translating stars | pjo x dcu

what type of batfam fic would it be if i didn't incorporate a gala

Annabeth just wanted to head to bed and sulk for the rest of her days but she was absolutely disgusting and stumbled into the shower of a random guest room. The hot water hit her shoulders, but it couldn't wash away the weight of their stares, the suspicion in Tim's voice, the way Damian's tentative acceptance had crumbled like sand between her fingers.

She pressed her forehead against the cool tile, letting the steam cloud around her. How could she explain? That her mother was a goddess who'd turn mortals to ash if they looked at her true form? That she'd watched Luke - brilliant, broken Luke - get twisted by divine politics until he poisoned Thalia's tree? That she'd seen how knowledge of the gods destroyed families, drove people mad, got them killed?

And Percy ...her throat tightened. Her own mother had rallied Olympus to vote against his life, would have killed him if they hadn't proved themselves. All because Annabeth had vouched for him, had dared to suggest Athena's wisdom might be wrong. Some days she wasn't sure what was worse - the gods' cruelty or their indifference.

The shower's heat reminded her of the lava wall at Camp Half-Blood. Another secret. Another lie. Damian's words from the greenhouse echoed in her head: "Not entirely abhorrent." He'd been feeding the cow, sharp but sincere, and for a moment she'd thought maybe...but no . She'd seen his face in the library. Whatever trust she'd built was drowning in questions she couldn't answer.

She turned the water hotter, until it nearly scalded. Better than thinking about those masked figures, their movements too precise, too practiced. The way that metal had gleamed - not quite celestial bronze but close enough to make her bones ache with recognition. Something was wrong there, beyond the obvious attack. Like looking at a familiar face in a warped mirror.

But she couldn't investigate without raising more suspicions. Couldn't protect her new family without risking her old one. Couldn't even explain why she used to wake up screaming about spiders without revealing that her mother's ancient rivalry still haunted her descendants.

Some architect she was turning out to be, watching everything she tried to build crumble before it could stand. Just like the family she'd tried to make with Luke and Thalia. Just like her father's attempts at a normal life. Just like every time she thought she'd found somewhere to belong.

The water ran frigid but she barely noticed. All she could see was Dick's disappointed face, Barbara's calculating look, Tim's narrowed eyes. They'd given her a chance - offered her a place at their table, just hours ago - and she'd repaid them with half-truths and evasions.

Maybe she was more like the gods than she wanted to admit. Keeping secrets, telling herself it was for the best, watching mortals suffer for divine games.

She shut off the water with trembling hands. In the sudden silence, she could almost hear the hollow sound of that canister hitting marble. Almost see that blur of a tattoo that made her stomach turn.

Almost believe that the shadows in the corner of her eye were just steam, and not something watching, waiting, measuring her worth.

She got out with herculean effort and dried off mechanically, her mind still churning with too many thoughts. The manor's halls felt longer and darker than usual as she made her way back to the guest room, each shadow seeming to stretch like fingers across the antique wallpaper.

Even that was a reminder that it was all temporary and she wasn't really part of the family. Just an outsider like she had always been.

The door creaked - had it always done that? She couldn't remember. Everything felt slightly off-kilter, like a blueprint where all the measurements were just a fraction wrong.