUS MEANS DESTROYER

No Children

I am drowning,

There is no sign of land.

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He swung his good leg out a bit, then hopped off the bed/table thing, landing soundly but a bit awkwardly on one leg on the linoleum floor. Dr Geohann handed him his crutch, and then let him out of the med bay door. Bruce followed Perseus's back as he turned through the corridor, heading back to what Bruce assumed was the dining hall for a late lunch.

What exactly was Perseus's story?

Surely no one in their right minds—immortal god or not—would trust an ordinary seventeen year old child to look after and potentially subdue the Avengers' most dangerous enemy.

And Perseus had so far demonstrated barely anything that would seem worth noting on its own, but enough for Bruce at least to see that he was anything but average.

It kept coming back to a very simple question with no answer—like a detailed file on a subject, with all but a few lines blacked out. He knew the information was probably right there, but he didn't know how to look for it.

And neither did Natasha, apparently. Not based on the way she behaved around the kid.

Percy was pissed.

Pissed was the nicest way to put it, at least.

Gods, what kind of idiot was he? They were probably going to try to dig around in his files—more than they already had, anyway—and then they were going to chase up his family, and maybe try to find the camps, and sure, maybe he was spiralling and needed to do something other than sitting on a cold metal bench with his head in his hands, hovering five hundred feet above water in the middle of gods know where.

The whole damned thing was going on record, and now Bruce probably thought he was screwed in the head, and he didn't think he could deal with pity from anyone he was meant to be working closely with.

Right before Perseus had hauled a chair in front of the glass partition, Loki had heard an unholy screeching in the hallway. When the young demigod had entered the holding cell with a stormy expression on his face and dropped into the chair, proceeding to burn a figurative hole into Loki's feet he had smirked. "What's got you all riled up?"

Perseus shook his head. "Nothing you need to know, Antlers."

"Do you have a more creative nickname somewhere in that brain?"

"Rudolph."

Loki tossed him a disdainful look. "Really now."

"Yep. You're the one who said you didn't like Antlers. Guess it's your problem now."

Loki's mouth twisted into a grin. "I guess so."

Perseus huffed and turned his head away from Loki's cell as the god leaned up against the glass.

"Dr Banner tricked me into going to the stupid fucking medbay."

"And what's so bad about that?"

"Probably the fact that the medical doctor there decided I'm mentally unstable and said I should talk to a psychiatrist or something, and then recorded and reported the whole thing. That's gotta be a breach of patient confidentiality."

Loki's weird half-smile dissipated. "These people are above the law. And mortals are dangerous when they have power," he glanced pointedly at Perseus, "as you have proven time and time again to both your own pantheon and several others. But you have a different kind of power than these mortals do."

"Not so different, in the end. They managed to save the world themselves, in the end."

"I'm talking about your politicians, Perseus. Corruption runs rampant in your mortal world, and you mortals seem content to take it like a drug. It's concerning, honestly. At least in godly courts we have the decency to be direct about the things we do."

"Not that there's any decency in the things you do."

"Not that there is," Loki muttered, "not in the slightest."

Thor's return was a lot less noticeable than the first time Percy had seen him.

Percy had drifted off in his seat in the cells with a comic open on his lap and his crutch lying across the pile of them he had carried in from the dining hall at around seven that night.

He was woken by muttering voices, but kept his eyes closed. He wasn't sure who was in the room with him, so he wanted to figure it out first.

He opened them to slits, sliding his eyes across to see the cell better.

Loki was hunched on the floor, facing away from the god outside the glass.

Thor.

They were exchanging low but harsh-sounding words. Percy couldn't hear them properly, or see their expression, but based on their body language, it wasn't a productive conversation.

"...you were always his favourite..."

Snippets of his dreams were floating back to him:

Vague images of the inside of a maze he didn't quite remember, skulls on the wall of an arena that looked familiar but unplaceable, Poseidon calling him his... favourite.

Earth rushing to meet red skin, pulling torn flesh together.

Chains dangling from a ceiling, a conversation he didn't remember having—

"You're my favourite, Percy. I'm proud of you."

When did—?

"I am Poseidon's favoured son!"

Banners. Skulls. Chains. Dirt. Someone's fist— spinning around in his head— why couldn't he remember this place—

Luke.

"Did you see a boy out there? Blond hair, blue eyes," Reyna tapped the desk nervously.

Something settled heavily in Percy's gut. "Does he have a scar on his face?"

"Yes! You've seen him?"

"Lu—"

"You've seen Jason?"

Scar on his face— a drakon— the goddamned arena— why couldn't he think, why couldn't he remember it, why was it gone?

"No..."

Reyna's face fell, "right."

Percy tripped backwards and landed, winded.

The arena, again.

Back to the arena.

Why was it so important?

Favourite son.

Favourite sons.

Tributes to Poseidon—

Gaia, mother of Antaeus.

Chains from the ceiling. Hold him in the air to—

Poseidon, Father of Monsters.

Poseidon, god of the seas.

Poseidon.

Favourite sons.

Why was Percy his favourite? Why was Antaeus his favourite?

Father of Monsters.

What kind of monster was he?

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First published ::: 12.07.22
First edit ::: n/a
Wordcount ::: 1008
Chapter dedication :::

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Yours, l0v3rboy_