PERSEUS MEANS DESTROYER

Thus Always to Tyrants

To and fro, I will not follow,

Where you go, I will not also.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

The wind was biting this high up, even after the sun had risen up past the tops of the skyscrapers populating the city as far as he could see. It cut across his face like knives, and a high-pitched whistling accompanied it.

He was as high up as he could go in the building; out on the top balcony, legs dangling through the railing as he stared out across the massive landing pad the Helicarrier had used the day before from a few stories above it.

His lips had turned blue by the time Steve and Natasha found him, and he was slumped into the railing with arms and legs hanging over the side.

"Perseus?"

Perseus grunted in acknowledgement.

"What are you doing?" Natasha's voice came out harsher than she intended.

But then again, Perseus had disappeared for three hours and the only lead they had was Tony telling them he had gone up to the roof.

"Thinking?"

"About what?" Whatever she could grill out of him would be useful, what with the absolute lack of knowledge on his official S.H.I.E.L.D. file.

"Uh... my life, and how much it sucks?"

"Okay, kid. Whatever you say."

Perseus turned his head to look at her fully, and Steve stepped back to exit the conflict. Perseus's flat stare probably didn't help much with confidence, "you don't believe me."

It wasn't a question, but if it was Natasha might have laughed in his face.

She wasn't one to dismiss others' experiences, but Perseus was seventeen and working for a pantheon of gods. From what she knew from Thor, they were quite powerful at that. She couldn't imagine a kid with the gods' backing could have a hard time of it.

Not with them supporting him every step of the way, the way Thor tried to do for them.

"We've seen a lot, Perseus."

"Right." Perseus dragged out the word with a clear shot at sarcasm.

Natasha sighed, turning to leave. "Sorry, Rogers. I don't know how to be... nice."

Steve waited for Natasha to leave fully before he sat down next to Perseus.

"So. What's the story?" He felt like he could see a little of himself in Perseus's eyes, "how on Earth did you manage to end up working for the gods?"

Perseus snorted. "Have you ever heard term 'child soldiers'?"

Steve recoiled slightly.

"What?"

Perseus turned and gave him a grin that might have looked less out of place on an actual shark. "See, that's what I am to them. Me and my friends, we're their obedient little army of children, fighting and dying for them while they sit back and watch."

Perseus all but spat out the last word.

"You... your gods do that?"

"I wouldn't call them my gods. I just... I'm tied in with them and I can't change that."

"But— child soldiers?"

Perseus shrugged, "I was twelve when I got tangled up in this mess. My girlfriend was seven, but she's been dealing with it a bit longer than I have. They let her be for the first four or five years... after she got to them. They... have some morals."

Steve flinched. "You were twelve?"

Perseus shrugged. "It wasn't so bad, now that I... now that I've been doing this for longer."

"What were you doing when you were twelve? And what... makes it not so bad?"

"Looking back on it, it would be easier now. That's it."

Child soldiers.

What exactly were Perseus's gods' morals—if they could be called that—that let them use children as fighters?

And did theirs reflect Thor's morals?

Would their seemingly naïve friend have qualms about using kids the same way? Or would he do it without hesitation?

"... if you..." Perseus rolled his shoulders back, "if you really want to know, we... we've fought wars for them. And we might do it again, if it means they care about us for a little longer."

The whole situation sounded weirdly intimate to Steve; rather than fight because they had no choice—which they may have had to do anyway—they fought for the attention of their gods.

"What... exactly, is your working position for these gods of yours?"

Again, the shark-like smile. "I'm the biggest threat to their fragile little world, and the best weapon any of them have seen in a very long time."

The way Perseus phrased it was dehumanising, to say the least, but more than they, it was disturbing.

"The biggest threat against them?"

"Why do you think they sent me here to look after your rogue god, and not one of my friends? They know I can beat him easily, and they're hoping that if I can't, he'll kill me."

The speed at which Perseus had gone from righteously outraged to cool apathy alarmed him more than he would have cared to admit.

Steve got up and left, leaving Percy on the balcony by himself. He pulled Riptide out of his pants pocket, spinning it across and over his knuckles. He nearly dropped it a couple of times, but it didn't matter; it would have returned to his pocket anyway.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but the mist dissipated, and the sun reached and then crossed through its zenith, and his stomach was growling at him to eat, but he couldn't bring himself to get up and go inside. It felt like his weight had been amplified, and then dumped in his hands and feet.

He didn't want to move, he didn't think he had the energy to move, and he didn't want to have to go back inside and deal with Steve's pitying gaze. He wished he could take the whole conversation back, and he wished Annabeth was there with him because she would know what to do.

Someone had brought out a plate of food—probably Steve, but he didn't really care anyway—as the sun graced the tops of the lower buildings on the opposite side of the city. A chill had set in again, and Percy's blue converse could still be seen swinging upp the balcony from the Helicarrier pad.

He hadn't touched the food yet.

It was probably cold at this point, so he felt slightly less guilty knowing he'd probably get something else when he went inside.

Sausages and chips were delicious and all, but he was more in the mood for pancakes (even if it was getting dark outside).

At some point well after the sun had set, he managed to force himself to drag lead-heavy limbs back inside to the kitchen.

Once he started it got easier, and he just kept cooking until he was through the batter.

Now that he was looking at the stack of pancakes on his plate, he realised he might have made too many.

Tomorrow morning's breakfast as well, then.

It wasn't like the Avengers would just eat blue pancakes straight from the fridge...

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

First published ::: 16.08.22
First edit ::: n/a
Wordcount ::: 1155
Chapter dedication::: n/a

<3

Yours,