Percy Jackson was tired of the hero gig. It was bloody and messy and had only ever left her bodies to count and memories she wished she could forget.
After being imprisoned in Hell, she is granted her freedom. But gods. She almost wishes she could g...
Percy Jackson was, without question, the strongest people Robin had ever met; and he wasn't talking about powers.
Watching Percy send down a tidal wave of destruction onto the monster from the video had been jaw-dropping. The way he could feel her energy, her killing intent, radiating through the video feed had chilled him to the bone. Shook him to his core. But there were plenty of people on this world with the power of gods.
Hell. Most of the Leaguers could be classified as celestial beings. Superman was the original icon for power in its rawest form. Wonder Woman could shake mountains. Aquaman could level an entire city easily. Batman could take down nearly every government in the world and not even break a sweat. But none of them were strong like Percy.
The woman who he knew as his teacher had a rare, solemn kind of strength that people only developed through pain. The closest comparison he could think of was Batman, but it wasn't quite the same.
Batman was strong. His presence demanded respect. His past hardened him into a hero. He had an air of power around him that mortal men hardly ever achieved. There was wisdom in his silence. Pain in his memories.
And then there was Percy.
Robin had never met anyone in his entire life that had as much composure as the young woman did. A quiet wisdom, a silent pain, a murmured power.
She cracked jokes and laughed and smiled and if you were to glance at her you would think she was normal. Sometimes she got in her head. She didn't laugh quite as loud and her smile seemed forced but everyone has off days.
And then the longer you looked the more you noticed and the harder it got to remember that she was still just seventeen.
She walked with the grace of a leader. Her footfalls matching that of a killer. Her poster that of a solider. Her quiet wisdom that of someone who had been in so much pain.
Once you noticed these things you began to see that most of her smiles were a bit forced. Most of her laughs weren't really that loud. And most of her joy never reached her eyes. Eyes that looked so much older than seventeen.
Yet in her presence you always felt safe. She had an air of security around her. An aura of power that blanketed those close enough to feel it in a warmth similar to the Sun.
And with this Robin remembered some of his mother's words to him: "Oh my little bird. Sometimes the easiest shoulders to cry on, are the ones that have cried the most." He had never truly understood those words until he met Percy and he looked in her eyes and he saw someone so broken and so strong at the same time.
So yes. Percy Jackson was the strongest person he knew.
Maybe that's why it was so hard to see her loose her careful composure.
Diana P.O.V:
Blood.
Blood was something Diana was used to seeing. She was used to seeing pain and death and blood. It came with being a hero.
But it had been a long time since she had seen so much blood on someone she cared about.
Percy was unconscious, laying on an operating table in the Batcave. In any other situation, her current outfit would be hilarious. But then Diana saw the massive blood stains on her clothes and the blood matted in her hair and the monster dust lightly caking her skin and Diana knew exactly what had happened to her cousin.
Agent A, Alfred, was currently pulling on a pair of surgical gloves, an apron covering his suit.
"Master Robin, would you be so kind to tend to Miss Percy's sister? I do believe she is in distress." I turned to see a baby fussing in a pile of blankets on the floor. Robin nodded mutely, dragging his eyes away from Percy.
"Now," Alfred continued, "let's see how bad the damage really is." Taking a pair of scissors, Alfred began to cut off Percy's clothes in order to see her wounds, leaving her in underwear and a sports bra. I paled.
Scars.
Percy had so many scars. There was barely an inch of her torso that wasn't covered. Her arms had hundreds of knicks and defensive wounds from years of battle, an SPQR brand glared angrily from her left forearm. When had she gotten a roman brand?
Her legs were equally bad. Years of thin slashes across her thighs, specifically on the sides, where there would be a kink in traditional greek armor. Bruises were prominent on her shins and calves and Diana recognized them to be marks from where her armor would have dug into her skin as she ran or slid.
Her collar bone was a mess of burns and claw marks. Diana could make out arrow head wounds far too close to her cousin's neck to be deemed anything less then terrifying.
Up close, Diana could see small knicks and scars on her face. A tiny slash at the tail of her right eyebrow. A small indented scar on the corner of her nose next to her left eye. A barely visible, paper thin line that trailed from the corner of her jaw, down her neck, and to her collar bone.
Blood had clotted in a clump of her hair, had dried dripping down her face, and it was clear she probably had some form of concussion. Her torso was heavily bruised, as were her arms. Her hands had been rubbed raw, probably from gripping her sword. Now that the incredibly short pants had been cut off, Diana could see a tournoqet wrapped around her thigh, cutting of circulation to what looked like a gunshot graze to her calf.
Alfred cleared his throat.
"There doesn't appear to be any internal bleeding, and none of her bones seem broken, so I'm going to flip her on her side, so I can see her back." Alfred announced. Carefully, he began to turn her on her side. Pealing what was left of her shirt off her back, Diana couldn't help but gag. If her torso has been covered in scars, her back was layered with them. Many didn't even look fully healed.
She heard Batman take in a sharp breath as he gazed at the mess of mangled flesh.
Most of the scars were hidden, covered in blood and grime from wherever Percy had been. On her shoulder was a particularly nasty claw mark that dragged from the top of her shoulder to nearly the middle of her back. Another gruesome scar to be added to her collection.
Alfred whipped a tear from his face and in a quiet voice, laced with sorrow, he said:
"I believe I should get started."
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Art for @Chiquitabananas I do own this art so if anyone other than the user mentioned about would like to use it, please ask. Sorry I took so long to update. Love you all.
