Agent Flame Wave

Underground

Percy opened the door of his jet and paused on the threshold. The inside was spotlessly clean. He had spent the last few hours on his knees, scrubbing and cleaning. Not sleeping, because sleep meant nightmares and nightmares meant them.

Now a part of him was tempted to escape on the jet and leave. This wasn't his mess. This isn't his world. Why was he here?

He closed the door and bounded some steps away before the temptation overwhelmed him. Turning back, he could see the jet rising and shooting away, following coordinates to the Avengers Tower.

He hoisted his bag up and slowly dragged himself up the hill towards Thalia's pine tree. Almost the entire camp was already there, and he wondered if he was late.

He was trying to squeeze through the crowd towards Clint, who was surrounded by a ridiculously large number of people and looked both happy and flustered. What Clint had done to become so popular within a span of twelve hours could always be a mystery to him.

He heard the movement before he could turn, and the next second something collided with him, the air in his lungs knocked out. His knife was in his hands and at his attacker's neck before he hit the ground, and he was suddenly aware of three things at once.

First, that the heavy weight on top of him was suffocating.

Second, that he had scraped his palms on the jutting rocks, and the sensation was more irritating than painful.

Third, that Tyson was staring at him from above, eyes wide with startled fright.

He didn't like it.

Releasing a breath, he gently pushed Tyson off and tucked in his knife. Then he inspected his neck before moving his eyes up to his face.

'Tyson,' he said slowly, in a voice he uses when newly recruited agents think they're in for fun instead of duty. "Scary-calm", Tony calls it. 'Next time you want to be stabbed, you would just say so without making me kiss mud.'

'I didn't mean to knock you down,' he said hurriedly, as if he didn't knew his own strength, 'I only –'

'I could've killed you!' he snapped finally, because he'd been so close to it that it scared him.

'Percy,' Poseidon said gently, and he realized his father had been standing there through the entire episode, standing and staring. Like the rest of the campers. 'Maybe you should hear him out.'

He sprang to his feet and helped Tyson up as the chatter slowly returned. 'I'm sorry,' he said. 'Work reflex.'

Tyson nodded as if he understood anything. There was an awkward silence where Percy just focused on not looking at Tyson and removing the stones from his palms. Then a car honked from down the hill and he looked up to see Tyson holding out something to him. 'I modified it, since now you're –' He bit off his remaining words as if afraid of saying anything offensive.

But Percy knew. Since now I am more mortal than magic.

But he just replied with a simple thank you, taking the watch Tyson held out, remembering the first time he'd given it to him what seemed like a lifetime ago. He had changed the bronze chain with a silver one and the clock had two dials on its edge.

And then he saw with startling clarity that Tyson was still trying. Like how he'd been trying last night at dinner to keep up the flow of conversation and spread his own excitement and happiness. Like how he'd been trying since the moment they first meet. To bridge the gap between them.

And he felt a pang of sadness for what, under different circumstances they could've been. Brothers.

He caught Poseidon's eyes and knew that his father was thinking the same. He was jostled from his thoughts by Clint calling his name from halfway down the slope.