Chapter Text
Peter didn’t normally attend SHIELD nor Avengers meetings. Not only were they long, but they were boring as fuck, although he wasn’t about to admit that to a man who could level his school on a whim. For all that Tony sassed Nick Fury, he was a scary man.
Peter glanced at his watch—top of the line, courtesy of one Tony Stark. One minute late, and he wasn’t even at the door yet. Midtown had been back in session for one week now, but it was apparently long enough for MJ to reinstate weekend academic decathlon practice, intent on maintaining their winning streak after last year’s nationals.
When he burst into the briefing room—now two minutes late—Tony swivelled in his chair, flipping a pen like you would a drumstick. “Good to see you, Pete. Eyepatch here won’t let us know what’s going on until you arrived.”
“Hi, Tony,” he replied. These rooms were installed a few months back, containing sleek black tables, swivel chairs, and top-of-the-line holographic projection systems, which were currently displaying miniature SHIELD logos—files, no doubt. It was all on SHIELD’s bill, as well—they must have caught onto the fact that every briefing room the Avengers left looked like the inside of a tornado. Even though Peter had come to peace with this lifestyle—Tony wouldn’t let him have anything less, he still felt out of place seated at the table, surrounded by Avengers and professional assassins.
He glanced around the room, taking stock of its occupants. Tony, Steve, Sam, Clint, Natasha, Bucky, and(very surprisingly) Loki were all seated around the table, exercising various degrees of patience. So Fury hadn’t told them anything yet.
Before Fury’s explanation, he wanted the answer to another question. “Loki?” Peter asked. “Why’re you here?”
He didn’t hang around Earth very often, but any time he showed up was certain to be the epitome of world-ending drama. And not the good kind. Peter sure hoped now was the exception, because between the recent Civil War and whatever Doctor Strange kept warning the Avengers about—something to do with stones, he recalled—they didn’t need anything more on their plate.
Loki gave only an imperceptible tilt of the eyebrows, replying, “I thought this particular mission might be…interesting. A small thing in the grand scheme of the world, but one that will bring worlds together.”
‘Interesting’ could mean a lot of things, but Peter wasn’t keen on pushing the God of Mischief further than he had to. At least it wasn’t a world-ending event. Across from him, Tony’s expression morphed into one of gladness. He’d had universes worth of world-ending events. If anyone deserved a break, it was every man and woman in this room.
Sam had taught him about the big three—wizards, aliens, and androids—and the Avengers had fought all three. Well, maybe not a wizard—did Loki count? He was snapped out of his thoughts by a sharp cough from Steve.
Everyone else was still waiting for Director Fury to start talking. Peter angled his head to watch him. “The mission is simple—there is a kid choosing to evade SHIELD questioning. We need some of you to bring him in.” Fury’s tone made it clear he wasn’t finished, but the team didn’t quite care.
“So we go after kids now?” Clint asked, gesticulating angrily. “I thought we were Earth’s mightiest heroes. Shouldn’t we be, I don’t know, not kidnapping children?”
“This kid is a danger to the world,” Fury replied. “He has been involved in several SHIELD-noted incidents—the eruption at Mount St. Helens to jumping off the St. Louis Arch a few years back. Every agent we have sent to question him has ended up incapacitated.
“On the first mission we sent one agent, who we found at the bottom of the East River, miraculously alive. The second time, we sent four agents. We found them on the river bank, choking. The third time, we sent six agents. Four of them hidden. All six were found unconscious near his residence.”
“Can you open the file?” Natasha asked.
“Here,” Fury enlarged one of the small SHIELD logos above the table. “Perseus Jackson.” Everyone leaned towards the files at the centre of the table. Natasha and Bucky read the file through, while everyone else protested upon reading the first few lines.
Oh shit. Peter’s seat suddenly felt sticky, the air ten times staler. He wanted to run out of the room and never come back, but alas, he had to stick this meeting out. Curse mandatory meetings.
His second thought was that Percy was undoubtedly a vigilante. If all the evidence earlier sparked a theory, this was the final nail in the metaphorical theory coffin.
“Even if he has a bad track record, I think he should be given a second chance,” said Steve, eyes scanning through the information. “He’s just a kid.”
“Fury must have a good reason for this,” Natasha replied, tone matter-of-fact. “Why else would he ask us to do the job?” Peter could admit, her words had sense laced through them, but he knew Percy Jackson. He wasn’t dangerous at all—there might have been fire in his eyes, but the flames were always fueled by a heart of gold.
“Never thought I’d say this, but Birdbrain and the Capsicle are right,” Tony added. “Why are we going after a fifteen-year-old? We’re the Avengers.”
“Seventeen,” Peter interjected. “He’s seventeen.”
Tony raised an eyebrow. “And you know him personally, do you?”
Peter nodded, slight. “Yeah, actually. He goes to my school.”
“This guy goes to your school?”
Clint shot back a quick “That is what Peter said.”
Loki wore an amused glance and devious smile as he watched them all; he knew more than he was letting on. Bucky had been silent for most of the meeting as well, both of them preferring to watch and listen rather than shout over the loud voices in the room.
“Romanoff will lead the mission, with Barton, Parker, and Wilson,” Fury said. “This mission calls for stealth. If you need backup, ask Barnes, because these two—” Fury pointed between Tony and Steve, “Are too conspicuous.”
Tony protested, but the words had no real bite. Steve sat calmly, albeit with a frown. “Got it,” Natasha said, with a small nod.
Fury stood from his chair. “Good. I’ll bring you all in for a second report next week.” With that, he left the room.
The team discussed plans over the conference table for another hour and a half, and Peter found himself invested, gesticulating violently with his hands and rereading—aloud—the files that caught his eye. They built plans like you would a jigsaw puzzle, working through it step by step—with occasional snarks from Tony. Some of them ended up laying on the floor, some draped across their chairs, and some lying on the table, cradling cups of coffee like they would children. An oddly domestic scene for a team of Earth’s mightiest and deadliest.
The current plan went like this: Peter would convince Percy to visit his place somehow (the other way around worked too) where the other three would be waiting. Sam would run aerial reconnaissance; Clint and Natasha would be waiting to bring him in.
A heavy stone, laced with tendrils of guilt, settled in Peter’s stomach. Friendship had always been one of Peter’s core values, something he held true to his heart—and he would do anything for a friend. Maybe not anything, but the point still stood.
The mission was a betrayal—Percy would probably never talk to him again, and if he did, any conversations they might have would be stilted, stirred with the kind of mistrust only a stab in the back could coin. Peter knew the feeling. He hoped Percy never had to.
Maybe Ned and MJ would know how to help—they were always there for him, no matter what he was going through(cough, radioactive spider bite, cough).
Peter inched open one of the Tower windows. He breathed deep, taking in the chilly night air, before swinging out one of the open Tower windows. He swung from buildings, adrenaline coursing through his veins, and failed to convince himself he was doing this mission for the greater good as he raced through Midtown.
Karen’s warm voice snapped him out of his wallowing. “Peter, according to the local weather forecasts, it will start raining heavily in two hours, so I recommend making your way home soon.”
“Thanks, Karen,” he replied. I can sort out the mission stuff tomorrow, he reasoned, shoving the thoughts away from his mind’s spotlight. For now, he swung through the city, relishing in the stretch of his webs, the spike of thrill before he launched into the air again; the ghost-like tremble of the wind sped across his face.
He dropped to the sidewalk occasionally, to stop the odd mugger or two, always walking the victims home and helping retrace anything stolen. The Avengers might not have the time, and he couldn’t fault them for it, but Peter knew the little guys needed help too. Their problems might be small, but pile them up and they become a deluge, the weight on the camel’s back before the straw hits.
The rain arrived before he got to his apartment, but Peter didn’t care much either way. Just being able to help as Spider-Man was worth any amount of torrential rain.
Three days later, Peter wasn’t any more settled over the mission. If anything, he was more agitated. “I just don’t want to betray his trust. But I can’t betray Fury’s trust, either.” Peter groaned and finished off his heaping pile of word vomit. Ned and MJ sat next to him, perched on the roof of Midtown High like a flock of stray birds.
“You can’t keep pretending Percy doesn’t exist, Peter,” MJ said. “You keep avoiding him. Avoidance isn’t healthy.”
What hypocrisy. “Ned, back me up,” he whined.
“Dude, I think you’re pretty stuck. I mean, what do you want to do? Ignore Director Fury?”
MJ lifted a pencil from her sketchbook. “I would pay to watch that. Sadly, I don’t think you have the guts.”
“Rude,” Peter replied with a smile.
“I don’t think that’d go over too well with him,” Ned replied. “I think you should listen to him, Peter. If Nick Fury himself has to tell you to bring Percy in, maybe it’s best to bring him in.”
Peter paced back and forth, avoiding the loose bricks. “But he’ll never talk to me again. So what should I do? I have time to work something out, don’t I? It’s only Tuesday, so I’ve got about a week. I could do something to Fury, I guess.”
“Usurping those in power sounds great, Peter, but this mission? SHIELD? They’ve dealt with things like this before, and you can explain this all to Percy. He’ll understand. It couldn’t be any worse than what he’s had to deal with before, at least.”
Peter stopped. “Before?”
“Annabeth talks to me a lot. I keep her secrets and she keeps mine. It’s mutual.”
“Come on,” Ned complained, although it was more jokingly than not. “We’re your best friends!”
MJ raised an eyebrow. “Secrets are secrets.”
“Oh my gosh,” Ned exclaimed, “This is about the vigilante theory. Peter, you can’t keep avoiding Percy now. You’ve got to ask him.”
“Well, now I don’t want to, so too bad.”
Ned stood up from his spot on the roof. “Peter, this is all the proof you need. He’s totally a vigilante, you just need to ask him about it.”
“I don’t know, Ned,” Peter said, dropping his arms like sacks of lead. Did he want to talk to Percy about it?
MJ hid her mouth behind her hands, suppressing a laugh. “The vigilante theory. I can’t believe you’re still on that.”
“Have some faith, MJ,” Peter replied.
“Faith?” MJ repeated blankly.
“Yes, MJ. You don’t think he’s a vigilante?” Ned exclaimed.
MJ raised an eyebrow. “I never said that, did I?”
“Well no, you implied it, but it still counts,” Peter replied.
They marinated in the silence for a few moments longer, listening to the rough scratch of MJ’s pencil before she said, “Peter, your worried face makes for good drawing material.”
She twirled the notebook around to show Peter; the likeness in the photo was astonishing. “Wow,” Ned said. “Looks just like him.”
“I know.”
Ned leaned closer to the drawing. “I mean, you got everything—the worry lines, the weir—”
“Are we going to my house tonight?” Peter changed the topic masterfully.
Ned nodded. “Works for me.”
“Same here,” MJ replied.
“We’re not done talking about the photo, though.”
“Or about you avoiding Percy.”
Peter glanced between them. “Can we drop that?”
Ned and MJ raised an eyebrow at him in unison. “No.”
———
Percy’s weekend had been (so far) delightfully empty of quests, monsters, or any emergency Iris-messages from camp. Annabeth and Sally were staring each other down through an intense round of Go Fish, which he was sadly losing at. Empty chip bowls were laid out on the table, along with a platter of blue muffins, two of which were still standing(saved for Paul and Estelle).
When the familiar mist appeared in front of him, he wasn’t quite sure what to expect. He hadn’t heard any communications from camp recently. In the past few weeks, everything had died down to the point where they didn’t need to call Percy anymore. Apollo’s return to godhood had been marvellous, especially for Percy’s wellbeing. Apollo was quite annoying when he wanted to be, as well as when he didn’t want to be. Both as Lester and Apollo, so at least there was one similarity between the two.
The Iris-message was probably some of the kids from camp wanting to say hello—but the last time he’d received an Iris-message, it had been Chiron asking him to hunt down four Lastrygonians in downtown New York, so he couldn’t be sure. He wasn’t eager to repeat that experience, especially considering the torn shirt and new dints in Tyson’s shield. It was his favourite shirt, too.
“Percy!”
“Hi, Grover,” Sally said. “It’s nice to see you again.”
Thank all the gods it was Grover. “G-man!”
“Hi, Ms. Jackson,” Grover replied. “Hi, Percy, Annabeth.”
“Grover!” Annabeth exclaimed. “How’s the quest for Pan coming?”
“Wonderful,” Grover bleated. “I heard you two got into a fancy school.”
Percy put down his cards. “Midtown. It’s a good school, but they don’t serve enchiladas at the cafeteria like they did at the last one.”
The oven beeped, and Sally left the living room to take care of the macarons—something new she’d been trying recently. They were blue, of course, and quite possibly the most delicious thing Percy had ever tasted.
“It’s good, Grover. Plenty of things to do. Sally’s baking is absolutely divine. Speaking of school and New York, when are you next visiting?”
“I can come in a few days?” Grover said, although it was more of a question than an answer. “I’ve got a few things down here to sort out first. We’re in Maine—the weather has been amazing this summer.” He bleated, then muttered something to the background.
“I can’t wait to see you, man. It’s been forever.” Percy paused. “Unrelated, but how do you tell if someone’s a demigod?”
“Why, is there one at your school?” Sally walked back into the living room, hands still cloaked in oven mitts. “You haven’t told me about this, Percy.”
Percy replied, “We’ve got a whole list of evidence, but we haven’t brought it up yet.”
“It’s only been a week,” Annabeth added. “We’ve got plenty of time for his suspicions.” He saw the beginnings of a smile form on her face. Not quite happy one, but mischievous; the look when she knew something he didn’t. He’d have to ask her later.
Grover tilted his head. “Check a few things. They should be able to see through the Mist, have monsters drawn to them, and overall act just a little weird. They might be wound up all the time or have trouble focusing. It varies between godly parent most times.”
“So just watch him,” Percy summarized. “Seems easy enough.”
“If anything happens, we’ll tell Chiron,” added Annabeth.
A low voice resonated from Grover’s side of the call.“I’ll see you in a few days, Percy,” Grover said. At some point during the call he’d started crushing a soda can beneath his hooves. “I need to go.”
“See you soon, man,” Percy replied.
“Bye, Grover,” Annabeth said, waving her hand through the mist to end the call. She turned her attention to Percy. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten your cards. Give me your fours, Seaweed Brain.”
Percy sighed and handed her three fours.
The next few days of school were as normal as you could get for a pair of demigods.
“In light of recent events, we will be doing a short project on the Sokovia Accords, and the arguments for the two opposing sides of the Avengers’ ‘Civil War’,” Mr. Fleming said. “You have a presentation due next Thursday. This is a group project. Groups of four, and one group of five.”
Everyone in the class immediately locked eyes with their best friends before Mr. Fleming tacked on, “A group project with assigned groups. Here’s the list.”
He started rattling off names, and Percy zoned out until he heard his own name being called. “Percy Jackson, Ned Leeds, Michelle Jones, Annabeth Chase, and Peter Parker. You will have this session to start, and all other work will have to be completed from home.”
It was an incredible stroke of luck, for all of them to be in a group together. Although, considering what Percy had been through, he really was owed some luck by the Fates, or whichever god or goddess controlled luck.
Mr. Fleming started explaining the assignment while Percy zoned out and stared at the small smudges of marker on the whiteboard.
This could be his chance to finally talk to Peter, who didn’t particularly look excited to be here. Or happy, in any way, shape, or form. His brows crinkled in lines of worry, and he kept whispering to Ned. Something must be putting him off Percy—something demigod-related. Maybe he knew Percy’s secret.
MJ and Annabeth were already sitting at Percy’s table, so Ned and Peter dragged chairs over. “Do you guys want to work on the project at my house?” Peter asked. “I normally get picked up, so you can just come in the car with me.”
“Yeah,” Ned replied. “Today, after school?”
“Works for me,” Annabeth said; MJ and Ned nodded.
He dug out his phone and tapped out a short message. Percy resisted the urge to lean in and see what he was writing out—it wasn’t any of his business, and Sally Jackson raised an honourable child.
“Research,” Ned said. “We need to do research.”
“I’ve done enough research on the Sokovia Accords for a lifetime,” Peter moaned. “I can’t believe I’m even doing this.” Ned laughed.
“Not to break the mood, but what are the Sokovia Accords?” Percy asked. One of the many downfalls of saving the world for a summer were that you missed out on a lot of news. One of them being the Avengers’ Civil War. Percy had thought they would be friends, like the Seven, but apparently not.
“Um, they’re these accords for enhanced people or superheroes, and the US government was trying to make all enhanced people sign the accords. Captain America, the Winter Soldier, Wanda Maximoff and such didn’t want to because they thought the accords would limit them, so Iron Man and Cap fought it out at an airport in Berlin,” Ned explained. “They both had teams and stuff—Spider-Man was there, and Black Panther.”
“The public took sides in the argument and they worked out a few legal bits, and Cap and company signed a new version of the Accords,” Peter finished.
“Enhanced people?” Annabeth fiddled with a pen. “What qualifies?”
“Anyone with superpowers, basically. Super strength, magic, anything.”
If Percy was found out, then, he’d have to sign the Accords. “So hypothetically, if I had water powers, I’d have to sign the Accords.”
Ned opened his laptop. “Yes. You want to look for some sources?”
“Does anyone really want to look for sources?” He pulled out his laptop and began searching. It was quite the miracle he even had a device in the first place. Leo did something to it that Percy didn’t understand, decreeing it safe for demigod use. He trusted Leo, but he was still a little paranoid as his fingers tapped slowly at the keys; he and Annabeth were the first test subjects.
They worked in relative silence for the rest of the block, only speaking when they found useful sources or interesting notes, and Percy didn’t bring up anything demigod-related the whole lesson, of which he maintained was a strategic decision. Better to talk about the demigod theory when Peter didn’t have an out—they were all visiting his house after school anyways.
For all that Flash made fun of Peter for having a scholarship, Peter’s car didn’t quite scream ‘scholarship money’. It was a black Audi, polished and shiny enough to blind someone in the September sun.
“That your car?” Percy asked. “Fancy.”
Peter nodded in reply. MJ and Annabeth climbed into the back of the six-seater car. Ned and Percy sat in the middle, and Peter claimed the front seat.
“To your apartment today, Pete?” the driver asked. Percy couldn’t make out a face from behind him, but the voice—
“Clint?” Percy asked. “How do you know Peter?”
He’d met Clint around a year ago, when Chiron had suggested meeting some demigods around New York City. Percy kept running into stray monsters he couldn’t handle, so he’d went ahead and found Clint, who was more than happy to help a fellow demigod. Since then, he’d met a few more, but none as high-profile as the Avenger in front of him.
“You know Percy?” Peter exclaimed, indignant. “Why didn’t you tell me, Clint?”
“Oh my gods,” Annabeth laughed.
Clint raised an eyebrow. “Fury doesn’t know about Percy, Peter. Don’t tell him.”
“Fury doesn’t know?” Peter’s eyes bugged out.
“Who’s Fury?” Percy asked. “Cool name.”
“Director of SHIELD,” Ned answered helpfully.
“Clint, you haven’t answered why you’re here, though,” Percy said. “How do you know Peter?”
“Well, I met him one day during our court sessions after the Civil War,” he started. “And I thought he was just Tony’s nerdy intern, but it turns out he’s pretty cool, like me.”
MJ raised an eyebrow. “Cool?”
“Yes,” Clint said defensively, “I am cool. Anyways—Peter, do they know? Can I say it?”
Peter glanced between them all. “I think they know, yeah.”
“I ‘officially’ met Peter properly when we fought some baddies downtown a while back.”
“Were you asked by Chiron?” Percy asked.
Clint opened his mouth to say something, but he never got to hear the answer, because a flock of birds flew straight towards them and splatted their gawky limbs onto the front window of the car. Thin cracks, almost like spider webs, ran across the glass.
“Get out of the car!” Clint called. He turned the car sideways. Cars piled up behind them, honking angrily until they saw the sight. Or, well, some of them did. Percy didn’t know what the mortals saw, but he hoped it wasn’t anything too hard to explain.
“Shit. Stymphalian birds,” muttered Annabeth.
“Oh, fuck.” The last time they’d fought those had been at camp, years ago. They’d driven them away with Chiron’s boom box, and Percy didn’t see one nearby, so that plan was out of the question. Clint was already situated further down the road, shooting the birds down, but they were appearing faster than he could shoot them.
Percy’s senses turned battle ready, focused and on high alert. Around him, civilians screamed unintelligibly and ran from the scene, leaving the six of them—three demigods and three mortals—to handle the flock.
Ned stood behind the window of a corner store, whispering into his watch. Peter was nowhere to be found, but Percy didn’t quite have the time to worry about that. Annabeth and Clint were knee-deep in the fight, and Percy could vaguely make out MJ hiding in an alley with her phone held up. It was about time to join in.
He uncapped Riptide, holding the pen-sword up to the birds. He slashed in a circle, taking out a few, and stabbed through two on his left, turning them into bird-skewers. “Hey birds!” he called, a devious smile plastered onto his face. Violence was never the answer—and Percy knew it—but the heat of battle brought something out of him an instinctive, animalistic part of him loved. The thrill, the adrenaline, all of it heightening his senses and forcing his quick action. “Take this!”
The birds continued advancing in the hundreds. They clouded around Percy, Annabeth, and Clint. The scents of bird poop and venom tinged the air in warm drifts.
“Annabeth!” he shouted. “Bird to your right!”
Annabeth dodged and stuck her dagger through its neck, turning it to dust with ease.
Percy cut through the ranks of a few more, recalling his training from camp. Even with years of constant practice, he didn’t see the bird diving for his back until it was caught by a web. Spider-Man.
“Hi.” Spider-Man saluted with two fingers, voice masked by a rough, gravelly cover-up. “What can I do?”
“You can see the birds, right?” Percy asked. “Web them up.”
“They spit venom,” added Annabeth. “Try not to get hit, because it’s a pretty bad reaction if you do.”
“Yep,” he replied, springing upwards into the air.
Percy slashed one of the birds through the middle and watched it get swept away in the wind. Spider-Man webbed some of the stray birds to a window, making some quip Percy wasn’t listening to.
“They’re not getting any fewer,” Clint called. “Where are they even coming from?”
“Last time we used loud noise to shoo them. Anyone got a speaker hidden somewhere?” Percy asked, fending off his own section of birds.
He raised Riptide to block another bird on his right and jolted in surprise when a bright orange circle stopped the hit from landing.
“Doctor Strange?” He didn’t quite know the man, but Percy had seen him in passing. He visited to see Chiron sometimes at camp. As far as Percy knew, Doctor Strange wasn’t a demigod, but he could see through use magic and see through the Mist, so he was about as powerful as one. Possibly more powerful, considering the sentient cloak and the eye-shaped pendant around his neck.
“It’s me, Percy. Now tell me, how did these get into downtown New York?” Strange asked, fending off his own portion of the flock with arm-shield-things beside Percy. “Hello, Spider-Man.” The sentient cloak waved at the vigilante.
“Strange,” Annabeth shouted. “Can you trap them?”
Strange twisted his hands in a circular motion, conjuring a huge magical ball around the majority of the flock, and with another twist, the few remaining birds headed for Percy were lassoed with whips of orange light. Percy made a mental note to ask him about the magic later.
One stray bird made its way towards Percy, and he was too slow to block with Riptide this time. It grazed his arm—only a light streak, but the pain coursed its way through his body. He stumbled back a few steps, crashing into a brick wall. He fought his way back up and towards Doctor Strange, who was containing some of the strays.
Strange swirled his hands again, with what Percy vaguely remembered to be a sling ring. The birds were dropping steadily into the portal. Until the last loose bird grabbed the ring right off Strange’s finger, throwing it aside to the corner store. It clattered on the ground, right in front of Ned. The portal closed, and Strange threw his arms up in a series of complicated gestures to keep the ball of birds intact.
“Percy!” Strange shouted. “The sling ring!”
“Got it!”
He ran to where he saw the ring on the sidewalk.
“Shit. Where is it?” he cursed, frantically looking over the ground. Ned cursed, and Peter saw his hands waving somewhere in his peripheral vision. Then, he heard the indignant squawks of birds falling through a mystical orange portal. Wasn’t the portal closed?
“Ned!” Annabeth screamed. “Can you make the portal bigger?”
Orange sparks gathered and expanded in the sky below the ball of Stymphalian birds. The sling ring glinted on Ned’s fingers, the look on his face pure concentration as he threw the remaining birds through the portal.
The last of the birds fell through, and Ned dropped the sling ring to the ground, letting it clatter across the pavement. He glanced at Riptide, still under Percy’s white-knuckled death grip.
Ned’s face wasn’t one of concern, though. His mouth dropped into a surprised ‘O’. “Percy. Why are you holding a sword?”