Chapter Text
As the train approached New York, Tim turned towards Isabel.
“Isabel, I have a favor to ask of you and it’s completely alright for you to say no.”
Isabel looked up at Tim, mildly suspicious. “What is it?”
“I want you to lie about some stuff. Gotham is a place forsaken by the gods to the point that a lot of people believe it’s impossible for demigods to be born there. Other people think Gotham demigods are bad luck. They don’t know I’m from Gotham. I want to be judged by my actions and not the place where I was born.” Isabel looked Tim up and down, calculating.
“What’s your cover story?”
“When I left for Gotham, I told Sage that I had a normal friend who could see monsters like we can. There was no friend. I want you to say my ‘friend’ was the one to initially get you and you met me later at the train station.”
“How are you going to explain your injuries?” Isabel frowned.
“I crashed my motorcycle into a group of cyclopes that followed you out of Gotham,” Tim shrugged. Isabel sat with Tim’s request for a moment.
“If I lie, can I hold your spear?” Tim grinned at her.
“Deal,” he agreed as he shook her hand.
🦇🦇🦇
By the time they arrived at Camp, Tim really wanted a nap. But no, he was in too much pain to sleep on the train, and he technically lives with the Waynes now, so he’s expected to be at the manor at least half an hour before dinner unless notified prior. Tim did not notify them prior.
His current plan was to get Isabel situated, have Michael tend to his injuries, and then hightail it to Wayne manor. What his plan did not account for was how much demigods and satyrs like gossip. Tim stumbled to a surprise stop when he saw the horde of demigods that greeted him and Isabel at Half-Blood Hill.
Both Isabel and Tim flinched at the roar of noise that erupted from the crowd. Isabel shuffled behind Tim, still clutching his spear in one of her hands.
“Silence!” Mr. D shouted over the bombardment of questions thrown at Tim. “Yes, yes, it’s very impressive that an uncontacted demigod was saved from Gotham. However, venturing into the forsaken city is extensively forbidden unless the gods require it. Which has yet to happen, I’ll remind you! Mikey Oak, drag Fabric Boy over to the Big House so we can discuss his stupidity while he’s treated for injuries. Stoll, show the new kid—” The emblem of Hephaestus blazed over Isabel’s head as if the mere mention of the Stoll brothers offended the forge god. “Becky, you’re in charge of the new kid! Disperse!” Tim’s shoulders slumped. So much for his plan to make it in time for dinner. Michael walked up to Tim, patting him on the shoulder with a grin.
“Dude, Chiron and Mr. D are
pissed. You’re going to be mucking out the stables for weeks!” Michael cackled with glee. Tim just sighed in response as he allowed Michael to steer him towards his doom.
Michael continued to poke fun at Tim for how much trouble he was in as they walked through the Big House doors. Chiron and Mr. D were waiting for them in the infirmary, both with stern expressions. Hestia was in the corner looking out of a window. Tim wasn’t sure Chiron and Mr. D noticed she was there, but he wasn’t going to draw their attention to her if she didn’t want it. When Mr. D saw Tim enter, he leapt from his chair and began to gesture wildly.
“Do you have any idea how stupid you have to be to enter Gotham? It’s a place beholden to no one! If you die in there, not even Thanatos would be able to escort your soul to the underworld! You’re a fool for going there! I could turn you into a rock and it would still be smarter than you; you should muck out the stables for the next ten years because of your stupid decision!” Mr. D ranted. Chiron coughed awkwardly as Michael began to treat Tim’s wounds.
“While I will say our camp director may be… overdoing it in terms of proposed punishment, I do agree that it was a very unwise decision, Alvin.” Tim cringed at Chiron’s words, head bowed. Disappointing Chiron felt a lot like disappointing Alfred.
“I didn’t enter Gotham, though. I have a friend there who can see through the Mist,” Tim mumbled. Chiron straightened at Tim’s words.
“Alvin, look at me.” Tim raised his head to look Chiron in the eye. “You overused your grandmother’s gifts, didn’t you?” Tim nodded and Chiron sighed. “How much?”
“Blinded at least fifteen cyclopes for a solid seven seconds.” Michael let out a low whistle at the number as he handed Tim a cup of nectar. Tim immediately began to chug it, the familiar taste of sour cherries blooming on his tongue. Chiron began to busy himself around the infirmary, setting a kettle to boil and grabbing various dry herbs as Mr. D sat back down in his seat.
“The fifteen cyclopes are exactly why we don’t enter Gotham,” Mr. D stressed. “Not even satyrs go into Gotham despite it being the recycling capital!” Tim did his best to hide his snort. Tim didn’t understand why Mr. D and Chiron pushed the narrative of Gotham demigods and satyrs not existing. Frankly, it was ridiculous.
“Is something funny?” Mr. D glared.
“The satyr in Gotham was quite helpful in getting Isabel out of Gotham, I’m told,” he blurted. Mr. D’s mouth became a tight line and Chiron paused his…whatever he was doing. Michael stood up.
“That’s my cue to leave. Good luck, Drapes.” He patted Tim on the back and left the infirmary without another word. Mr. D’s eyes narrowed at Tim.
“It is common knowledge Gotham is polluted to Tartarus and back to the point satyrs get sick if they enter the city,” Mr. D challenged. “No satyr would be able to survive living there.” Tim slumped, not wanting to play mind games with a god of madness when he was so tired.
“Look, everyone here knows satyrs born in Gotham don’t get sick from the pollution. Monsters can’t smell Gotham satyrs, either. I know the other satyrs here view Gotham satyrs as ‘wrong’, or ‘broken’. I understand they’ve never seen another satyr with a disability, but come on. ‘Oh no a limb difference, he must be cursed!’ They need to get over themselves. The other satyrs are unwelcoming because they see Gotham satyrs as an insult to nature. What I don’t understand is why you deny their existence as well as the existence of Gotham demigods,” Tim huffed. Mr. Doe never told Tim why he had to say he was from Bludhaven when he arrived at Camp. Whenever he asked, he would just say people at Camp were superstitious about Gotham demigods. Tim thought that was only half true.
Mr. D’s face became stone. “You want to find out what’s so bad about Gotham demigods and satyrs? Fine. Gotham demigods are different than others. For some reason or another, Gotham demigods are a lot more powerful than they should be. A Gotham demigod making it to teenagerhood is rare; it only happens about once every few decades. Yet, in the past forty years there have been four Gotham demigods and two made it to Camp Half-Blood.”
“The first was Johnathan Crane, a son of Phobos brought to Camp by a Gotham satyr named Florian Bousquet. We found out Johnny was a son of Phobos when he used his abilities without remorse to show six campers their greatest fears. Two died.” Tim kept his face passive. He had theories about past Gotham demigods and wondered what they had done to earn the ire of the gods.
“The second was Pamela Isley, daughter of Demeter. She was fine for a while, but a few years after initially arriving at camp she attempted to kill three children of Ares. After that, Florian was told to not bring anymore Gotham demigods to camp. And do you know what he tried to do? He tried to bring two more demigods to Camp.”
“The third and fourth demigods were twins, likely of Apollo. However, Florian failed his foolish attempt to bring the forsaken children here and they were killed. The mortals blamed Florian for their deaths and last I heard he was given the death penalty. Apparently, the cursed thing managed to find a way out of it if you managed to meet him.” Mr. D sat back in his chair, eerily calm and relaxed.
“Moral of the story is to not trust anything born in Gotham. And don’t let a forsaken demigod into this camp.” Tim’s heart dropped down to his shoes at the last sentence, and he slumped down further in his seat.
“Gotham demigods are still allowed a place at Camp,” Hestia corrected. Dionysus whipped his head towards her seat in the corner, surprised by her presence and her words.
“I am the director—”
“And I manage the hearth. I decide who has a home here, nephew, and I welcome all demigods seeking a place at our hearth including those born in the forsaken land.”
“But—” Hestia flicked a bright red ember into Mr. D’s mouth, causing him to choke and sputter smoke. Chiron sighed at their argument before rolling over with a mug of what looked like red tea.
“I assume you’re still going to engage in your nocturnal extracurricular activity even though you overworked yourself?” Tim nodded. “Drink this—it’ll act like an energy drink and keep you on your feet for at least six hours.” Tim’s hands immediately snatched the mug from Chiron and downed it quickly enough he didn’t even taste it.
“You don’t have to come to camp tomorrow if you would rather sleep in. We’ll discuss this more in depth when you return,” Chiron nodded towards the door and Tim took advantage of the dismissal, leaving the gods to their bickering.