The thing about being called by your full name—and Percy had complex feelings about this—was that it made everything feel more *real*. More present. More like you weren't just a collection of trauma and coping mechanisms pretending to be a person.
"Perseus."
Diana said it like she was testing the weight of it. The feel of it in her mouth. The way it connected to something ancient and important.
They stood in the Coral Hall while Superman and Batman concluded their discussion with Queen Atlanna about monitoring protocols and information sharing. Orm was contributing his own paranoid additions to the security arrangements, because apparently once you started planning contingencies, everyone wanted to add their favorite apocalypse scenario.
But Diana had pulled Percy aside—gently, diplomatically, with the kind of careful courtesy that suggested she understood exactly how fragile he was and was determined not to break him accidentally.
"That's your full name," she said. "Perseus. Like the hero. The slayer of Medusa. The one who saved his mother and became a constellation."
"My mom liked the myths," Percy said quietly. "She named me after him because—because she hoped I'd be a hero too. Someone who saved people instead of destroying them. Someone who chose kindness when violence was easier."
"Did you live up to her hopes?"
"I tried. For a long time, I tried really hard." Percy's hand moved to his chest, to where the crystal pulsed. "Then Tartarus happened and I stopped being able to try. Started just surviving. Stopped caring about heroism and started caring about waking up the next day. I don't know if she'd be proud of what I became. What I did to stay alive."
"She'd be proud you survived," Diana said with certainty. "Mothers always are. Even when we disappoint them in other ways. Even when we become things they didn't expect. Survival matters. Living matters. Everything else is negotiable."
Percy looked at her—really looked—and saw centuries of experience in her eyes. Not just experience, but *understanding*. The kind that came from living through similar struggles, similar choices, similar impossible decisions.
"You really are a demigod," he said. "Not just divine by birth. You've lived it. Been shaped by it. Dealt with the weight of divine blood and mortal limitations."
"Yes." Diana's smile was small and sad. "Though my experience is different from yours. I was raised on Themyscira, surrounded by Amazons who understood what I was. Who trained me. Who gave me purpose and direction. You—" She paused, choosing words carefully. "—you had to figure it out alone, didn't you? Navigate the divine and mortal worlds without proper guidance."
"I had help. A camp. Friends. Mentors." Percy's throat tightened. "Until I didn't. Until I lost them. Until I was alone in Tartarus with nothing but survival instinct and spite."
"I'm sorry. That's—no one should have to endure that alone. No one should have to become what you became just to survive." Diana's expression shifted into something more determined. "Perseus, I have a request. One warrior to another. One demigod to another."
"What kind of request?"
"A sparring match. A real one. Not an assessment or a test. Just—two people who understand divine power exchanging blows and techniques and seeing what we can learn from each other."
Percy blinked. "You want to *spar* with me? After everything you just learned? After hearing exactly how dangerous I am?"
"Especially after that." Diana's eyes gleamed with something that looked like excitement. "Perseus, I have been the only demigod on this Earth for centuries. Literal centuries. I've trained with Amazons and fought alongside heroes and faced countless threats, but I've never—not once—had the opportunity to spar with someone who truly understands what it means to carry divine blood. Who moves with divine grace. Who fights with divine power tempered by mortal experience."
"That's—you realize I spent a century learning to kill efficiently, right? My sparring style is 'try not to murder my opponent.' It's not refined or artistic or controlled."
"I don't need refined. I need *honest*. I need to see how another demigod fights. How they move. How they think. How they use power that's simultaneously gift and burden." Diana leaned forward slightly. "Please. I'm asking not as Wonder Woman or Princess Diana, but as someone who's lonely for connection with someone who understands. Who really, truly understands what this is like."
Percy felt something crack in his chest—not painful, but present. A recognition of shared experience. Shared isolation. The particular loneliness of being something that doesn't quite fit anywhere.
"Okay," he said quietly. "Okay. We can spar. But Diana—I need you to know. I don't know if I can hold back completely. A century of fighting for my life—that's not something you just turn off. If I hurt you—"
"Then I'll heal. I've been hurt before. I'll be hurt again. That's part of being a warrior." Diana's smile was fierce. Excited. The expression of someone who'd been waiting a very long time for this exact opportunity. "Besides, Perseus—I'm not fragile. I'm an Amazon. A warrior born. Someone who's fought gods and monsters and cosmic threats. You won't break me easily."
"That sounds like a challenge."
"It's an invitation." Diana turned toward the group still discussing security protocols. "Your Majesty! I have an additional request, if I may?"
Atlanna looked up, her expression curious. "Another request, Princess Diana? You're quite demanding today."
"My apologies. But I'd like to request use of Atlantis's training facilities. Perseus has agreed to spar with me, and I'd rather not damage your beautiful architecture in the process."
Orm's head snapped around so fast Percy was concerned about whiplash. "You want to *spar* with him? After learning he's killed his way through Tartarus? That seems—inadvisable."
"I've sparred with Superman," Diana said calmly. "I've fought Ares. I've trained with warriors who could level mountains. Perseus is powerful, yes, but I'm not exactly fragile."
"She's really not," Superman confirmed. "Diana's one of the most formidable fighters I've ever seen. If anyone can handle a sparring match with someone of Perseus's caliber, it's her."
Batman said nothing, but his expression suggested he was already calculating exactly how this could go wrong and preparing contingencies for each scenario.
Atlanna's lips quirked into something that might have been amusement. "By all means. Use the training grounds. Though I'm requesting observation rights. This should be—educational."
"And potentially catastrophic," Orm muttered. "But when has that ever stopped anyone from doing ill-advised things?"
"Never," Mera's voice called from the entrance. She'd apparently been listening from the doorway, because of course she had. "Ill-advised things are the foundation of all great stories. I'm absolutely watching this."
"As am I," Vulko added, appearing beside Mera with the timing of someone who'd also been eavesdropping and wasn't ashamed of it. "A warrior demigod from another dimension sparring with Princess Diana? That's not entertainment. That's *history*."
Percy looked at the rapidly growing crowd of people who wanted to observe what should have been a private training session. "This is going to be a spectacle, isn't it?"
"Absolutely," Diana agreed cheerfully. "But think of it this way—if you're going to be monitored and assessed anyway, might as well give them something impressive to assess. Show them you're not just dangerous. Show them you're *skilled*. There's a difference."
"That's—actually sound reasoning."
"I'm occasionally wise. It's one of my better qualities." Diana offered her arm in a gesture that mirrored Mera's habitual friendship. "Come on, Perseus. Let's go hit each other with divine weapons until someone yields or we both get tired. It'll be therapeutic."
"That's the strangest definition of therapy I've ever heard."
"Combat is the oldest form of therapy. Very traditional. Extremely effective for working through issues."
"I think actual therapists would disagree with that assessment."
"Then it's fortunate I'm not a therapist. I'm a warrior. We solve problems differently."
---
The training grounds were the same ones Percy had used with Orm—circular arena, reinforced everything, weapon racks full of implements that gleamed with obvious enchantment. But now the observation tiers were filling with curious Atlanteans, Justice League members, and what appeared to be several palace officials who'd decided this was more important than whatever they'd been doing.
Percy stood in the center of the arena, feeling the weight of attention like physical pressure.
Mera appeared beside him, pressing something into his hand—a water bottle. In an underwater city. The irony wasn't lost on him.
"For after," she said. "You'll need hydration. Probably. Maybe. I'm not sure how hydration works when you're already underwater, but it seemed supportive."
"Thank you. I think."
"Also, try not to die. I've become attached to you. It would be inconvenient if you died." She kissed his cheek again—quickly, casually, as if she hadn't just made Percy's brain short-circuit slightly. "Good luck, Seaweed Brain."
The nickname hit him like a physical blow. He spun to stare at her, but Mera was already retreating to the observation tier, her expression innocent but her eyes knowing.
*She knows*, Percy thought. *She knows that was Annabeth's nickname for me. She knows and she used it anyway. Because she's either very brave or very stupid or both.*
Diana entered the arena from the opposite side, and Percy forced himself to focus. To push away thoughts of Annabeth and Mera and complicated feelings about both. To center himself in the present moment.
Diana had changed into training attire—still clearly Amazon in origin, but more practical than her formal outfit. Her sword was at her hip, shield on her arm, lasso coiled ready. She moved with the confidence of someone who'd been fighting since before Percy's great-grandparents were born.
"Rules?" Percy called across the arena.
"First yield. No killing blows. Pull strikes that would cause permanent damage. Otherwise—full contact, full power, fight like we mean it." Diana drew her sword—the blade gleaming with power that made Percy's combat instincts sit up and pay attention. "I want to see what you can really do, Perseus. Don't hold back more than absolutely necessary."
"You say that now," Percy muttered, but he reached for his power anyway.
The armor responded instantly—shadows coalescing, scales manifesting, until Percy stood in his full combat form. Not the complete nightmare version—he left the helmet off, kept some humanity visible—but enough. Enough to be what he'd become. What Tartarus had made him.
His dual blades materialized in his hands, black and wrong and covered in scales that told stories of death.
The arena went very, very quiet.
Diana's eyes widened slightly—not fear, but *interest*. Pure, focused interest.
"That's beautiful," she breathed. "Terrible, but beautiful. Like war given form. Like violence choosing art."
"It's what I had to become."
"I know. I can see it. Every piece tells a story. Every scale a death." Diana shifted into a ready stance—sword forward, shield up, every line of her body screaming *trained warrior*. "Show me those stories, Perseus. Show me how you survived."
"You sure about this?"
"Never been more sure of anything."
"Your funeral," Percy said, and attacked.
---
He moved fast—faster than he'd moved with Orm, faster than he'd moved in days because Diana had asked for honesty and holding back would be insult—and their blades met with a *crash* that sent shockwaves through the water.
Diana grinned—fierce and excited—and pushed back with strength that would've sent most opponents flying.
Percy held his ground, shadows coiling around his feet for stability, and the *dance* began.
Because it was a dance—violent and dangerous, yes, but still fundamentally a dance. Two warriors who understood combat on a cellular level, moving through patterns that were part training, part instinct, part something deeper. Something divine.
Diana fought like art. Every strike was *precise*, calculated for maximum efficiency, flowing from one position to the next with the kind of grace that came from thousands of years of practice. Her shield work was impeccable—deflecting his strikes, creating openings, forcing him to adjust constantly.
Percy fought like chaos trying to remember choreography. His movements were fluid but unpredictable, switching styles mid-combination, using both blades independently but in harmony. He'd learned to fight from multiple teachers—Chiron's classical training, Luke's aggressive style, his own desperate innovations in Tartarus—and he used all of it, flowing between techniques without conscious thought.
They separated, circled, engaged again.
This time Percy used the water itself—pulling currents around Diana, trying to disrupt her footing, her balance. She adapted instantly, using her flight to compensate, taking to the air above him.
Percy followed—not flying, exactly, but manipulating water to create platforms, launching himself upward, meeting her strike mid-ascent with both blades crossed.
They hung there for a moment—suspended in water, weapons locked, eyes meeting—and Percy saw recognition in Diana's expression.
*She gets it*, he thought. *She understands what this is. What we are. What it means to carry power like this.*
"You're holding back," Diana said, and it wasn't an accusation. Just observation.
"So are you."
"Yes. Because full power would damage the arena. Possibly the palace. Definitely the spectators." She grinned. "But we could go higher. Deeper. Away from witnesses. Really see what we can do."
"That sounds dangerous."
"Everything worth doing is dangerous."
"That's terrible life advice."
"Says the man who survived Tartarus through stubbornness and violence."
"Fair point."
They broke apart, descended back to the arena floor, and this time when they engaged it was *faster*, harder, both of them scaling up incrementally. Testing limits. Pushing boundaries. Seeing how far they could go before something broke.
Percy's blades moved in patterns that looked random but weren't—feints within feints, strikes that were distractions, distractions that were actual attacks. He used his shadows actively now, letting them coil around Diana's ankles, trying to slow her, disrupt her, create openings.
Diana used her lasso—the golden rope moving like a living thing, trying to bind him, catch his weapons, force him to fight around it. She was faster than Orm, stronger, more experienced, fighting with the kind of confidence that came from knowing you'd won thousands of battles before.
But Percy had fought for a century in hell.
Had learned to survive against things that gods feared.
Had become something that made reality uncomfortable.
He started pressing the attack—not aggressively, not trying to overwhelm, but persistently. Forcing Diana to defend more than attack. Making her work for every position, every advantage.
"You're getting faster," Diana observed, breathing slightly harder now.
"You're forcing me to adapt. That's what sparring partners do."
"Good ones do. Great ones make you better through fighting them." She blocked a strike that would've been devastating if it had landed. "You've had good training. Formal training. I can see it in your fundamentals. But you've also had to innovate. Survive. Develop techniques that worked regardless of whether they were 'proper.'"
"Tartarus didn't care about proper technique. It cared about effectiveness."
"Which is why you're so dangerous. You have foundation *and* innovation. Classical training *and* survival instinct." Diana's eyes gleamed. "Let's see how far you've come. Full power. Now."
She said it like a command, and Percy's combat instincts responded before his brain could catch up.
He stopped pulling his strikes.
The difference was immediate and absolute.
Percy moved like water given predatory intent, his blades flowing through Diana's defenses with the kind of inevitability that came from a century of fighting things far more dangerous than any Amazon. His shadows stopped being decoration and became *weapons*—grabbing, pulling, disrupting, creating openings his blades exploited instantly.
Diana adapted—gods, she adapted *fast*, her divine blood giving her the speed and strength to keep up, her centuries of experience providing the skill to counter his innovations. She used her flight actively now, attacking from angles Percy couldn't easily reach, forcing him to divide his attention between ground and air combat.
They crashed together again and again—blade against blade, shadow against divine light, two demigods who'd never expected to meet someone who understood what they were, who could fight at their level, who could *challenge* them in ways that made them better.
The arena shook with the force of their impacts. Water churned around them in patterns that defied normal physics. The observation tier cleared as spectators decided discretion was the better part of not-getting-accidentally-killed-by-divine-backlash.
Even Batman retreated to a safer distance, though his eyes never left the fight, clearly cataloging every technique, every power, every potential weakness.
"You're still holding back!" Diana called out, grinning like she was having the time of her life. "I can feel it. You're controlling yourself. Containing your power. Let it *go*, Perseus! Show me what you really are!"
"Diana, if I let go completely, I might actually hurt you—"
"*GOOD*!" She laughed—fierce and joyous. "I've spent centuries fighting people who were too scared to really challenge me! Who held back because I was Princess Diana, because I was Wonder Woman, because hurting me would be *impolite*! I don't want polite! I want *real*!"
"You're insane!"
"I'm *alive*! Now fight me like you mean it or I'll be very disappointed!"
Something in Percy broke—not violently, but like a dam releasing pressure it had been holding too long. The part of him that had been carefully controlled, carefully contained, carefully *civilized* since arriving in Atlantis.
The part that was still very much the thing Tartarus had made him.
He let it wake up.
Shadows exploded around him—not coiling anymore, but *surging*, waves of darkness that moved independently, that *thought* independently, extensions of his will made manifest. His blades blurred, moving faster than thought, than sight, than anything that should be physically possible.
He attacked with the kind of focused intensity that he'd used against things trying to literally eat his soul, and Diana met him *beat for beat*.
She was magnificent—deflecting strikes that could have killed lesser warriors, countering attacks that should have been impossible to counter, using her shield and sword and lasso in perfect harmony. Her divine strength matched his, her speed equaled his, her skill *exceeded* his in some ways while his brutal efficiency exceeded hers in others.
They fought like they were trying to kill each other.
They fought like they were dancing.
They fought like two people who'd been alone for so long that finding someone who understood was worth any risk, any danger, any consequence.
And then—
Percy's blade stopped a hair's breadth from Diana's throat.
Diana's sword stopped a hair's breadth from his heart.
They froze, weapons perfectly positioned, both breathing hard, both understanding that this was it—the moment where either could kill the other, where the fight balanced on a knife's edge of lethal intent and restraint.
"Yield," Percy said softly.
"Yield," Diana agreed, equally quiet.
They lowered their weapons simultaneously and stepped back.
The arena was *wrecked*. The floor cracked in a dozen places. Water still churned from the force of their exchanges. Weapon racks had been knocked over. The observation tier looked like someone had hit it with a controlled explosion.
But Percy barely noticed the damage.
Because Diana was *smiling*—bright and genuine and full of something that looked like pure joy.
"That," she said, breathing hard, "was the best fight I've had in three hundred years."
"That was insane. We almost killed each other. Multiple times."
"I know! Wasn't it wonderful?" Diana sheathed her sword, still grinning. "Perseus, you're *exceptional*. Genuinely exceptional. The way you move, the way you adapt, the way you use power without letting it control you—that's rare. Incredibly rare."
"I was trying very hard not to actually hurt you."
"And you succeeded! Mostly! I've got a few bruises that'll heal in an hour, but that's *nothing* compared to what that fight could have been." She moved closer, and her expression shifted to something more serious. "But Perseus—thank you. For giving me that. For fighting me like an equal instead of a princess or an icon or a symbol. For seeing me as a warrior and treating me like one."
"Thank you for asking me to," Percy said quietly. "For understanding what I needed. What we both needed."
They stood there for a moment—two demigods, battered and exhilarated, understanding flowing between them without need for words.
Then Mera's voice cut through the moment: "That was either the most impressive or most concerning thing I've ever seen and I'm not sure which!"
The spell broke. Percy and Diana turned to find the observation tier slowly filling back up—spectators returning cautiously, checking to make sure the violence was actually over.
Superman descended to the arena floor, his expression caught between impressed and concerned. "That was—comprehensive. You two nearly brought down the arena."
"But we didn't," Diana pointed out cheerfully. "Which shows excellent control."
"That's one interpretation," Batman said dryly from the tier. "Another interpretation is that you both have concerning capacity for violence and barely contained power that could become problematic under the right circumstances."
"Or wrong circumstances," Orm added. He'd been watching with the expression of someone witnessing his worst security nightmares come to life. "That was—I'm going to need to file sixteen new contingency reports. Possibly seventeen."
"Make it twenty," Batman suggested. "Better to be over-prepared."
Atlanna descended with royal grace, her expression unreadable. She examined the damaged arena, the two exhausted demigods, the general chaos of what had clearly been an extremely intense sparring match.
"Well," she said finally. "That was certainly educational. I've learned several things about combat capabilities, architectural weaknesses, and the importance of reinforcing observation tiers."
"My apologies for the damage, Your Majesty," Diana said, bowing slightly. "I'll happily contribute to repairs—"
"Nonsense. This is the most excitement these training grounds have seen in decades. A little damage is a small price for historical significance." Atlanna's expression softened as she looked at Percy. "And Perseus—are you alright? You look exhausted."
"I'm—" Percy paused, doing internal inventory. His body ached pleasantly. His power hummed with satisfaction. His mind felt clearer than it had in days. "—I'm good, actually. Really good. Better than I've been in a long time."
"Combat as therapy," Diana said. "I told you it worked."
"That's still not a medically approved treatment method," Mera called down.
"It is in Themyscira. Very traditional. Extremely effective."
"Themyscira has concerning views on mental health treatment."
"Says the woman from Xebel, where 'working through your feelings' means punching water until you feel better."
"That's—actually accurate. Carry on."
Superman moved to Diana's side, lowering his voice. "Diana, we should probably discuss—"
"Later," Diana said firmly. "Right now I want to properly thank Perseus for one of the best sparring matches of my very long life." She turned back to Percy, and her smile was warm and genuine. "We should do this again. Regularly. I could learn from you. You could learn from me. We could both benefit from having someone who understands what it means to carry divine blood."
"I'd like that," Percy admitted. "I'd like that a lot."
"Good. Then it's settled." Diana offered her hand again—warrior to warrior this time, equal to equal. "Perseus Jackson, I'd be honored to call you friend. Fellow demigod. Someone who understands the burden and blessing of divine power."
Percy took her hand, feeling the warmth of genuine connection. "The honor's mine, Princess Diana."
"Just Diana, please. Among warriors, titles are unnecessary."
"Then just Percy. Perseus is for my mother and people trying to sound formal."
They shook hands, and something settled in Percy's chest—not the crystal, but something else. Something that felt like belonging. Like finding your people after being lost for so long you'd forgotten what "found" felt like.
Batman cleared his throat from the observation tier. "If we're done with the dramatic friendship bonding, we should discuss next steps. Monitoring protocols. Information sharing. Contingency planning in case things go wrong."
"Always so optimistic," Superman said, but his tone was fond.
"Optimism is for people who don't have to plan for planetary-scale disasters."
"Fair point."
They gathered in a less-destroyed section of the training grounds—Justice League members, Atlantean royalty, Percy trying to look like he hadn't just fought one of Earth's greatest warriors to a draw—and began the tedious but necessary work of establishing protocols.
Batman would maintain monitoring from the Watchtower. Non-invasive, he claimed, though Percy suspected Batman's definition of "non-invasive" was probably very different from Percy's.
Diana would check in regularly. Partly for League purposes, but also—she admitted with a grin—because she wanted to spar again. Soon. Very soon.
Superman would remain available if Percy needed to talk to someone who understood the weight of extreme power. "It's lonely being the strongest person in the room," he said quietly. "I know what that's like. If you ever need someone who gets it, I'm here."
Atlanna would continue providing sanctuary and support. "You're my guest, Perseus. That doesn't change regardless of what the Justice League thinks or plans."
Orm would continue his security protocols. "I'm still watching you," he said bluntly. "But Diana's right—you're skilled. Controlled. More aware of your power than most. That counts for something."
And Mera—
Mera just smiled at him from across the gathering, that particular smile that suggested she had plans. Complicated plans. Plans that Percy wasn't sure he wanted to know about but would probably find himself involved in anyway.
"So we're good?" Percy asked, looking around the group. "No one's planning to imprison me or throw me back through dimensional doors or anything immediately catastrophic?"
"Not immediately," Batman said. "That may change based on behavior, but for now—you're clear. Monitored, but clear."
"I can work with that."
"Good. Because that's what you're getting." Batman moved toward the exit. "Diana, Superman—we should debrief properly. Alone. Without audience."
They left—first Batman, then Superman after a final friendly nod to Percy, then Diana with a warrior's salute that made Percy's chest feel warm.
The Atlanteans dispersed gradually, returning to whatever royal duties they'd abandoned to watch the fight.
Eventually, only Percy and Mera remained in the damaged arena.
"So," Mera said, moving closer. "That was something."
"That was definitely something."
"Diana likes you."
"We're both demigods. We understand each other. That's—it's rare. Really rare."
"I know." Mera's expression was complicated—happy for him, maybe, but also something else. Something that looked like concern or jealousy or possibly both. "Percy, I need to ask you something. And I need you to be honest."
"Always."
"Are you interested in Diana? Romantically?"
Percy blinked, processing the question. "What? No! She's—we're warriors. Demigods. We understand each other but it's not—that's not—" He stopped, trying to organize thoughts that had suddenly become very tangled. "Diana's amazing. Incredible. One of the most impressive people I've ever met. But I don't—it's not romantic. It's recognition. Connection. The relief of finding someone who understands something fundamental about you that no one else can."
"Okay. Good. Because I've become very attached to you very quickly and the idea of competing with Wonder Woman for your attention is frankly terrifying."
Percy laughed—surprised and genuine. "You're not competing with anyone. Diana and I are friends. Warrior-friends. Demigod-friends. But that's all."
"And what are we?" Mera asked quietly, and her eyes held something vulnerable. Something that didn't appear often in her usually confident expression.
Percy thought about it. About Mera's kindness and sarcasm and the way she'd pulled him into the ocean without hesitation. About her laughter and her intelligence and the way she made him feel like he could be something other than broken.
About the way she'd called him Seaweed Brain and somehow made it hurt less instead of more.
"We're—" He paused, searching for the right words. "—we're becoming something. Something important. I don't know exactly what yet. But it's important. You're important. To me. Very important."
"That's very nonspecific."
"I'm very nonspecific about feelings. I've spent a century not having them. Cut me some slack."
Mera smiled—soft and genuine and a little bit mischievous. "I can work with nonspecific. For now. But Percy?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm patient, but I'm not infinitely patient. Eventually you're going to have to figure out what I mean to you. What you want this to be."
"I know. I'm working on it. Slowly. With minimal success and maximum anxiety."
"That's very on-brand for you." She linked her arm through his, familiar and comfortable. "Come on. Let's get you cleaned up. You smell like combat and water and existential uncertainty."
"That's my natural scent."
"Then we need to work on that. It's not very attractive."
"You said earlier I was attractive."
"I said you were attractive *despite* concerning qualities. There's a difference."
They left the training grounds together—teasing, comfortable, falling into the easy rhythm they'd developed over the past few days. Like they'd known each other far longer. Like this was natural. Like it was meant to be.
Behind them, unnoticed, Diana watched from a balcony high above.
She'd stayed to observe. To see how Percy and Mera interacted. To understand what was developing between them.
And what she saw made her smile.
"Good," she murmured to herself. "He needs connection. Needs someone who sees him as more than power or threat. Needs someone who makes him laugh instead of flinch."
Superman appeared beside her—silent as always when he wanted to be, which was impressive for someone who could level mountains.
"You approve?" he asked.
"I do. Mera's good for him. Keeps him grounded. Reminds him he's allowed to be young and stupid and make mistakes that aren't apocalyptic." Diana's expression grew more serious. "He reminds me of myself. After I first left Themyscira. Powerful and terrified and desperately trying to figure out how to be both warrior and person simultaneously."
"Did you ever figure it out?"
"I'm still figuring it out. Probably will be for the rest of my very long life." Diana turned to face him. "But Clark—he's going to need help. Real help. Training, guidance, someone to talk to when the nightmares get too loud and the past gets too heavy. I want to be that for him. If he'll let me."
"Then be that," Superman said simply. "You're good at it. Being mentor. Being friend. Being the person who sees potential instead of threat."
"And if I'm wrong? If he can't heal? If he becomes dangerous despite our best efforts?"
"Then we deal with it. Together. As we always do." Superman's expression was steady. Certain. "But Diana—I don't think you're wrong. I saw him today. The way he fought. The way he controlled himself even at full power. The way he stopped when you asked. That's not someone who's lost. That's someone who's finding themselves again. Slowly. Painfully. But finding themselves."
"I hope you're right."
"So do I."
They stood together in comfortable silence, watching Percy and Mera disappear into the palace depths, two heroes recognizing the potential for another hero to rise from tragedy and trauma.
"Batman's already running threat scenarios," Superman said after a moment.
"Of course he is. He's Batman."
"Forty-seven different scenarios in which Percy becomes an existential threat. He's being thorough."
"And?"
"And he's also developing twenty-three scenarios in which Percy becomes a powerful ally. He's being balanced." Superman smiled slightly. "He won't admit it, but I think he likes Percy. Respects him, anyway. The survival. The intelligence. The refusal to be defined by what's happened to him."
"Bruce likes people who've survived impossible things and refused to break. It's his type."
"Says the woman who just spent an hour fighting someone through multiple combat styles because she was lonely for divine connection."
"That's different. That was research. Very important research."
"Uh-huh."
"Also therapeutic violence. Medically necessary."
"I'm sure that's what you'll tell Batman when he asks for your report."
Diana laughed—bright and free and full of the kind of joy that came from finding unexpected friendship in unusual circumstances.
"Come on," she said. "Let's go write our reports. Make them as vague and unhelpful as possible. Drive Bruce crazy with insufficient data."
"You're evil."
"I prefer 'entertainingly difficult.'"
They left the palace together, returning to the Watchtower to brief the rest of the League on their assessment: Percy Jackson was powerful, traumatized, and trying desperately to be something other than a weapon.
He was also making friends, finding connections, and slowly—very slowly—learning how to be human again.
He was dangerous.
But he wasn't a threat.
And that distinction, as Batman would grudgingly admit in his report, was perhaps the most important one they could make.
---
Hey fellow fanfic enthusiasts!
I hope you're enjoying the fanfiction so far! I'd love to hear your thoughts on it. Whether you loved it, hated it, or have some constructive criticism, your feedback is super important to me. Feel free to drop a comment or send me a message with your thoughts. Can't wait to hear from you!
If you're passionate about fanfiction and love discussing stories, characters, and plot twists, then you're in the right place! I've created a Discord (HHHwRsB6wd) server dedicated to diving deep into the world of fanfiction, especially my own stories. Whether you're a reader, a writer, or just someone who enjoys a good tale, I welcome you to join us for lively discussions, feedback sessions, and maybe even some sneak peeks into upcoming chapters, along with artwork related to the stories. Let's nerd out together over our favorite fandoms and explore the endless possibilities of storytelling!
Can't wait to see you there!