The thing about diplomatic messages—and Diana had sent enough of them over the centuries to have developed strong opinions—was that they were fundamentally exercises in saying very little while implying everything.
She sat at the Watchtower's communications console, drafting and redrafting her message to Queen Atlanna, trying to strike the precise balance between "we noticed something concerning" and "we're not accusing you of harboring threats" while also communicating "but seriously, what is going on down there?"
It was exhausting.
"This is my fifth draft," Diana muttered, deleting another paragraph that sounded too aggressive. "I'm a warrior, not a diplomat. Why am I always the one doing diplomacy?"
"Because you're good at it," Batman said from behind her, his voice carrying that particular tone of someone stating obvious facts. "And because Atlanna respects you. She doesn't respect most surface dwellers, but you she respects."
"That's because Themyscira and Atlantis have a long history of mutual non-interference. We stay out of each other's territories, acknowledge each other's sovereignty, and occasionally trade when it's mutually beneficial." Diana returned to her message. "But this—asking to investigate something happening in her city—this strains that relationship."
"It's necessary."
"Necessary doesn't mean welcome." Diana finalized her message—formal, respectful, carefully worded to convey concern without accusation. "Sending it now. We'll see if she responds."
"She'll respond," Batman said with certainty. "Atlanna's many things, but she's not careless. If something divine and potentially dangerous is in her city, she'll want the League to know she has it under control."
"And if she doesn't have it under control?"
"Then we offer help. Carefully. Diplomatically. Without implying that Atlantis can't handle its own problems."
"You make it sound simple."
"It's not simple. It's just necessary." Batman moved to another console. "I'm running deeper scans on that energy signature. The more information we have before any potential meeting, the better prepared we'll be."
Diana nodded and returned to monitoring the communication channel, waiting for Atlanna's response.
It came faster than expected.
A holographic display materialized above the console—Queen Atlanna herself, regal and composed, wearing formal attire that suggested she'd been in an official capacity when the message arrived. Her expression was carefully neutral, revealing nothing.
"Princess Diana," Atlanna said, her voice clear despite the distance and medium. "Your message was... unexpected. But not unwelcome."
"Your Majesty." Diana bowed slightly—a gesture of respect between equals. "Thank you for responding so quickly. I apologize for the intrusion, but the Justice League detected unusual energy signatures originating from Atlantean waters. We wanted to ensure there was no threat to Earth's safety."
"How diplomatic." Atlanna's lips quirked into something that might have been amusement. "You're asking if I'm harboring something dangerous."
"I'm asking if you're aware of the presence we detected. And if you are, whether you need assistance in containing or understanding it."
"Direct. I appreciate direct." Atlanna was silent for a moment, clearly weighing her response. "Yes, I'm aware of the presence. It arrived approximately two days ago through what appears to be a dimensional breach. And yes, it's powerful. Extremely powerful. But no, it's not a threat—at least not currently."
"Can you tell us what it is?"
"A refugee." Atlanna's expression softened slightly. "A young man—a demigod, specifically—who escaped from Tartarus after spending a century there. He's traumatized, dangerous, and desperately trying not to be either of those things."
Silence filled the Watchtower as everyone processed that information.
"Tartarus," Diana repeated slowly. "The Greek Tartarus? The prison of the Titans?"
"The same. He claims to have survived there for a century, killing anything that threatened him, until he found a way out through the Doors of Death." Atlanna's voice carried a weight that suggested she believed this improbable story. "I know how it sounds. Impossible. Fantastic. The kind of thing you'd dismiss as delusion or fabrication. But Diana—the ocean itself recognizes him. Claims him as family. He carries water from all five rivers of the Underworld in his chest and it hasn't killed him. He's Poseidon's son, as clearly as if the god himself had painted it across his forehead."
"Poseidon hasn't had children in this realm in millennia," Batman interjected, his voice carrying through Diana's comm. "Not since the gods departed."
"I'm aware. Which suggests he's from elsewhere. Another dimension. Another reality. One where the gods never left and still have demigod children." Atlanna's expression was troubled. "He's not from our world, Diana. But he's in it now. And I've granted him sanctuary."
Diana felt her warrior's instincts warring with her diplomatic training. "Your Majesty, with respect—a presence that powerful, that traumatized, carrying underworld magic—that's a significant security concern. Not just for Atlantis, but for the entire world."
"I'm aware of the risks. My son has made them abundantly clear. Repeatedly. With detailed security protocols and contingency planning." Atlanna's voice carried fond exasperation. "But Diana, I've met this young man. Spoken with him. Watched him try desperately to be gentle despite clearly being capable of extraordinary violence. He's not a threat because he doesn't *want* to be a threat. That matters."
"Intent is important," Batman's voice agreed. "But capability is equally important. Can we meet him? Assess the situation ourselves? We're not questioning your judgment, Your Majesty, but the League has a responsibility to investigate potential threats."
"Of course you do. Which is why I'm extending an invitation." Atlanna's expression shifted to something more formal. "Come to Atlantis. Tomorrow. I'll arrange a formal introduction. You can meet Percy Jackson yourself, ask your questions, make your own assessment. But—" Her voice took on an edge. "—you come as guests, not investigators. You treat him with respect, not suspicion. And you accept that whatever your assessment, he's under my protection. Are we clear?"
"Crystal," Diana said. "Thank you, Your Majesty. We'll be there tomorrow. Myself, Superman, and Batman. A small delegation."
"Bring Wonder Woman and Superman," Atlanna agreed. "Leave Batman on the surface."
"I'm afraid that's not negotiable," Batman's voice interjected. "Where my team goes, I go."
"Then you'll wait at the city's entrance. I'm not bringing the World's Greatest Detective into my city to catalog our defenses and weaknesses. That's non-negotiable on my end."
A pause as Batman and Atlanna engaged in a silent battle of wills through communications technology.
"Acceptable," Batman finally said. "I'll remain at the entrance. But I'm monitoring all communications, and if anything goes wrong—"
"Then you'll have contingency plans ready. I'd expect nothing less." Atlanna's expression softened slightly. "Diana, I'm trusting you with this. With him. He's—fragile isn't the right word. He's like a blade that's been sharpened too many times. Still sharp, still deadly, but one more strike might shatter him completely. Handle carefully."
"I understand," Diana said quietly. "We'll be gentle."
"Good. Tomorrow, then. I'll have Ambassador Vulko meet you at the designated coordinates. He'll escort you into the city." Atlanna paused. "And Diana? Thank you. For being diplomatic. For not immediately assuming threat. Percy needs people to see him as something other than a weapon. I'm hoping you can be one of those people."
"I'll do my best, Your Majesty."
The connection closed, leaving Diana alone with the weight of tomorrow's meeting and Batman's approaching footsteps.
"So," Batman said, appearing beside her with his usual disregard for dramatic entrance timing. "A demigod from another dimension who survived Tartarus for a century. That's new."
"That's concerning," Diana corrected. "Tartarus isn't just a prison, Bruce. It's a place of fundamental corruption. A place where the boundaries between death and life become negotiable. If he spent a century there—" She shook her head. "I don't know what that would do to someone. How it would change them. What it would cost."
"We'll find out tomorrow."
"Yes. We will." Diana stood, her hand moving unconsciously to her lasso—that reliable weight, that constant reminder of truth and justice and the complications between them. "Bruce, if he's truly dangerous—if he's a threat we can't contain—"
"Then we deal with it. Carefully. Minimally. Without assuming the worst until we have evidence." Batman's expression was unreadable behind his cowl. "But Diana—Atlanna's right about one thing. Intent matters. If this Percy Jackson is trying to heal, trying to be something other than what Tartarus made him, we should give him that chance. Even if it's risky."
"Since when are you the optimistic one?"
"I'm not optimistic. I'm practical. A powerful ally is better than a powerful enemy. And someone who's survived what he's survived—we want him on our side if possible." Batman moved toward the exit. "Get some rest. Tomorrow's going to be complicated."
"Tomorrow's always complicated."
"True. But tomorrow has the added complication of meeting someone who's killed their way through hell and come out the other side. That's a special kind of complicated."
Diana couldn't argue with that.
---
## The Next Day: Atlantis
Percy woke to discover several things simultaneously:
First, he'd actually slept through the night. No nightmares. No waking up in a panic. Just—sleep. Actual, restorative sleep. His body apparently had decided that after two days of being safe, it could finally relax enough to rest properly.
Second, someone had left breakfast outside his door. Real food, well-prepared, still warm. Either Atlantis had excellent room service or someone was trying to poison him in the most considerate way possible.
Third, there was a note attached to the breakfast tray:
*Percy—
Council meeting this afternoon has been moved. Instead, you're meeting representatives from the Justice League. Try not to look like death. Try not to actually kill anyone. Try to remember that surface dwellers are people too, even when they're being annoying.
—Mera*
*P.S. I laid out clothes for you. Formal but not stuffy. You'll look very handsome. You're welcome.*
Percy stared at the note.
"Justice League," he muttered. "What's a Justice League? Is that like a pantheon? A guild? A very enthusiastic sports organization?"
The room offered no answers.
He ate breakfast—which was delicious and definitely not poisoned, though Percy's Tartarus-trained paranoia made him test everything carefully first—and examined the clothes Mera had left.
She was right. They were formal but not uncomfortable. Blue and silver again, cut in a style that suggested Atlantean fashion had strong opinions about dramatic presentation. The fabric felt expensive and moved strangely, as if it wasn't quite solid.
"Probably enchanted," Percy decided. "Everything here is enchanted. I'm going to develop opinions about enchanted clothing. Strong opinions."
He dressed, braided his hair, made sure the crystal pendant was visible but not ostentatious. Checked his reflection.
He looked—presentable. Young. Human. Not like someone who'd spent a century killing things in hell.
It was disturbing how much effort it took to look normal.
A knock at his door announced Mera's arrival. She swept in without waiting for invitation, assessed him with an approving nod, and immediately started adjusting his collar.
"Good. You followed instructions. I'm proud of you."
"I can dress myself."
"You can, but you don't always make good choices. Remember yesterday when you tried to wear armor to breakfast?"
"That was one time and I was half-asleep."
"It was memorable." Mera finished her adjustments and stepped back. "Perfect. You look exactly dangerous enough to be interesting but not so dangerous that people immediately reach for weapons. That's the sweet spot."
"I'm not sure that's a compliment."
"It absolutely is." Mera linked her arm through his. "Come on. Vulko's waiting to brief you on the Justice League before they arrive. You need context. Lots of context. So much context."
"Why do I need context?"
"Because they're heroes. Very powerful heroes who protect Earth from various threats. And they're coming here to determine if *you're* a threat. So you need to understand who they are, what they can do, and how to not accidentally start a fight with people who can level cities."
"I don't start fights accidentally."
"You started a fight with a fountain yesterday and you weren't even trying."
"That was the fountain's fault. It was very enthusiastic."
"Exactly my point." Mera pulled him through corridors that were becoming familiar. "The Justice League takes security very seriously. They protect the entire planet. So when someone as powerful as you appears out of nowhere, they notice. They investigate. They assess. You're being assessed, Percy. This is important."
"How important?"
"'Potential international incident' important. 'Could lead to Atlantis having strained relations with the surface world' important. 'Orm is having sixteen heart attacks about security protocols' important."
"That's very important."
"Hence the briefing."
They found Vulko in a small study filled with scrolls, tablets, and what appeared to be a very organized filing system for ancient knowledge. He looked up as they entered, his expression serious but not unfriendly.
"Percy Jackson," he said. "Sit. We need to talk about heroes."
Percy sat. "I know about heroes. I've been one. It's terrible."
"Not Greek heroes. Modern heroes. Surface world heroes. People with extraordinary abilities who've decided to use them to protect humanity from various existential threats." Vulko pulled out several tablets with images. "The Justice League. Earth's premiere superhero organization. Currently consisting of—let's see—Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman, Flash, Green Lantern, Martian Manhunter, Cyborg, and Aquaman when he's not busy with Atlantean affairs."
"That's a lot of people with titles instead of names."
"They prefer the mystique. Also legal protection. Surface dwellers are very concerned about legal liability." Vulko displayed the first image. "This is Superman. Kryptonian. Last son of a dead planet. Possesses strength, speed, flight, heat vision, and general invulnerability that makes him functionally godlike. Also has a very strong moral code and tends to assume the best in people until proven otherwise."
Percy studied the image—a man in blue and red, cape flowing dramatically, the kind of square-jawed heroism that would've looked ridiculous if not for the clear power radiating from him.
"He looks like what Americans think heroes should look like," Percy observed.
"Accurate assessment. He's also genuinely kind, which sometimes makes people underestimate him. Don't." Vulko moved to the next image. "Wonder Woman. Princess Diana of Themyscira. Amazon warrior. Daughter of Zeus—or Hippolyta, depending on which origin story you believe. Possesses divine strength, combat mastery, a Lasso of Truth that compels honesty, and several thousand years of combat experience."
Percy leaned forward, interested now. "She's a demigod?"
"Essentially. Though Amazons complicate the definition." Vulko's expression suggested this was a topic of some theological debate. "What matters for your purposes—she understands divine power. She'll recognize what you are immediately. She'll also understand trauma and survival in ways the others might not. If you're going to connect with anyone in the League, it'll probably be her."
"Noted."
"And this—" Vulko displayed a third image, this one showing a man in dark armor with pointed ears. "—is Batman. Human. No powers. Just extraordinary wealth, intelligence, combat training, detective skills, and the kind of paranoia that makes him prepare for literally every contingency including ones that haven't been invented yet."
"He's human? Just regular human?"
"Just regular human who's decided that being human isn't a limitation if you're smart enough, skilled enough, and paranoid enough." Vulko's tone carried something that might have been respect. "He's dangerous precisely because he doesn't have powers. He's learned to compensate. Never underestimate him. And never, *ever* lie to him. He'll know. He always knows."
"You sound like you've dealt with him before."
"Atlantis has—complicated relations with the surface world. Batman has investigated those complications. Multiple times. It's tedious." Vulko dismissed the images. "The others you're less likely to meet today, but be aware—they exist. They're powerful. And they all take their responsibility to protect Earth very seriously."
"So they're coming here to decide if I'm a threat."
"They're coming here to assess the situation. There's a difference." Vulko's expression softened slightly. "Percy, these people aren't your enemies. They're cautious, yes. Thorough, absolutely. But they're not cruel. They don't eliminate threats automatically. They investigate. They understand. And if you're honest with them—if you show them you're trying to heal rather than harm—they'll give you space to do that."
"And if I can't convince them?"
"Then Atlantis will continue to grant you sanctuary regardless of their opinion. Queen Atlanna has made her position clear. You're under her protection. But—" Vulko leaned forward. "—it would be *easier* if you didn't have the Justice League considering you a potential threat. Easier for you. Easier for Atlantis. Easier for everyone involved."
"So I need to be charming."
"You need to be honest. Charming would be a bonus." Vulko stood. "They'll arrive within the hour. Queen Atlanna will handle initial introductions. You'll meet them in the Coral Hall—formal space, lots of witnesses, designed to prevent violence through architectural guilt."
"That's a strategy?"
"It's a very effective strategy. People are less likely to start fights in beautiful buildings. They don't want to damage the art." Vulko moved toward the door. "Be yourself, Percy Jackson. Just—maybe be the version of yourself that doesn't immediately lead with violence and existential dread."
"That's asking a lot."
"Yes. But I believe you're capable of it." Vulko paused at the exit. "And Percy? Remember—Wonder Woman is a demigod like you. She understands the weight of divine blood. The expectations. The complications. If you need an ally in that room, she's your best option."
Then he was gone, leaving Percy with Mera and approximately forty-five minutes to mentally prepare for meeting people who could apparently level cities and had strong opinions about planetary security.
"This is fine," Percy said.
"It's absolutely not fine," Mera agreed cheerfully. "But we're doing it anyway. That's basically your entire approach to life."
"It's worked so far."
"'Worked' is a strong word for 'survived through luck and spite.'"
"Spite is underrated as a survival mechanism."
Mera laughed and pulled him to his feet. "Come on. Let's get you to the Coral Hall before you talk yourself into fleeing the city. Atlanna would be very disappointed if you fled the city."
"Everyone keeps mentioning how disappointed she'd be. It's very effective psychological manipulation."
"That's because it works. Mother figures wielding disappointment are the most powerful force in the universe. Even gods fear maternal disappointment."
They made their way through the palace to the Coral Hall—which was, predictably, both beautiful and ostentatious, with soaring ceilings decorated in coral formations that looked like frozen waves, walls of translucent crystal that cast rainbow light across everything, and enough gold trim to fund several small nations.
"Atlanteans really committed to the 'more is more' aesthetic," Percy observed.
"We prefer 'if it's worth doing, it's worth doing excessively.'" Mera squeezed his arm. "You'll be fine. Just remember—be honest. Be yourself. And try not to accidentally demonstrate your full power unless absolutely necessary."
"That's a concerning qualifier."
"This is a concerning situation." She kissed his cheek quickly—surprising both of them—and then stepped back, flushing slightly. "For luck. And because I wanted to. Good luck, Percy Jackson."
Then she was gone, disappearing into the palace's passages with the fluid grace she brought to everything, leaving Percy alone in the Coral Hall with his thoughts and his anxiety and the rapidly approaching sound of footsteps.
Multiple footsteps.
Important footsteps.
Percy straightened his collar one final time, checked that the crystal pendant was lying correctly, and tried to look like someone who definitely hadn't spent the last century becoming a walking war crime.
The doors opened.
Queen Atlanna entered first—regal, composed, wearing formal attire that probably cost more than Percy's entire existence. Behind her came Orm, looking like he'd rather be literally anywhere else but present. And behind them—
Percy's breath caught.
Three people entered the hall, and even without Vulko's briefing, Percy would have known exactly who they were.
Superman moved like contained power, each step carefully measured, as if he was constantly aware of his strength and determined not to break anything accidentally. He was tall, broad-shouldered, wearing his iconic suit with the kind of casual confidence that suggested either supreme faith in his invulnerability or supreme faith in his ability to resolve conflicts peacefully.
Possibly both.
Batman was smaller than Percy expected—not short, but not towering either. He moved with the precise economy of motion Percy recognized from master warriors. Every gesture purposeful. Every glance cataloging. Every breath calculated. He was scanning the room constantly, clearly mapping exits and threat vectors and probably calculating exactly how long it would take him to neutralize everyone present.
Percy recognized that behavior.
He'd done the same thing the moment he entered.
But it was Wonder Woman who made Percy's chest tighten with something complicated and painful.
She moved like Annabeth had moved—that particular combination of grace and controlled violence that came from years of training, from understanding that your body was a weapon and a temple simultaneously. Her dark hair was pulled back in a practical style. Her expression was open but watchful. And her eyes—
Her eyes held the kind of understanding that only came from living too long and seeing too much.
Demigod eyes.
*She gets it*, Percy thought. *She actually understands what it's like.*
"Princess Diana," Atlanna said formally. "Kal-El. Bruce Wayne. Welcome to Atlantis. Thank you for accepting my invitation."
"Thank you for extending it, Your Majesty," Diana replied, her voice carrying the kind of diplomatic warmth that suggested centuries of practice. "We appreciate your cooperation in this delicate matter."
"Of course. Though I must confess some amusement at the Justice League's concern. We've had far more dangerous things in Atlantis without requiring surface consultation." Atlanna's tone was light but carried an edge. "However, I understand your caution. Divine power manifesting unexpectedly would concern anyone responsible for planetary security."
"It's less concern and more—prudent investigation," Superman said, his voice surprisingly gentle for someone who looked like he could punch through planets. "We're not here to accuse or threaten. Just to understand."
"How refreshingly reasonable." Atlanna gestured toward Percy, who'd been standing silently, trying to determine the appropriate protocol for meeting legendary heroes while internally screaming. "Gentleman, Princess—may I present Percy Jackson. Son of Poseidon. Survivor of Tartarus. Our guest and, currently, my personal problem to manage."
Percy tried not to wince at that introduction.
Three pairs of eyes fixed on him with varying intensities.
Superman's gaze was curious but kind—assessing without judging, clearly trying to determine threat level while also seeing the person beneath the power.
Batman's eyes were calculating, sharp, missing nothing. Percy could practically hear the threat assessment happening in real-time: *power level—extreme, combat training—extensive, mental state—concerning but not immediately hostile, contingency plans required—multiple.*
But Diana—
Diana looked at him and her expression shifted through several emotions in rapid succession. Recognition. Understanding. Sympathy. And something that looked almost like grief.
"Tartarus," she said softly, and it wasn't a question. "You really were in Tartarus. I can see it in your eyes. The shadows. The weight. The way you're standing like you're ready to fight despite being in a formal reception."
Percy's hand had moved unconsciously toward where his sword would be—wasn't, currently, but should be, his instincts insisted. He forced himself to relax. To lower his hand. To remember he was here as a guest, not a combatant.
"Yes," he said, his voice rough from tension. "I was in Tartarus. For a century. Give or take a few years. Time's weird there. Very non-linear. Possibly evil. Definitely inconsiderate."
"How did you survive?" Superman asked, genuine curiosity in his voice.
"Stubbornness. Violence. A complete absence of better options." Percy met his gaze directly. "I killed anything that tried to kill me first. I learned to live on minimal resources. Became something I didn't want to become because the alternative was death. The usual survival story, just with worse scenery and more existential horror."
"And you escaped through the Doors of Death," Batman stated. Not a question. A conclusion drawn from available information.
"Yes."
"Which brought you to this dimension. This Earth. This version of reality that isn't yours."
"Yes."
"And now you're here. In Atlantis. Under Queen Atlanna's protection. Carrying power that's making our sensors very nervous and probably causing sleepless nights for everyone responsible for planetary security."
"That's—an accurate summary, yes." Percy forced himself not to fidget. Batman's gaze was like being dissected by someone who'd memorized every anatomy textbook and was currently determining which organs to catalog first. "I'm not a threat. I'm not planning to hurt anyone. I'm just—trying to figure out what happens next. How to heal. How to be something other than a survival mechanism in humanoid form."
"That's very self-aware for someone who's supposedly traumatized and dangerous," Batman observed.
"Trauma doesn't mean stupid. I know what I am. What I've become. I'm trying to be better than that. Trying very hard. With mixed results." Percy's jaw tightened. "Look, I understand why you're here. I understand the concern. If I were you, I'd be concerned too. Someone with my power showing up unexpectedly—that's a problem. A security risk. Possibly an existential threat. I get it."
"But?" Diana prompted gently.
"But I'm tired," Percy said, and his voice cracked slightly on the word. "I'm so tired of fighting. Of being afraid. Of waking up expecting death. I just want—" He stopped, trying to find words for feelings he barely understood himself. "I just want to rest. To heal. To remember what it's like to be human instead of a weapon. That's all. I'm not planning world domination or chaos or whatever security nightmare you've imagined. I just want peace."
Silence fell over the Coral Hall.
Superman's expression had softened into something that looked like compassion. Batman's gaze hadn't changed but something in his posture had relaxed slightly—not trust, exactly, but acknowledgment. Recognition of honesty.
Diana stepped forward.
"Percy Jackson," she said formally, and her hand moved to her hip—to the golden lasso coiled there. "I'm going to ask you something. And I need you to answer honestly. Not because I don't believe you, but because honesty removes doubt. Creates clarity. Allows us to move forward without suspicion. Will you allow me to use the Lasso of Truth?"
Percy looked at the lasso—golden, glowing faintly, radiating power that felt familiar. Divine magic. The kind that couldn't be lied to or deceived. The kind that demanded absolute truth whether you wanted to give it or not.
"That's Hestia's magic," he said quietly, recognizing the signature. "Forged in her flames. Blessed by her domain. It compels truth through divine will."
Diana's eyebrows rose. "You can identify its origin?"
"I've been around a lot of divine magic. You learn to recognize the signatures." Percy looked at Atlanna, who nodded encouragingly. Then back to Diana. "Yes. Use the lasso. Ask your questions. I'll answer honestly. I've got nothing to hide except a century of trauma and that's pretty obvious already."
"Thank you." Diana unwound the lasso with practiced ease, the golden rope gleaming in the coral light. "This won't hurt. It's not a weapon. It's just—truth. Pure truth. You won't be able to lie, but you also won't be compelled to answer questions you genuinely can't answer or that would cause you severe psychological harm. The lasso is kind that way."
"Hestia always was kind," Percy said softly, remembering the goddess from his world. Warm. Gentle. The hearth that kept heroes from freezing. "Okay. I'm ready."
Diana stepped closer and gently looped the lasso around Percy's wrist—not restraining, just connecting. The moment it touched his skin, Percy felt warmth spread through his chest. Not uncomfortable. Just—present. Honest. Like the lasso itself was saying *tell the truth and everything will be okay*.
"What is your name?" Diana asked, starting simple.
"Perseus Jackson. Percy to people who like me. Seaweed Brain to—" His voice caught. "—to people who loved me. Who used to love me. Who might not exist in this world."
"Why did you come to this dimension?"
"I didn't choose to come here. I chose to escape Tartarus. The Doors of Death were broken—they led somewhere, but not to my world. I went through them anyway because anywhere was better than hell. That it happened to be this dimension was luck. Or fate. Or cosmic indifference. Hard to say."
"Do you intend to harm Earth or its people?"
"No." The word came out firm, absolute, the lasso's magic reinforcing his truth. "I've hurt enough people. Killed enough things. I'm done with violence unless there's no other choice. I just want to rest. To heal. To remember who I was before Tartarus changed me into something I don't recognize."
"Are you working with anyone? Any organization? Any entity that might wish harm to Earth?"
"No. I'm alone. Completely alone. Everyone I knew is either dead or in another dimension. I have no allies except Queen Atlanna's kindness and Mera's apparently infinite patience. I'm not a spy or a weapon or an agent of anything except my own desperate attempt at recovery."
Diana's questions continued—methodical, thorough, covering everything from his power level to his intentions to his ability to control himself. Percy answered each one honestly, the lasso ensuring he couldn't lie even if he wanted to.
Yes, he was extremely powerful.
Yes, he could probably destroy large portions of civilization if he wanted to.
No, he had no intention of doing so.
Yes, his power was partially divine and partially corrupted by underworld magic.
Yes, that made him unstable in certain ways.
No, he wasn't an immediate threat to anyone unless they attacked him first.
Yes, he wanted help. Desperately. Please.
Finally, Diana asked the question Percy had been dreading:
"Have you killed?"
"Yes." The word felt like pulling out a splinter. "I've killed. Hundreds of times. Maybe thousands. I lost count after the first decade in Tartarus. Monsters, mostly. Things that were trying to kill me. But I've killed. Efficiently. Without hesitation. Without mercy when mercy would've meant dying. I became very good at killing. Very, very good."
"Do you regret it?"
Percy was silent for a long moment, the lasso warming against his skin, demanding truth even when truth hurt.
"Sometimes," he admitted. "I regret what I had to become to survive. I regret that killing became easy. Became reflex. It became something I could do without thinking. I regret that there's a part of me that's very, very good at violence and enjoys being good at it. But do I regret surviving? No. I don't regret that. I'm not sorry I'm alive, even if staying alive cost more than I wanted to pay."
Diana nodded slowly and removed the lasso. The warmth faded, leaving Percy feeling strangely cold.
"Thank you," she said quietly. "That was—difficult. And honest. And exactly what we needed."
She turned to her companions.
Superman's expression was thoughtful. "He's telling the truth."
"Obviously," Batman said dryly. "The Lasso of Truth isn't known for unreliability. But truth isn't the question. The question is—what do we do with that truth?"
"We do nothing," Diana said firmly. "He's not a threat. He's traumatized and powerful, yes, but he's actively trying to heal. Trying to be better than what survival forced him to become. We should support that, not hinder it."
"Support by monitoring," Batman countered. "I'm not suggesting we imprison him or treat him as hostile. But someone that powerful, that damaged—we should maintain awareness of his location and status. Contingency planning. Just in case."
"I can work with contingency planning," Percy said tiredly. "As long as 'contingency planning' doesn't mean 'tracking my every movement and preparing to kill me if I sneeze wrong.'"
"It means exactly that," Batman said bluntly. "But with the understanding that those contingencies are last resort options. We prefer diplomacy. We prefer help. But we also prepare for worst case scenarios because that's what keeps billions of people safe."
"That's—fair. Paranoid, but fair."
"Paranoia is just preparation with anxiety," Batman said. "And I've been doing this long enough to know that being unprepared gets people killed."
Superman stepped forward, offering his hand. "Percy Jackson. I'm sorry you've been through hell—literally. I'm sorry you're dealing with trauma and isolation and the weight of your own power. But you're not alone anymore. You're on Earth now. Our Earth. And we protect everyone on this planet, including people who are trying to recover from terrible things."
Percy stared at the offered hand for a moment, then took it. Superman's grip was firm but carefully controlled—the handshake of someone who could crush steel but chose gentleness.
"Thank you," Percy managed. "That's—thank you."
"Don't thank us yet," Batman said. "We're still monitoring you. Still assessing. Still preparing. But we're also—willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. For now. Don't make us regret it."
---
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!