The thing about social media—and Percy was discovering this with the particular horror that came from realizing your life was now public entertainment—was that it had *opinions*. Many, many opinions. Most of them loud.
"Stop looking at Twitter," Mera said from the kitchen, where she was attempting to understand the concept of breakfast cereal. "It's making your eye twitch."
"My eye is not twitching."
"Your eye is absolutely twitching. You've been scrolling for twenty minutes and your stress levels are visible from across the room."
Percy set his phone down—reluctantly, like separating from a disaster you couldn't stop watching—and rubbed his temples. "The Justice League has a PR team."
"Yes. You knew this. Diana mentioned it during orientation."
"I knew it intellectually. I didn't understand it *experientially*. There's a difference." Percy gestured at his phone with the kind of helpless frustration usually reserved for natural disasters. "They've created social media accounts for us. Official accounts. With verified checkmarks. And bios written in third person like we're brands instead of people."
Mera abandoned her cereal investigation—the milk-to-flakes ratio was apparently a complex philosophical problem—and joined him on the couch. "Show me."
Percy pulled up the accounts with the resignation of someone showing evidence of their own public humiliation.
**@RiptideJL** - *Official account of Riptide, Justice League member. Hydrokinetic hero protecting Coast City and beyond. Tweets managed by JL Communications Team.*
The profile picture was him in his armor—not the full nightmare version, but enough to look dramatic. Heroic. The kind of image that suggested "powerful protector" rather than "traumatized disaster held together with spite and poor coping mechanisms."
"That's—actually a good photo," Mera said. "Very heroic. Strong jawline. Mysterious shadows. You look like you'd save people competently."
"I look like a recruitment poster."
"Same thing." She scrolled through the account's first posts—all dated from yesterday, all carefully crafted by people whose job was making heroes look good.
**@RiptideJL:** *Honored to join the Justice League alongside @CascadeJL. Looking forward to protecting Coast City and supporting the team's mission. #JusticeLeague #NewHeroes #CoastCity*
The tweet had 47,000 likes. Forty-seven *thousand*. And the replies—
Percy watched Mera's expression shift from curious to amused to concerned as she scrolled.
"Oh," she said. "Oh, people have *thoughts*."
"Keep reading. It gets worse."
**@SuperheroNews:** *BREAKING: Justice League announces two new members - Riptide and Cascade. Both hydrokinetic specialists based in Coast City. Full report: [link]*
**@RandomCitizen1:** *New heroes look cool but do we NEED two water people? How many hydrokinetics does one planet require???*
**@OceanEnthusiast:** *NEED?? We NEED as many water heroes as possible! Ocean covers 71% of Earth! This is proportional representation! #TeamRiptide*
**@ConspiracyCorner:** *Interesting timing that two "new" hydrokinetic heroes appear right after that incident in Atlantis. What's the League not telling us about underwater politics? 🤔*
**@MarinebiologyStudent:** *Okay but Riptide's powers shown in the debut footage?? He TALKED to that sea creature. Like actually communicated. That's not standard hydrokinesis. What IS he?*
**@CascadeFanClub:** *This account has existed for less than 24 hours but we're already 2000 strong. Cascade is INCREDIBLE. Did you see her water constructs? The precision? The power? We stan a hydrokinetic queen.*
**@SkepticalReporter:** *JL provides almost no background on either hero. No public records before this week. Where did they come from? Why now? What are they hiding?*
Mera handed the phone back to Percy. "The internet is—enthusiastic."
"The internet is *invasive*. They're—they're analyzing everything. Every movement. Every power demonstration. People have made *fan clubs*. You have a fan club, Mera. It's been one day. How is there already a fan club?"
"I'm very fan-club-worthy. This isn't surprising." But her expression suggested she was equally overwhelmed, just hiding it better. "What does your fan situation look like?"
Percy switched to his mentions—which he'd been avoiding, because nothing good ever came from reading what strangers thought about you.
**@RiptideSuperfan:** *I would die for Riptide. That armor? That cape made of SHADOWS? The way he talks to sea creatures? Precious murder son. Protected. #RiptideProtectionSquad*
"'Precious murder son,'" Percy read aloud. "I'm being called a precious murder son. Is that—is that a compliment?"
"In internet culture? Yes. It means they find you endearing despite their obvious capacity for violence."
"That's disturbing."
"That's fandom. Keep reading."
**@PowerAnalysis:** *Thread on Riptide's demonstrated abilities: 1) Hydrokinesis (obvious) 2) Marine communication (unique!) 3) Shadow manipulation?? 4) That ARMOR. Where did the armor come from? It manifested from nowhere. That's not water powers. What else can he do?*
**@GothamResident:** *Riptide gives me Batman vibes but like... wetter. And possibly more stabby. Same energy of "don't make me come over there or you'll regret it."*
**@MetropolisDaily:** *Superman speaks highly of new recruit Riptide: "He showed remarkable compassion during his trial mission. Chose communication over combat. That's exactly what we look for in League members."*
**@WonderWomanFan:** *Diana training with Riptide and Cascade = content we DESERVE. When's the footage dropping? We need to see demigod sparring. For research. Important research.*
**@CoastCityLocal:** *Okay but these new heroes are based HERE? In Coast City? We have our own League members now? This is the best day. Green Lantern + Riptide + Cascade = Coast City protection squad!*
Percy kept scrolling—partly because he couldn't stop, partly because understanding public perception felt important, mostly because his anxiety demanded he consume every possible opinion about himself until his brain short-circuited.
The fan response was—mixed. Enthusiastic from some quarters, suspicious from others, analytically obsessive from still others. People were making art (already! after one day!), writing speculative background stories, analyzing his combat style frame-by-frame from the limited footage available.
Someone had made a compilation video titled *"Riptide being a gentle ocean disaster for 5 minutes straight"* that had 200,000 views and showed him talking to the sea creature, looking uncomfortable during official photographs, and generally exhibiting what the comments called "soft murder energy."
"I don't have soft murder energy," Percy protested.
"You absolutely have soft murder energy. You're terrifying but also clearly trying very hard to be nice. That's peak soft murder energy."
"That's not a real thing."
"It's a real thing that describes you perfectly." Mera took his phone—gently but firmly—and set it face-down on the table. "Percy, stop reading. You're going to drive yourself crazy analyzing every random person's opinion."
"I survived a century in Tartarus. I can handle internet comments."
"Those are different kinds of attacks. Tartarus tried to kill your body. Social media tries to kill your sense of self. One's more insidious."
"That's—actually very insightful."
"I'm occasionally wise. It's one of my better qualities." Mera pulled him up from the couch. "Come on. You have a college orientation in two hours. You need to shower, change, and practice looking like a normal student rather than a walking anxiety attack."
"I am a normal student."
"You're a demigod who survived literal hell and joined the Justice League. You're many things. Normal is not one of them."
---
Coast City University's campus sprawled across what had once been industrial waterfront—repurposed, revitalized, turned into the kind of academic space that architecture magazines described as "award-winning integration of urban and natural environments" and students described as "pretty but confusing to navigate."
Percy stood at the main entrance, staring at his campus map with the focused intensity of someone trying to decode ancient prophecies.
"Building C," he muttered. "Where the fuck is Building C? I've found Buildings A, B, and D. C is apparently existing in a quantum state of both here and not-here."
"Language," Mera said mildly, though she was equally confused by the map. "We're supposed to be wholesome college students now. Wholesome college students don't curse at campus maps."
"Wholesome college students haven't spent a century in hell developing creative profanity as a coping mechanism."
"Fair point."
They were both dressed in what Batman's research had identified as "appropriate casual student attire"—which meant jeans, comfortable shirts, backpacks that looked lived-in rather than new. Percy's camp necklace hung visible outside his shirt, the five clay beads marking years he'd lost. His crystal pendant was tucked beneath, hidden, pulsing against his chest like a second heartbeat.
"Excuse me?"
Percy turned to find a student approaching—a young woman, maybe twenty, wearing a CCU Marine Biology sweatshirt and carrying approximately seven textbooks like she was training for an academic weightlifting competition.
"Are you guys looking for Building C? Because it's—" She gestured vaguely behind her. "—it's weirdly hidden behind Building B. The architecture is deliberately confusing. I think the designer had opinions about spatial relationships that made sense to exactly one person. Themselves."
"Thank you," Mera said warmly. "We're new. Everything is confusing."
"New students or new transfers?"
"New—" Percy paused, trying to remember his fabricated backstory. "—transfers. Both of us. I'm Percy, this is Mera."
"Kaitlyn. Marine bio major, junior year, already dead inside from organic chemistry." She shifted her textbook stack and offered a hand. "You guys have marine bio too?"
"Yes," Percy said, shaking her hand carefully—always conscious of his strength, always afraid of breaking things accidentally. "Both of us. First semester."
"Oh, fresh blood. Excellent. Welcome to the program. Prepare to learn more about fish than you ever wanted to know and develop strong opinions about proper data collection methodology." Kaitlyn started walking, clearly expecting them to follow. "What made you pick CCU? Most marine bio people go to San Diego or Santa Barbara."
"The bay access," Mera said, improvising smoothly. "We wanted hands-on field experience with diverse marine ecosystems. Coast City's harbor provides unique opportunities for—"
"For studying, yeah, makes sense." Kaitlyn navigated through a cluster of students with practiced ease. "Though heads up—the bay's been weird lately. Some kind of marine disturbance last week. A big creature came up from deep water, nearly destroyed the waterfront."
Percy and Mera exchanged glances.
"Did they catch it?" Percy asked carefully.
"Nah, it just—left. Some heroes showed up. New Justice League people, apparently. Riptide and Cascade?" Kaitlyn's expression suggested mild interest but not obsession. "A bunch of people filmed it. They didn't fight the creature though. Just—I don't know, convinced it to go home? Very weird. Very cool. I wish I'd been there."
"You—" Percy stopped himself before saying something that would've exposed his identity. "You wanted to see a giant sea creature attacking the city?"
"I'm a marine bio major. Of course I wanted to see it. Do you know how rare close encounters with deep-sea megafauna are? That was a once-in-a-lifetime research opportunity." Kaitlyn sighed wistfully. "But I was in the library studying for my ichthyology exam like a responsible student. Very disappointing."
They reached Building C—which was indeed hidden behind Building B in a way that suggested deliberate architectural malice—and Kaitlyn led them inside.
"Most freshman and transfer marine bio classes are on the second floor. The third floor is research labs—you'll get access to those sophomore year if you don't die from course load first. The fourth floor is professors' offices and the place where grad students go to cry."
"That's very specific," Mera observed.
"I've spent time on the fourth floor. It's earned its reputation." Kaitlyn stopped at a bulletin board covered in flyers. "This is the marine bio hub. Study groups, research opportunities, club meetings—everything gets posted here. I highly recommend joining at least one study group. Organic chem will murder you without support."
Percy examined the board—a colorful chaos of opportunities and deadlines and social events that would've overwhelmed him if he wasn't already overwhelmed by everything else.
**Marine Bio Study Group—Mondays 7PM, Library Room 204**
**Coastal Ecology Club—First meeting Thursday!**
**Research Assistant Positions Available—Contact Dr. Martinez**
**Beach Cleanup Saturday—Volunteer hours count toward field experience!**
And then, prominently displayed:
**JUSTICE LEAGUE WATCH PARTY—TONIGHT 8PM, Student Center. Discuss Riptide & Cascade debut. Pizza provided.**
"Oh hell," Percy muttered.
"What?" Kaitlyn looked where he was looking. "Oh, yeah, people are very excited about the new heroes. There's been like three watch parties already analyzing their powers, speculating about their backgrounds. Coast City finally has its own League representatives, you know? Green Lantern's great but he's galactic. These new ones are *local*. It's different."
"Are you—are you going to the watch party?" Mera asked carefully.
"Maybe? I'm curious about their hydrokinetic abilities. The footage shows some really unique applications of water manipulation. Could be interesting from a scientific perspective." Kaitlyn checked her phone. "But I also have organic chem homework that's trying to kill me, so. Competing priorities."
"Choose homework," Percy said quickly. "Definitely choose homework. The watch party will—will just be people speculating. Not actually educational."
"Probably true." Kaitlyn shifted her textbooks again. "Anyway, I've got class in ten minutes. Welcome to CCU. Try not to die from academic pressure. If you need anything, I'm usually in the library looking progressively more unhinged as the semester continues."
She left with a wave, disappearing into the stream of students flowing through the building.
Percy and Mera stood alone in the corridor, watching people pass—normal students living normal lives, unaware that two of them were Justice League members having an identity crisis about watch parties.
"We're going to the watch party," Mera said.
"Absolutely not."
"We have to. For reconnaissance. To understand how people perceive us. To—" She grinned. "—to torture ourselves by watching strangers analyze our every move. It'll be character building."
"That's the worst reasoning I've ever heard."
"But you're going to agree anyway because you're curious and also because sitting in our apartment anxious about public perception is worse than confronting it directly."
"I hate that you're right."
"I'm always right. It's exhausting being this correct constantly."
They found their orientation session—Freshman Transfer Welcome, Room 207—and joined approximately thirty other students who looked varying degrees of excited, nervous, and like they'd rather be literally anywhere else.
The professor leading orientation—Dr. Sarah Chen, according to her name tag—was maybe forty, with the kind of enthusiastic energy that suggested either genuine passion for education or really excellent coffee. Possibly both.
"Welcome!" she said as the last few students trickled in. "Welcome to Coast City University's Marine Biology program. You're about to spend the next several years learning why the ocean is simultaneously the most fascinating and most terrifying thing on this planet."
A few nervous laughs.
"I'm Dr. Chen. I teach invertebrate biology and marine ecology. I'll be your advisor for your first semester, which means I get to help you navigate course selection, degree requirements, and the general chaos of university life." She pulled up a presentation. "Let's start with the basics. Who here can tell me why they chose marine biology?"
Hands went up. Students offered reasons: "I love the ocean." "I want to work in conservation." "Fish are cool." "My parents said I needed a major and this seemed less boring than accounting."
Dr. Chen nodded at each response, clearly used to the spectrum from passionate to pragmatic.
"And you two?" She looked directly at Percy and Mera, who'd been trying to be invisible in the back row. "The transfer students. What brings you to marine bio?"
Percy's mind went blank. Completely, utterly blank. All his carefully prepared backstory fled, leaving only panic and the truth he absolutely couldn't say.
Mera saved him: "We're both passionate about marine conservation and ecosystem protection. We've spent significant time working with ocean environments and want to develop scientific expertise to complement our practical experience."
"Practical experience?" Dr. Chen asked, interested.
"We've done volunteer work with marine rescue and habitat restoration." Mera delivered this with such smooth confidence that Percy almost believed it himself. "But we realized we needed formal education to have real impact. To understand the science behind conservation work."
"That's excellent. That practical background will serve you well." Dr. Chen made a note. "Most students come in with theoretical interest but limited hands-on experience. You'll find the field work easier because of your foundation."
The presentation continued—course requirements, research opportunities, career paths. Percy tried to pay attention but kept getting distracted by the window, which showed the bay. His bay. His father's domain. The water called to him with that constant gentle pull, reminding him that he belonged there more than he belonged in classrooms.
*But Annabeth wanted me to finish my education*, he thought. *Wanted me to have normal life experiences. College is normal. I can do normal things.*
Maybe if he repeated it enough times, he'd believe it.
---
The orientation lasted two hours—comprehensive, thorough, and exactly the kind of information overload that made Percy's ADHD brain want to escape through the nearest window.
"That was a lot," he said as they finally escaped into the hallway.
"That was normal," Mera corrected. "Welcome to academic life. It's all information density and deadlines and pretending you understand statistics."
"I'm going to fail statistics."
"You survived Tartarus through pattern recognition and strategic thinking. Statistics is just applied pattern recognition with numbers. You'll be fine."
"That's not how statistics works."
"It's how everything works if you're creative enough about definitions."
They grabbed lunch at the student center—which was surreal on multiple levels, sitting in a cafeteria eating reasonably priced food while students around them discussed normal things like assignments and relationships and weekend plans.
No one was discussing life-or-death combat. No one was strategizing survival. No one was calculating threat vectors or planning escape routes.
It was aggressively, overwhelmingly normal.
Percy hated how much he loved it.
"We should go to the watch party tonight," Mera said, stabbing at her salad with more force than strictly necessary. "I know you don't want to. I also don't want to. But we need to understand our public image. Need to know what narratives people are building about us."
"Batman probably has a detailed social media analysis already. We could just ask him."
"Batman's analysis tells us what people are saying. Attending the watch party tells us how people *feel*. There's a difference."
Percy thought about that. About the difference between data and emotion. About understanding not just the facts of public perception but the underlying sentiment.
"Fine," he said. "We'll go. But if it's terrible—"
"Then we leave. Obviously. We have League comms now. We can fake an emergency if necessary."
"Is faking emergencies good superhero behavior?"
"It's excellent self-preservation behavior. Which is a prerequisite for superhero behavior." Mera finished her salad and checked her phone. "We have three hours before the watch party. Want to explore the campus? Figure out where your classes actually are so you don't get lost on day one?"
"That's—yeah. That's smart. Let's do that."
They spent the afternoon mapping routes—Building C to Building A for Monday's classes, Building D for Tuesday lab, the library for inevitable studying. Percy committed layouts to memory the way he'd once committed escape routes, because some habits died hard and paranoia had kept him alive too many times to abandon it now.
The campus was beautiful—all modern architecture integrated with natural spaces, courtyards with trees, pathways that wound between buildings in ways that encouraged community but also provided multiple exits. Percy approved of the design, even if his approval was based on tactical considerations that had nothing to do with aesthetics.
At 7:45, they returned to their apartment to change.
"What do we wear to a watch party about ourselves?" Percy asked, staring at his limited wardrobe like it held answers. "Is there proper attire for watching strangers analyze your trauma responses?"
"Casual. Comfortable. Forgettable." Mera was already dressed—jeans, soft sweater, hair pulled back. She looked like any other college student, which was probably the point. "We want to blend. Observe without being observed."
Percy managed jeans and a hoodie—his go-to disguise for "please don't look at me, I'm just a normal disaster"—and they walked to campus together as the sun set over Coast City.
The student center was busier than during lunch—evening activities bringing people together for movies, games, study groups, and apparently superhero watch parties. They followed signs to the main common area, where someone had set up a projector and approximately forty students had gathered on couches, bean bags, and floor space.
True to advertising, there was pizza. A lot of pizza.
Percy and Mera grabbed seats in the back—far enough from the screen to not be obvious, close enough to hear commentary.
"Alright!" A student—tall, enthusiastic, wearing a Justice League t-shirt that featured Superman prominently—stood at the front. "Welcome to our Riptide and Cascade analysis party. I'm Marcus, I organized this because I'm obsessed with the League and these new members are *fascinating*."
Cheers from the assembled students.
"So!" Marcus pulled up footage on the projector—the marina incident, filmed from multiple angles by civilians with phones. "Let's break down what we know. Riptide and Cascade. Hydrokinetic specialists. Based in Coast City. Joined the League this week after what Diana called 'exceptional demonstration of capability.' Let's analyze."
The footage played—Percy watched himself talking to the sea creature, watched Mera create water constructs, watched them work together to build that massive wave.
"Okay, first observation," a student called out. "Riptide talks to the creature. Like, actually *communicates*. That's not standard hydrokinesis. That's marine telepathy or something equally wild."
"Yeah, but who's Riptide? Where's he from? The League provided basically zero background."
"Probably classified," Marcus said. "Most heroes have secret identities for safety reasons. What we know: hydrokinetic, can communicate with marine life, clearly has combat training based on his stance and movement. Also—" He paused the footage at a frame showing Percy's face, profile partially visible beneath his helmet. "—he's young. Like, our age young. Maybe mid-twenties at most."
Percy felt Mera's hand find his under the table, squeezing gently.
"And Cascade," a student in the front said. "Let's talk about Cascade. Her water manipulation is *insane*. Did you see those constructs? The precision? That's master-level control."
Marcus pulled up different footage—Mera's demonstration during training, somehow leaked (probably by Batman for PR purposes). "She's technically perfect. Everything she does is efficient, controlled, powerful. Textbook hydrokinetic form."
"Where did she train?" someone asked.
"Unknown. But somewhere with serious credentials. That's not self-taught power. That's decades of formal instruction."
"She looks young too though," another student observed. "How does someone our age have decades of training?"
"Maybe she started as a kid? Child prodigy situation?"
"Or she's older than she looks? Some heroes age differently."
Percy watched them speculate, analyzing every detail of Mera's presentation like archaeological evidence of some lost civilization.
"They work well together," Marcus continued. "See how they coordinate? Riptide creates the overall strategy, Cascade provides precision execution. That's partnership. That's people who've trained together extensively."
"Or people who just naturally sync," someone suggested. "Sometimes power sets just—work together. Complementary abilities."
"Could be both."
The discussion continued—wild speculation mixed with accurate observation, people building narratives from limited information. They noticed Percy's tendency to favor non-violent solutions. They noticed Mera's tactical awareness. They noticed the way they moved around each other with practiced ease.
What they didn't notice—what they couldn't see—was the trauma, the fear, the desperate attempt to be something good despite every instinct screaming that they were dangerous.
"Can we talk about Riptide's armor?" a student said. "Because that appeared from *nowhere*. I mean, hhe's wearing scale armor that looks like it was assembled from nightmares. Where did that come from?"
"Probably some kind of summoning ability. Like Wonder Woman's armor."
"Wonder Woman's armor is magical. We don't know if Riptide's is magical or technological or what."
"It's made of *scales*," someone else said. "Like, actual scales from something. You can see the texture in the high-res footage. What is that?"
Percy felt his throat tighten. They were so close. So close to understanding what he was, what he'd done, what he'd become.
"Could be synthetic," Marcus said. "Advanced materials designed to look organic. Or it could be actual monster remains if he's been fighting long enough to accumulate components."
"That's dark."
"Most heroes are dark if you think about it too long. We just don't talk about it."
The watch party continued for another hour—people analyzing fighting styles, speculating about backgrounds, debating whether Coast City was lucky or cursed to have two powerful heroes suddenly based there.
The general consensus seemed to be: cautiously optimistic. Grateful for protection. Deeply curious about who they were beneath the masks and powers.
No one guessed.
No one even came close to the truth.
As the party wound down and students dispersed—some to study, others to continue discussions in smaller groups—Percy and Mera slipped away quietly, walking back to their apartment through Coast City's evening streets.
"That was surreal," Percy said quietly.
"That was necessary," Mera countered. "We needed to know. Now we do."
"They think we're mysteries. Powerful but uncertain. Dangerous but hopefully not hostile."
"That's an accurate assessment based on available data." Mera pulled her jacket tighter—the night air cooling as they moved closer to the bay. "Percy, they're trying to understand us. That's natural. Human. We're new variables in their world and humans always try to understand new variables."
"I don't want to be a variable. I want to be a person."
"You are a person. Being a variable doesn't change that." She stopped, turning to face him under a streetlight. "But Percy—you're also a hero now. Whether you feel like one or not. Whether you think you deserve that title or not. People look to you. People count on you. That's—that's what being a member of the Justice League means."
Percy looked at her—really looked—and saw his own uncertainty reflected back. Two people trying desperately to be something they weren't sure they could be. Two people choosing hope despite every reason to choose fear.
"We start classes Monday," he said quietly. "Real classes. With homework and deadlines and professors who'll expect us to show up and contribute like normal students."
"Yes."
"While also being Justice League members who might get called to fight cosmic threats at any moment."
"Also yes."
"This is insane."
"This is our life now." Mera took his hand, lacing their fingers together. "We're college students and superheroes and Atlantean representatives and two people trying to figure out what normal even means. We're all of it. Simultaneously. It's complicated."
"I hate complicated things."
"You love complicated things. You just don't love admitting you love complicated things."
They walked the rest of the way home in comfortable silence, two heroes trying to be people, two people trying to be heroes, the distinction between them becoming harder to define with each passing day.
Their apartment welcomed them back—small, furnished, theirs. Percy dropped onto their couch (their couch! they owned furniture!) and Mera settled beside him, pulling out her laptop to finalize her class schedule.
"Marine biology," she muttered, clicking through options. "Oceanography. Chemistry. Statistics that will probably murder me. That's—that's a life. That's a normal college student life."
"Nothing about us is normal."
"Then we'll be abnormal together." She closed her laptop and leaned against him. "Percy?"
"Yeah?"
"Are you okay? Really okay? Not 'I'm functional' okay, but actually okay?"
Percy thought about it. About the watch party and social media and public perception. About starting college in three days. About being Justice League provisional members with all the responsibility that entailed.
About Annabeth and her voice in his dreams telling him to *live*.
"I'm—getting there," he said quietly. "Not okay yet. But getting there. One day at a time. One class at a time. One mission at a time."
"That's good enough." Mera's hand found his. "That's more than good enough. That's actually really brave."
They sat together as Coast City settled into the night around them, two heroes learning to be people, two people learning to be heroes, the city lights spreading below them like promises of tomorrow.
Monday would bring classes and new challenges and the continued attempt at normalcy.
But tonight—tonight they could rest.
Tonight they could just be Percy and Mera, sitting on their couch in their apartment, trying to figure out how to be both powerful and human simultaneously.
It wasn't perfect.
But it was theirs.
And for now—for tonight—that was enough.
—
The Batcave's central holographic display cast blue-white light across Bruce Wayne's face as he reviewed footage for the forty-seventh time. Not the public videos—those were useful for understanding perception, less useful for tactical analysis. No, these were the assessment recordings. Training Room Seven. Full sensor array. Every power manifestation catalogued in excruciating detail.
"Computer, replay segment fourteen. Slow motion, focus on shadow manifestation."
The display obliged. Percy's armor materialized frame by frame—shadows coalescing from nothing, scales appearing in sequence, each one carrying textures that the sensors identified as organic origin but couldn't properly classify. The cape formed last, an absence of light that moved independently of wind or gravity.
Bruce made notes in his contingency file—already thirty-seven pages and growing.
**RIPTIDE - THREAT ASSESSMENT**
*Primary Capabilities:*
- Hydrokinesis (divine-level, instinctive rather than trained)
- Marine communication (unknown mechanism, possibly telepathic)
- Shadow manipulation (source: corrupted divine magic, Nyx-aligned)
- Combat proficiency (century of experience, multiple fighting styles)
- Armor summoning (constructed from defeated opponents, psychological significance)
*Vulnerabilities:*
- Emotional instability (PTSD, survivor's guilt, attachment issues)
- Hesitant to use full power (fear of losing control)
- Strong moral code (exploitable in hostage scenarios)
- Dependent on water proximity for optimal performance
- Mental shields indicate previous psychic trauma (vulnerable to specific telepathic attacks)
The footage shifted to Percy's spar with Diana. Bruce watched the precise moment Percy stopped holding back—the change in body language, the way his movements became predatory rather than defensive. The blade at Diana's throat had been positioned with perfect lethality. Controlled, but unmistakably lethal.
"He knows exactly how to kill," Bruce muttered. "Hundreds of ways. Thousands. And he's choosing not to. That's both reassuring and concerning."
He pulled up Mera's assessment next.
**CASCADE - THREAT ASSESSMENT**
*Primary Capabilities:*
- Hydrokinesis (master-level technical skill, formally trained)
- Water state manipulation (ice, steam, pressure variations)
- Combat applications (offensive and defensive, creative problem-solving)
- Tactical awareness (high intelligence, strategic thinking)
- Social manipulation (skilled at reading people, diplomatic training)
*Vulnerabilities:*
- Limited combat experience (trained but not tested in real danger)
- Emotionally invested in Riptide (exploitable)
- Physically vulnerable outside water-rich environments
- Overconfident in technical abilities
- No demonstrated resistance to mental attacks
"Together they're formidable," Bruce said to the empty cave. "Separately they're manageable. The key is separation."
**CONTINGENCY PLAN: RIPTIDE**
*Scenario: Riptide becomes hostile/compromised*
*Step 1: Isolate from water sources*
- Deploy atmospheric dehumidifiers (prototype in development)
- Engage in arid environment if possible
- Martian Manhunter creates psychic barrier preventing water sensing
*Step 2: Disable shadow manipulation*
- High-intensity UV flooding (shadows require darkness)
- Flash generates light-speed barrier (shadows can't form in perpetual illumination)
- Green Lantern constructs contain shadow manifestations
*Step 3: Neutralize divine abilities*
- Wonder Woman engages in combat (divine vs divine, roughly equal)
- Use Nth metal weapons (disrupts divine magic)
- Last resort: Kryptonite-adjacent substance in development specifically for divine entities
*Step 4: Psychological approach*
- Mera used as leverage (will surrender to prevent her harm)
- Mention Annabeth (triggers emotional vulnerability)
- Appeal to heroic nature (still present despite trauma)
Bruce paused, staring at Step 4. It felt wrong. Manipulative in ways that crossed lines he didn't enjoy crossing.
But necessary.
"Computer, add note: Psychological tactics only as absolute last resort. Riptide has earned trust. These contingencies are for catastrophic scenarios only."
He pulled up footage of Percy talking to the sea creature. The gentleness. The patience. Someone that powerful choosing communication over violence.
"You're trying so hard," Bruce said quietly to the frozen image. "I see it. I recognize it. Someone who's been broken and is desperately trying not to become what broke them."
He'd been that person once. After his parents. After Jason. After every loss that had carved pieces from his soul and left him wondering if he was still Bruce Wayne or just Batman wearing a human costume.
"You're going to make mistakes," Bruce continued, speaking to no one. "Everyone does. The question is whether those mistakes will be survivable. Whether we can help you through them before they become catastrophes."
**CONTINGENCY PLAN: CASCADE**
*Scenario: Cascade becomes hostile/compromised*
Bruce typed quickly. Mera was easier to plan for—powerful but inexperienced, her patterns predictable from formal training. Remove water access, engage at range, use superior experience to overwhelm.
But then he added another section.
**CONTINGENCY PLAN: BOTH COMPROMISED**
This was the nightmare scenario. Two hydrokinetics working in concert, one with raw divine power, one with technical mastery. Near any significant water source, they could be catastrophic.
"Step 1: Evacuate civilians from coastal areas. Step 2: Engage with full League response. Step 3..."
Bruce stopped typing.
Looked at the screen.
These were children. Traumatized children—well, Percy was technically 27 according to fabricated documents but emotionally still the 17-year-old who'd fallen into Tartarus—trying desperately to do good. And he was here, in the dark, planning how to stop them if they failed.
"This is why they don't trust me," he muttered.
But trust wasn't the point. Preparation was the point. Protection was the point. The League had lost members to corruption, mind control, divine influence. Being prepared to stop compromised allies wasn't paranoia—it was responsibility.
His comm chimed. Diana.
"Bruce, are you still at the Cave?"
"Yes."
"It's 3 AM. You've been there for six hours. Whatever contingencies you're developing, they can wait until morning."
Bruce looked at his screens—the footage, the plans, the careful documentation of exactly how to neutralize two heroes who trusted him.
"They're mostly complete."
"Then come to bed. Please. They've been League members for four days. You've already planned for every conceivable threat scenario. Give them a chance to prove they don't need the contingencies."
Bruce was quiet for a moment.
"Computer, save all files. Encrypt with authorization level: Batman only."
The screens went dark.
"On my way."
But as he stood, Bruce cast one final glance at the blank monitors.
*I'm not planning for who you are*, he thought. *I'm planning for who you might become if everything goes wrong. I hope I never need these plans. But if I do—if either of you becomes dangerous despite your best intentions—*
*I'll stop you.*
*Because that's what I do.*
*I stop threats before they become catastrophes.*
*Even when the threat is someone I've started to trust.*
---
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