It was so blue.

Everywhere he looked, the color was all he could see. The deep cobalt of the open sea and the paleness of the horizon shifting up into a soft azure. Dick sat at the center of it all, silent, listening to the stillness of the water, gently folding over itself in the distance.

The aircraft body below him bobbed back and forth, rocking on its heels. A few feet away, the pilot clutched his own arms, occasionally glancing over but keeping to himself. Not once had he tried to fight back or escape. Out here, where the blue stretched out for miles and miles and miles in every imaginable direction, there was nowhere to go.

It was beautiful.

Dick understood why Perseus liked the ocean so much.

Had liked.

His hand tightened around the hilt of her sword, squeezing it like a lifeline.

He had paused to scoop it up before hauling himself and the pilot out of the emergency hatch to wait on top for extraction. There wasn't much of her left. The steel and bronze blade rested at his side, but the ocean had taken everything else.

Dick's body slumped, every thread of adrenaline leaving his veins. There was no one left to fight, nothing out here that could hurt him anymore. He let go of his limbs, except for the hand that still held tight to the sword, and bored his eyes down into the water, feeling completely and utterly numb.

He didn't know how long he sat there like that, letting the waves gently push him along, but when his ears picked up on the sound of a familiar jet lowering itself down, his jaw clenched. It hadn't been enough time.

With a soft hiss, the glass shell of the new aircraft peeled open. The pilot beside him stood, scrambling backward at the sight of the Batman stalking forward, but after one hardly noticeable movement of a gloved arm, the man collapsed. Red Robin stepped out from the Bat's shadow, hoisting the unconscious body up and returning to the jet to secure him.

"Nightwing, report."

Dick picked up head up to look at Batman. The older man instantly tensed, gaze searching his posture, his injuries, his bruises, his complete lack of energy. Dick hadn't really been forthcoming with the details when radioing in for pickup, just giving his coordinates and ensuring that his life wasn't in immediate danger.

"What happened?" he pressed, tone more insistent this time.

Red Robin returned, eyeing him with the same calculating gaze. Dick reached up with his one free arm, pressing against the mechanisms of his mask, bypassing the locks. It was easier with both hands, but he still could not let go of the sword. When the domino finally peeled off, he let it fall uselessly to his side.

Tim inhaled sharply.

Dick wasn't crying anymore, the cold ocean wind having whipped his tears dry, but the damage remained. He could feel it when he blinked, all the swollen edges and red rims.

"We were losing," he said, hardly above a whisper, speaking for the first time in an hour, maybe two, "Against Blockbuster, and she—pushed him out."

He watched Batman's face shift, in a way that meant nothing to anyone outside of their family, but meant the world to his kids. He came closer, keeping away from the sword, though Dick knew he saw it, and the lack of its owner, and had pieced together what Dick didn't want to say out loud.

He knelt before Dick, tugging off his cowl.

"Come on, chum," Bruce said gently, clear blue eyes softening. There was that color again. "Let's get you back to the manor."

Blinking the fresh wave of tears back into submission, Dick stood up, and let his father take him home.

LINEBREAK

Dick always loved the manor. The endless hallways to explore, the towering ceilings decorated with chandeliers reinforced for his childish antics, and the cave below, full of secrets. For the kid who had been dropped off from the circus, freshly orphaned and bleeding raw, it had been like a playground. Even after he finally moved out, he found himself returning every odd weekend, weak excuses on his tongue, before finally realizing he didn't need them. It was his home.

Right now, the manor was suffocating.

Dick had given his full report, cataloged his injuries, and pawned off the pilot and the remaining crate of Blockbuster's guns to Bruce, leaving him to deal with the logistics. Alfred had confined him to bed for the rest of the day and almost all of Saturday, even though he sustained nothing worse than a few bruised ribs and a mild concussion.

His siblings came and went, with their own attempts at support. He wanted to appreciate it, the check-ins from Damian and Jason, Tim and Cass, even Steph who popped in carrying a mug of Alfred's hot chocolate. Dick drank it, as he always did, but the soothing properties didn't work this time.

Perseus's sword leaned against his bedside table. Dick wasted the day away propped up on his side, even though Alfred had told him not to, staring at his reflection in the bright bronze.

As night fell in Gotham, he found himself unable to sleep. The walls were closing in, darkness creeping into his peripheral vision, and he was a child again, seeing things in the shadows that weren't there.

Perseus, letting out a painted grunt as a beam seared into her side.

Perseus, pushing against the floor, pulling on the wall, leaving trails of blood wherever her fingers touched.

Perseus, in the cargo bay, with her forehead pressed against his, breath evening out.

Dick threw the covers off of his legs and fled his bedroom.

LINEBREAK

Bruce had told him to stay out of the cave. That was fine. Dick didn't want to see all the files spread out on the computer, as he and Tim combed through Blockbuster's operation with the pilot's intel, weeding out any remaining pockets of allies.

But the gymnasium wasn't in the cave.

Training on the rings came like second nature to him. The familiar grip of the wooden circle, the initial tightening of the rope as he shifted his weight onto it. Dick chalked up his hands and threw himself into the workout.

The first flip tugged on a shoulder muscle that really should've been stretched beforehand. On the second flip, the ring brushed against his hip, aggravating a deep yellow bruise. By the third, Dick couldn't feel any of that.

He hoisted himself all the way up, arms outstretched below, holding the weight of his entire body upright. The ropes swung ever so slightly, and he tightened his core to keep still. His ribs hated him for it, but he shut them out, closing his eyes to focus on the burn of his muscles.

Is this what Perseus saw when she fell? Did she shut her eyes just like this, bracing for impact?

Dick squeezed his lids harder. The rings wobbled under his palms.

Another person he couldn't catch.

That thought speared through his chest, catching him by surprise. His arms gave out, and Dick dropped back to the ground in a crouch, breathing heavily. He opened his eyes, seeing his fingers splayed out against the floor for support.

Alfred found him like that a minute later, in the same position, staring blankly at his hands. The older man rushed in, cupping his shoulders carefully.

"Master Dick, you are not meant to be out of bed yet," he chided softly, though his tone was firm.

"Right, sorry," Dick mumbled, nodding.

He let Alfred scan him for possible aggravated injuries, numb to the disapproving noises that he let out. His skin was buzzing. If his ribs had swelled, Dick couldn't feel it.

Alfred cleared his throat.

"I know that you are hurting," he said, slowly, frowning, "But you should know, that Perseus—"

Dick stood abruptly, cutting him off. He didn't want to listen to whatever Alfred was going to say. It couldn't be anything Bruce and Babs hadn't already tried to tell him.

"Tell Bruce I'm leaving."

He stalked off to his bedroom to gather his belongings. He needed to get out of here. It was suffocating.

LINEBREAK

Dick knew grief like the back of his hand.

After the first couple of rounds with it, the sting of the shock faded more quickly, leaving behind a dull ache in the chest. It had only been two days, but he was already on that stage.

He felt it trying to keep him down when he rose from bed in the morning, but he stood up anyways. He felt it when he drove the patrol car past familiar streets, pushing deeper into the accelerator pedal.

It bled into his civilian side, as he sat at his desk at the precinct, typing up reports without complaint. Rohrbach came around, asking questions, pointing out that his demeanor stood out even in the already somber station. I know we lost two of our officers recently, she said, but there's something else.

Dick slipped her the list of times they found at the gym, saying he took it from one of the goons, and pulled her outside to explain their significance. He watched her face contort in rage as she realized what Redhorn had done. She left quickly, to form a case that would oust the man from his position for good. Maybe she would get a promotion, he thought, as he watched her go, forgetting all about Dick's uncharacteristic mood, or be hailed by the mayor as a hero for driving out the city's corruption. It was better that way.

He felt it the worst on his first night back out.

When he ran across the rooftops, there was no second set of footsteps trailing behind, or the laughing shout to stop performing unnecessary flips. No playful arguing about which of them had landed more hits that night, and no compromising on who would get the next.

Dick pushed off the side of one building to grab the fire escape on the other, and nearly reached down, before remembering there was no one to pull up.

Some of the criminals had gotten used to the pair of them, narrowing their eyes at the corners of the street as he approached, trying to figure out where the other would come from. One outright asked where Perseus was, and Dick pushed an escrima stick into his stomach, the few extra volts instantly rendering the man unable to speak.

At home, his phone buzzed with so many notifications that Dick ended up silencing it. Messages in the sibling group chat, along with individual texts from each of them. There was a missed call from Bruce, on his first day back in Bludhaven, and a few messages after, but unlike the others, he seemed to have gotten the hint, giving Dick his space for now.

No one had told the rest of the league because Dick had firmly stated that it was none of their business. He didn't want to rehash it with anyone who felt the need to check in on him, but he knew at least a few people had been given a vague answer. Something happened. Nightwing's fine, but he needs some time to himself.

There was one person he hadn't heard from at all and was almost grateful for it. If she saw him like this, the sluggish movement of his legs leading him around, he knew he'd have to explain. Dick didn't have it in him to lie, but the thought of sharing the truth, even a fraction of it—someone I loved is gone, there was an accident and now she's gone and it's all my—

He couldn't do it.

He didn't know why she hadn't called after that day. Maybe she was still shaken up by what happened at city hall, maybe that anger was just a coping mechanism, and maybe she was somewhere out there trying to sleep at night but closing her eyes and just seeing burnt flesh.

Dick knew how that felt.

There was one contact on his phone that stayed silent. It was better that way.

LINEBREAK

When he wasn't at work or out on the rooftops, Dick sat at his dinner table, forcing down bites of food he could barely taste and staring at Perseus's sword.

He had left it on his kitchen counter when he initially got back and hadn't had the heart to move it after. It was the last thing he saw before jumping out of his window for patrol, and the first thing he saw when he returned.

The thought of parting with it made his stomach pool with dread. The right thing to do would be to return it to her family, give them back the only piece of her left. If only he knew where to find them.

Did Perseus's family even know what happened?

Were they just somewhere out there, waiting for a call from a daughter, a sister, a friend, that would never come?

Dick knew a lot about her. He knew a lot of favorites: color, ice cream flavor, body of water, animal, fish. He knew about much she had loved her friends, the mechanic from Texas and the genius architect that hadn't been named, though her descriptions and stories had been enough. He knew she had struggled in school, academically and socially, but teased him about his ease in both areas without even a hint of bitterness. He knew that there had been a few things in her life she still regretted, but that quitting her job to take up the mask wasn't one of them.

He still didn't know enough.

LINEBREAK

The thing about grief was that it often snuck in side by side with guilt, edges between the two blurring until the individual emotions were unrecognizable.

By the end of the fifth day was when Dick started to feel angry.

He returned from work at an hour much later than the scheduled end of his shift, slamming the door behind him in the process. He stalked into his bedroom, pulling off the tie and the rest of the uniform to change. The decorative badge that clipped to his shirt taunted him from the fabric on the bed, inscribed motto gleaming.

To protect and serve.

Dick averted his eyes and fled to the kitchen.

There was a brief knock on the door. Though he really didn't want to entertain it, he had nothing else to do for the rest of the night until patrol. Dick forced his feet to move and pulled it open.

It was Bruce, his face softening as he laid eyes on him. Dick knew he was analyzing everything he saw, but he hid it well, not breaking eye contact.

"Let us in, chum," he said.

Dick blinked, then looked down, to see Damian milling in Bruce's shadow, uncharacteristically silent. His brother picked up his head to meet his gaze.

"You have not returned our attempts to contact you," he scowled.

But deep behind the mask of irritation, Damian sounded sad, and almost hurt. He couldn't turn him away. Dick sighed and opened the door wider, letting them follow him inside.

"I don't want to talk," he said, even as he leaned against the counter to watch them.

Bruce's eyes flicked, to the sword behind him, but didn't comment on it.

"I think you should," the man said, making Dick's jaw twitch, "If it's not to me or any of your siblings, Dinah is always available—"

Dinah, overseeing Kai in the medical ward. Kai, sitting on that bed waiting for him and Perseus to return with good news. Perseus, who had helped set up the boy's room at her friend's garage. The friend, who Dick had no idea how to reach now that Perseus was gone.

"No," Dick snapped, instantly, "I can't—I don't need to talk to Dinah."

Damian stepped up, eyes flashing.

"Your cupboards are nearly bare, you are spending far more hours at the precinct than is considered healthy and you are returning from patrol just before sunrise," his brother snarled, "You cannot keep this up."

"It's only been five days," Dick glared at the ground, crossing his arms, "I'm allowed to grieve, aren't I?"

Nothing Damian had said was a lie, and maybe he was right, maybe he couldn't keep this up. But that day on the plane was still fresh in his mind, and every time he closed his eyes it felt like he was Perseus, sinking deeper and deeper. So if he wanted to keep them open, for as long as possible, until he stopped feeling like he was going to drown, then why wouldn't they let him?

"Dick," Bruce said, with that soft-firm voice he learned from Alfred.

Against his will, Dick looked up to his father.

Bruce sighed, just a brief exhale. "You are not grieving."

Dick's face twisted instantly, a bitter defensive feeling crawling up his throat. "I think know what this feels like. It's not like I haven't lost anyone before," he said, then pushed the next words out even though they felt like lies, "It'll pass."

"It's not something you get used to," Bruce replied, sounding more patient than Dick had ever heard him, "I know you're not grieving, because you're not letting yourself."

Dick's mouth went dry.

He couldn't argue, not in any way that mattered, not when Bruce was looking at him like that, like he understood. The worst part was that Dick knew he did.

Flicking his eyes down, because it was easier to stare at Bruce's shoes than see his damn eyes, opening up days of pushed-down thoughts. He pressed his lips together in a hard line, but an ugly feeling slithered up his throat and pried them open.

"It was my fault."

Dick's quiet words filled the room, seeping into the walls.

"Why?" Damian asked, utterly neutral.

"Didn't hit hard enough," Dick responded, as easily as he usually did to one of Bruce's report commands, "Timing on the tranquilizer was off. Went in without a backup plan. Brought her on the plane, even though I knew she hated flying. Didn't know it was enough to throw her off balance while fighting, but I should have just believed her. I told her, promised, that everything was gonna be fine. I broke that, and it's my fault that she's—"

"Stop."

Damian's hard voice made Dick's mouth snap shut. His brother was still a child, but sometimes, like now, his lips spreading thin, displeased at Dick's self-reproaching speech, it was easy to forget.

"Do you recall when Perseus and I sparred, and she knelt down to say something after my defeat?"

Bruce looked between them analytically, hearing about this for the first time, but didn't interrupt.

Dick nodded, even though it wasn't really a question.

"That sword of hers. She said it was modeled after a blade named Backbiter. That sword had a strict purpose to hurt. To punish, to kill. She named hers Soteria because she wanted to change that purpose. The name means—"

"Safety," Dick said, remembering his initial research, "And deliverance from harm, I know."

"And protection." Damian lifted his chin slightly. "You cannot say that it was your fault, that you forced her to do anything, because she was always going to fight."

Pressure built up behind Dick's eye sockets, even as he tried to blink it away.

"You barely even knew her, Dami," he said, blinking harder, "Why are you defending her?"

Damian sighed, his fingers twitching slightly before he pressed them down at his sides.

"Because," he said, somewhat stiffly, "Perseus also told me that I reminded her of the blade. Forged to kill, but taught to protect. She said my instincts were changing. That though I struggled as we sparred, she could see what I was trying to become."

Oh.

When Damian had said he would earn the sword from her, he didn't mean in battle, Dick realized. He wanted to prove himself worthy of wielding it. And Perseus believed him. She would've passed it down.

He remembered how she had spent the hour after their spar, teaching Damian maneuvers he had never seen, how his brother had allowed her to steer his limbs, eagerly lapping up every piece of advice she gave him.

He remembered how easily she had integrated into their little flock, how when Tim said the dent in Jason's helmet was because he had been dropped on his head as a child, Perseus had laughed so hard she needed to lean on Dick for support. How he had been of no help at all, and they had collapsed onto the rooftop together in a shaking tangle of limbs.

Dick's eyes welled with the tears he had been keeping at bay for five days. He felt Bruce's arms wrap around his body, tucking his head into his shoulder, and finally, Dick let himself grieve.

LINEBREAK

Percy woke with a strangled gasp, a shock of cold oxygen shooting down to her lungs.

Her eyes followed suit, peeling open in protest.

Everything was blue.

She blinked furiously, trying to make sense of her surroundings but it was all one big murky mess, shades of the color shifting rapidly, melting into each other. She found herself unable to move, unable to make sense of up and down. Her pulse quickened, but she couldn't feel the rise and fall of her chest.

Something dark entered her field of vision, pulsing closer and closer, almost like it was trying to reach out. Her eyes widened, and she tried to scramble away but nothing in her body listened to her commands. Despite her mental protests, a warm pressure settled on her chest, and suddenly everything snapped into place.

Her arms shot up in a delayed reaction, but once she saw who was in front of her, they fell back limply to her sides.

"You are going to give me grey hairs, Persephone."

Poseidon crossed his deeply tanned arms, dark brows set above a pair of eyes swirling with anger. His gleaming trident rested against the blue wall as the god withdrew to give her space.

"About time," Percy rasped, finally getting feeling back in her limbs. She reached a hand up to rub her throat as she spoke, the moisture returning to her mouth. "You're old as shit."

Her father's face flashed with irritation.

Percy ignored it, placing her hands on the bed she hadn't realized she was laying in to push up into a sitting position. Her arms wobbled for a moment, weak with misuse, but she managed.

Moments ago, when her eyes hadn't been able to focus, everything had looked blue. She realized now that that's because it was. The walls, the ceiling, the tiled floor, even the sheets on the bed. They were all draped in a hazy blue tint from the water that flowed through her father's palace.

Percy looked down at her body, still clothed in her suit, though the fabric surrounding her wound had been neatly clipped away. The skin underneath was new and smooth, and still slightly tender, she found, as she pressed hesitantly against it.

"Even with your heritage," Poseidon began, taking a deep breath to quell his ire, "You would not have survived, had you not broken the waves as you did."

"I have a degree in oceanography," Percy retorted, "I think I know what surface tension is."

The god clenched his jaw, and she knew somewhere on some beach, the waves were crashing down louder than usual, but she couldn't help the words coming out of her mouth.

"You fell nearly two and a half miles," he seethed, "You may have my blood running through your veins, but stray that far into the sky again, and the sea may not welcome you back with open arms."

"I feel fine though?" Percy said, furrowing her brows.

That was a lie. She felt like she had been sucked dry, of blood, of bones, of muscle, and everything else that gave her the strength to move. Her body was painfully empty, and she could do nothing but breathe and blink and press her limbs into the soft mattress.

"You have been unconscious for five days."

The chasm in her stomach instantly filled with cold dread.

"What?" she croaked, her voice faint.

That couldn't be. Five days? She had been here, rotting away in the palace for all that time?

"Our healers had to work overtime to keep you stable. The power you used to keep that beast alive, even through your unconscious state..."

Her father was giving some speech, pacing around the room, but Percy wasn't listening.

Nightwing. Oh gods, he was out there, probably thinking she was dead. She thought she was done putting her loved ones through this. She had done it enough times already and she knew what those reunions were like. Full of anger and disbelief and grief that didn't subside until long after her return. It didn't matter that she was back. They had spent enough time adjusting to her absence, getting used to not setting out that extra plate during meals, or cracking a joke and turning to empty air, expecting to hear her laugh.

She thought she'd hit the water, maybe float for an hour or two and then swim, stomach all healed up, to the site of the cargo plane floating in the ocean. Nightwing would gape for a second, then pull her out, give her a hug, and tell her not to do it again. Percy would respond by laughing and pointing to Blockbuster floating trapped in a bubble of water. Then they would go home together, with a story that made her smile sheepishly every time Nightwing retold it.

Instead, he had spent five days thinking her body had gone splat upon impact.

"...was nearly traumatized when he found you that deep down. You would not have been able to sustain that pocket of air for much longer, though why you did not let the beast drown is beyond my understanding..."

Five days wasn't long, in the grand scheme of things, but it was more than enough time to cause damage. She remembered Nightwing's face on the plane, twisting in horror at the thought of her shutting her eyes during her injury, thinking that she wouldn't be able to open them again. If he had been that distraught then, how was he doing now?

She had to fix it. She had to—

"...Persephone. Percy! Are you even listening to me?"

She snapped out of it, her eyes wide as she met Poseidon's gaze.

"Nope," Percy said, breathlessly, "I have to go, I have to get back to—"

"To what?" he asked, after she had abruptly cut herself off.

"Bludhaven," she said, stiffly.

"Bludhaven?" the god repeated, incredulous, "Your mother knows, by the way, though you did not care to ask. I informed her of your state when you were brought here and while she anxiously awaits your return, this is what you are thinking of?"

Percy blinked back the angry tears that had suddenly formed. That wasn't fair. How dare he imply she didn't consider her family at all, when that was exactly why she had done what she did.

If she had used those powers, the ones she kept locked down tight, how would they look at her? She had gone too far once before, and she remembered how long it had taken Annabeth to come to terms with it. She remembered how many nights Annabeth had dreamed of twisting poison, assuring Percy in the morning that it was all okay, that she knew Percy would never hurt her, but screaming in her sleep anyways.

She never wanted any of her loved ones to feel that way, again or ever.

"And then there is the matter of your attire," he said, switching topics and demeanor in the blink of an eye, "You did not see fit to inform me of your activities, so imagine my surprise when I entered the chamber to see that scrap of fabric covering your face."

Percy glanced to the bedside table, where her mask rested on the slab of marble, and felt her anger rise again, doubling in intensity.

"Why should I have to tell you every little thing about what I do?" she snapped, shifting into a more upright position, "It's not like you care that much about my personal life. I don't get why you're so pissed."

"Oh, for the love of the gods," Poseidon snapped back, taking in a deep calming breath and settling a hand on her leg, "I'm not angry with you. I'm worried, Percy. You keep doing things for other people and I'm concerned you are hurting yourself in the process."

Percy stopped, stunned.

She searched her father's face for any hint of a lie but came up empty. She wasn't used to this. He cared about her, she knew he did, but deep down she always believed it was a conditional thing. That a god's love for their children was never quite as pure as a mortal parent's could be. She always thought that the very nature of gods did not allow them to look at their kids in a way completely free of the benefits they might provide.

Even with Poseidon, who was far more benevolent than the other gods, she could never quite stop feeling like some kind of vintage chess piece. Cherished and taken care of but always ready to be placed back on the board.

"I like helping people," she mumbled, ducking her head because the weight of his gaze was too heavy and she did not know what to do with it, "I'm not gonna stop just because I might get hurt sometimes."

The god sighed, this time taking an actual seat on the bed, and Percy instinctively shifted her feet to give him space. It was beyond strange, the bedroom with its coral decorations and sea glass mosaics, and the way Poseidon sat stiffly on the soft covers, like he was afraid to get comfortable.

"I am not trying to stop you. I simply want you to place more care in yourself," he said, brows pulling together, "Perhaps you should not be doing this alone."

"I'm not," she blurted out, thrown off, then blushed.

Poseidon blinked.

"You were protecting someone," he realized, slowly, "On the plane."

"I—yes, actually," she replied, the thoughts of what she had subjected Nightwing to suddenly returning in full force, "And I really need to tell him that I'm not dead, so—"

"Him?"

Poseidon's eyes had narrowed, his mood swings giving her whiplash, but Percy supposed it came with the job of governing an entity as turbulent as the sea.

She opened her mouth, ready to spew something, and whether it was an irritated 'mind your business' or a blushing 'shut up', she had no idea, but it was interrupted.

Triton swam through the open archway at the end of the room and stopped a few feet away from her bed. He crossed his arms, looking every bit like their father, and glared intensely.

"What, are you here to yell at me too?" Percy rolled her eyes.

Triton's tail, enormous and riddled with various shades of blue scales, flicked irritably.

"Sister," he said coolly, and Percy prepared for a slew of meaningless scoldings, "As much as I would enjoy your demise, we have not yet watched the second installment in that vapid mermaid series of yours."

Percy blinked at him.

Triton glared back, harder.

"Get out." Poseidon closed his eyes briefly, "Just go—"

He pointed at the exit, but Triton didn't move, just kept flicking his tail and making that same stupid displeased face that Percy was going to punch off, as soon as her body started listening to her commands again.

Poseidon rubbed at creases in his forehead that should not have been there. He was immortal, capable of changing his appearance and age at will. He did not need to have wrinkles. Percy wondered just how dramatic her father was to conjure them on purpose, for that very action.

He snapped his fingers, a little glass vial appearing between his fingers.

"Drink this," he instructed, passing it over, "It'll give you enough energy to return but you will need to rest soon, and eat. The sea can only sustain you for so long."

Percy took it, eyeing it warily.

"It's not poison, is it?"

Poseidon threw his hands up, exasperated. "Why would I—"

But Percy was already downing the liquid in a hurry. "Tastes like it," she grimaced, hiding her growing nerves behind the expression.

It had only been five days and she was unconscious for all of them, but she missed Nightwing so much it ached. How would he react to her coming back from her supposed death? Red Hood had done it, and he was still standing so maybe Nightwing wouldn't be too angry.

She felt blood rush through her legs and immediately swung them over the edge of the bed to stand. Poseidon gripped her upper arm to steady her as she acclimated to the new position, before releasing his hold, letting her lean over to grab her mask.

"Take the beast," Triton snapped, as she stumbled past him, "I do not wish to house him any longer."

And even though Nightwing's face was all Percy could think about as she swam across the room, she still paused in the doorway to turn to her half-brother with a smirk.

"Thousands of years old and you still live with your parents?"

She watched Triton's face turn a familiar shade of purple, and Poseidon's hand clamped down on his shoulder to keep him from lunging at her.

Percy laughed to herself, but the amusement slowly waned as she propelled herself out of the palace with as much speed as her current state allowed. Guilt crawled up her throat, making her feel like she was choking, even as she took deep breaths of air under the water. She tugged her near-empty gut a little harder, thinking, for the first time, that would feel better once back on land.

LINEBREAK

That very night, after Bruce and Damian had left, Dick gathered all his nerves and went to the one place he had been avoiding all along.

He walked down the rickety wooden path and knelt, lowering his legs into the harbor. The water felt several degrees colder today, and maybe he was just that sad, but he couldn't help but chalk it up to Perseus's absence.

Something brushed by his toes, and he looked down to see a pair of fish swimming circles around him. A strangled laugh left his throat.

James and Lula. Or maybe Lula and James.

Perseus would have pointed out the difference, and then made fun of him for being unable to tell. He didn't need to memorize the shape of their fins or the pattern of their spots, because she liked talking about them and he knew she would explain every time. He should've tried a little harder.

Dick missed her so much it ached.

Tomorrow, he would go back to the cave and ask Tim's help in tracking down her family. He would go to every damn auto shop in Texas if he had to, to deliver the news personally and hand over the sword, though he selfishly hoped they would let him keep it. Maybe they would offer her identity and he would refuse out of professional courtesy. Maybe he would beg for her name, knowing that it would make him feel even worse.

But today, he just wanted to sit here with his feet in the ocean and let himself be sad. The ache in his chest was heavier, but this time, he embraced it, allowing it to glue his body to the dock.

Nearly an hour later, when the pressure had lessened, just a fraction, but enough to let him rise, Dick took one last look out to the dark stillness of the water and turned. He trudged back, wondering how many more visits it would take before standing up didn't hurt so much, but promising to give himself as many as he needed.

Just as his feet kissed concrete, he heard the wood creak.

Dick froze.

The second creak was undeniable.

He turned back, slowly, anger rising. This had been their spot. Not once had they seen another soul here, and now that it was his, someone had come to taint it.

There were two hands, clutching the edge of the wood. Dick watched as the body rose, forearms coming into view first, followed by a shock of dark hair.

It couldn't be.

The figure grunted, pushing the rest of the way. One knee came up, then the opposite foot, and with another burst of strength, they stood up, torso straightening.

Dick felt like he couldn't breathe.

Their knees buckled immediately, arms grabbing the closest thing they could reach.

"Oh shit," Perseus gasped, as her fingers found the one pole that they both knew didn't hold and toppled backward into the water with a loud splash.

Dick didn't think he had ever run so fast in his life. Skidding to a stop, he leaned his head over the edge, searching with a frantic hope that it hadn't all been a cruel figment of his imagination.

Perseus was treading her feet in the water, hair all splayed out across the surface, smiling nervously as she held her arm out.

"Help me up?"

Heart hammering, reaching down and half expecting for his fingers to pass through the illusion, Dick grasped her hand, and pulled. She stumbled again, but he leaned back and caught her as she sank into his chest, wrapping his arms around her back.

"Sorry," she mumbled, into his neck, "Haven't walked in days."

Dick didn't think there was a word for the noise that left his throat.

"You're real, right?" he asked faintly, and felt her grip on him tighten, "I'm not—I'm not making this up?"

It didn't make sense at all, asking the possible hallucination to confirm that she wasn't one, but this feeling of her arms squeezing around his torso, face pressed against his collarbone? Dick didn't think he could imagine it if he tried.

"I'm so sorry, I'm here," she said, weight dipping a little, but he held her steady, "I'm sorry, I wasn't supposed to pass out for that long."

He took a deep shuddering breath, taking in the familiar scent of the sea. It felt like Perseus was squeezing his heart so tight it would burst. His ribs still hadn't fully healed yet, and he could feel them ache, but Dick couldn't find it in him to care. She could do whatever she wanted to him at that moment, and he would let her.

"I don't care," he said, feeling his throat close up, "You came back."

When Dick removed his face from her hair, still not letting go of his arms, his cheeks were wet. Perseus unhooked one hand from his back, and he nearly protested, but she just brought it up and ran her thumb along the underside of his mask. Her lips pulled back in a soft smile that made his breath hitch.

"I don't understand," he whispered, "You fell, thirteen thousand feet. How did you survive? And why aren't you wet?"

That last question didn't seem as relevant as the first, but he realized now, gaze roaming her face like he was trying to memorize it, that she was utterly dry. The breeze blew easily into the strands of her hair, and Dick finally peeled one arm away to run his fingers through to make sure it was real.

"I'm good at swimming," she replied, voice faint as she tilted her head to watch his hand, fixated on the movement.

"Sef," Dick said, incredulous, making her look back to him, "That's not enough, I need to know how, so that I know you're here and it's not a trick, because I can't—

"Shit, I'm sorry, that wasn't—" she pursed her lips, face pulled tight in guilt, before it cleared. Then she tried to extract herself from his arms, but he didn't let her, shaking his head. Perseus huffed. "I'm not going anywhere, promise, I just wanna show you something."

They compromised on Dick holding her hand, as she raised her other one out to the ocean. He watched, with bated breath, as the water suddenly rippled out from a center point, like something had fallen in, then twisted, swirling down into itself.

"I can show you more, later, if you want, I'm just—tired right now," she turned her face back to him, grinning somewhat nervously, like she thought he was going to be angry with her.

Dick stared at the water for a moment, as it stopped spinning, smoothing out until it was all flat again. Perseus had done that. She had made it move, with nothing more than a twitch of her finger. She was bone-tired, he could feel it in the way she had sagged against him, and she had just created a whirlpool in the Bludhaven harbor. What was she capable of at full strength?

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier," she said, hesitantly, at his slightly parted mouth.

"I'm not mad that you didn't say anything about your powers, I don't care about that, just please," Dick breathed out, "Please don't do that again."

LINEBREAK

Nightwing stared at her, with a force she had never seen.

Percy wanted that mask gone. She wanted to see more than just the line of his mouth, set pleadingly as he gripped her hand, tugging her away from the edge of the dock and back to him.

She swallowed, not knowing if she could promise him that.

"I won't," she said, slowly, "Unless the only other option is worse."

Percy knew what would come next.

Nightwing searched her face. "Did you have that choice five days ago?"

If he wasn't clutching onto her like a lifeline, she might not have had the courage, but Nightwing had never been anything but accepting, and Percy had already put him through so much.

"Blood is mostly water," she said, miserably, looking down.

He let out a strangled sound, and she looked up, fearing the worst.

"You're alive," he whispered, like he still didn't fully believe it, "That's all I care about."

Percy's eyes widened. Nightwing was smart. She knew that with just that one sentence, she had told him exactly what she had the potential to do, that if she tried, she could twist the blood in someone's body the same way she had done to the harbor.

"But—"

"I mean it," he said, more insistent, "And that's not conditional on anything. I've done some horrible things too. I get it. If you don't want to use that part of your power, I'll do whatever I can to make sure you never feel like you have to, but, Sef, if it comes down to you or some psycho villain, I'm gonna choose you every time."

Percy felt her eyes well with tears. Why was she crying? He's the one who thought she was dead for gods' sake. She rubbed her face with her hand, trying to erase the evidence, forgetting that her mask covered most of it and she had only just given herself away.

"And I'm sorry," he continued, "For what happened on the plane and for bringing you up there—"

"What?" Percy stopped, looking at him incredulously, "Are you trying to apologize for my stupid plan?"

"You tried to apologize for being unconscious not even twenty minutes ago," he shot back, but she ignored it.

"That wasn't your fault," she nearly cried out, grasping his shoulders, "None of that was on you! You didn't bring me anywhere, Wing, I climbed in first, for god's sake. Even if I knew all along that I would have had to jump out, I still would've gone up. I'm the one who's sorry."

She watched Nightwing's throat bob, and he leaned forward to touch his forehead to hers, exactly like he had done five days ago.

"No more apologies, okay?" he murmured, "It's been a long week. I'm just—glad you're here."

Percy's fingers tightened around his shoulders. "Yeah, okay." She swallowed. "Me too."

They stayed like that for another few seconds, before Percy's stomach growled loudly, and he picked his head back up with narrowed eyes.

"We're getting you something to eat."

The tips of her ears turned pink. "I want ice cream."

Nightwing stared at her. "Of course you do," he sighed, then shook his head with a ghost of a smile. "Whatever you want."

"By the way," Percy said, remembering the constant pressure in her stomach just as they were about to leave, "I brought back a present."

"Oh really?" he raised an eyebrow, "Did you stop to pick me up a seashell or something?"

Percy turned, making plans to next time do exactly that, and pulled on her gut one last time. A few feet beyond the dock, Blockbuster's unconscious body floated up, the small bubble of air around his face breaking at the surface.

Nightwing gaped in surprise, staring at him for several long seconds. Finally, he closed his jaw and looked her in the eye.

"Do they take returns?"

Percy spluttered.

"I went through so much effort, so that I didn't drown him and you—you're being so ungrateful—"

Nightwing laughed, smiling wide for the first time that night, and Percy stared, transfixed by the expression, as he leaned forward and engulfed her in another bone-crushing hug. She melted into it, feeling his cheek settle against the side of her head. He shifted, and he might have pressed a kiss into her hair, but she also might have been half-delirious with warmth and exhaustion.

There were so many other things that still needed to be said, so many secrets that she wanted to share, so many confessions that lay waiting on her tongue, but for now, Percy just hugged him back, knowing that whatever happened, they were going to be okay.

A.N.

Omg I really hope this chapter lived up to the cliffhanger <3

okay, so a couple things:

Dick has so many goddamn questions because Percy's little whirlpool stunt, while cool, actually explained next to nothing but he's holding them in because they're both exhausted.

the fact that dick and percy don't outright acknowledge to themselves that they're in love with each other in this chapter is on purpose, because I like the way the angst revolves around the other as 'a person they love' before 'a person they're in love with'. That being said,,,, the latter will be addressed soon

percy and triton are everything to me. do they like each other ? not really. do they love each other ? absolutely not. are they siblings anyways ? yes.