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“Who’d have thought there’d be a gender segregated club in this day and age?”
“No kidding, women not allowed? Who told them that was okay? I love women.”
“Shut it Drake, Grayson. We have our mission, and you know it has nothing to do with this place.”
“I say we get rid of it.”
Damian whips around to glare at the usually level headed blonde, eerie green clashing with steely gray before the former turns with a scoff. Green eyed boys never win against her.
“Fine. What’s the plan, Chase?”
“Same as before, just amend the escape route to take a shortcut through the club. It’s better than the street anyway. We can’t always rely on alleys being the safest place for us. Not to mention everyone knows our MO by now.”
The four vigilantes stretch, preparing themselves for a quick in-and-out job, knowing the mission depends on stealth. Stealing back stolen goods is always an interesting task, but it tends to lead to far more fighting than it should, hence the group preparing to break in, instead of a duo.
“Does Jackson know the plan? ‘Cause if not, we’re going in for a bad time,” Tim Drake says.
“Don’t worry about him,” Dick Grayson says, hopping lightly to warm up, a smile stretching beneath his mask. “That guy knows how to have a good time. He’ll be where we need him to be.”
“I still think it odd how close the two of you became so quickly,” Damian Wayne says, standing so still he almost fades into the shadows of the alleyway.
“He’s my bro! We-”
“He is not your brother. He is the son of a powerful man indeed, but with a power far different from the man who serves as our father.”
Dick stops hopping, looking at Damian with something akin to shock.
“Damian, did you just call us brothers?”
The smaller boy rolls his eyes, letting out a muffled shout as the man drags him into a joyful hug, release coming thankfully quick as Annabeth tells them it’s time to go.
The mission goes scarily well for the first twenty-seven seconds. They succeed, at least. At least Annabeth has contingency plans.
When the police show up, there’s a warehouse on fire, the club beside it a total contrast in that it’s completely flooded, the grimy waters from the nearby harbor swirling toxically in the street as the area is cordoned off with yellow tape and much sighing.
A lot of buildings have been flooding lately, and it’s a hassle for everyone involved. They have to be completely stripped out, or risk deadly mold growing in. Usually, the buildings are just left to rot, the nightlife crowds and druggies finding other places to party or squat.
Gotham is nothing if not a hellhole.
“Thanks for the backup, Seaweed Brain,” Tim teases, the demigod lightly shoving him in response as they walk through the cave.
“Seriously, though. Thank you,” Annabeth says with a soft smile, twining her arm around her boyfriend’s and giving him a peck on the cheek as Dick carefully lays out their objective on a well-lit table nearby.
“Well, shit. Guys? There’s more than seven paintings here.”
Annabeth is suddenly all business, getting that Athena gleam in her eye that Percy loves so much as she steps toward the table, grabbing some gloves and sliding them on before carefully shifting through the stack.
“There’s thirteen. Oh gods. Percy, come look at this one.”
He’s at her side in an instant, eyes skimming the canvas as he processes what he’s seeing.
“This is centuries old.”
Annabeth nods, biting at her lip as she analyzes the image before her. “It’s in the hand of a master. We have to check if it’s authentic, but if it is…”
“Then there’s another war coming,” he finishes.
“Wait, what?” Dick interjects, leaning over to look at the painting as well. “First of all, what do you mean another war? Secondly, how can one painting imply a war is coming?”
“It’s a warning, one that’s been hidden away for a very long time. And of course, it only comes back up when we’re here to see it. We’ve always had bad luck with prophecies.”
“I am aware of prophecies, but not those told through paintings. Care to elaborate?” Damian is already back in casual clothing, looking comfortable and decidedly not tense as he steps closer to the table.
“That looks a lot like Percy,” Tim says, finally inserting himself into the conversation. “What about the other paintings?”
A look through reveals… more. There are the seven they were sent to retrieve, two that are obvious imitations, one that looks like shitty modern art that belongs in the trash, and three that together form the idea of a new prophecy.
“Wait,” Dick says, setting one of the loose canvases back down and looking up at his newest friends, eyes locking with those of his ‘bro’. “You said one of the reasons you came here was because there are no monsters in Gotham, and you wanted to find out why. If these paintings are actually predicting the future, and it’s the near future, then that means-”
“Monsters are coming to Gotham.” Annabeth says it firmly, leaving no room for doubt. “They’re coming for war, and we have to prepare ourselves.”