A/N: in this fic the age difference between all the FOB guys is one-year approx. between each of them

Also, after the prologue and first chapter, there will be a time-lapse of two years, making Joe 15, Patrick 16, Andy 17 and Pete 18

PROLOGUE

On the day Pete Wentz arrived at Camp Half-blood, the sun was shining and the pegasi were whinnying. Pretty much everyone was asleep. I mean, it was 9 AM on a Sunday, what else would they be doing? Pete could think of many other things he could be doing but no, Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz the Third was being dragged along long island sound, yelling at a girl named Lindsey, who it turned out wasn't a girl, she was a goat.

At least, that's what Pete thought that one morning as he was being dragged on his back, by his feet, by a very pissed of goat-girl who had been hanging out with him for the past year of school. As Pete and Lindsey began to ascend some huge hill with a pine tree at the very top, Pete asked the question he had asked about 2005 times once again; "where the fuck are we going?" and was once again answered with a lovely "shut the fuck up, Wentz."

To say the least, Pete was a little confused. You know, just a little. That morning he'd been woken to the sound of Lindsey, who had been his only friend that year, breaking his window with a baseball bat. She'd climbed in, knocked him over the head with said baseball bat, and the next thing he knew he was being dragged feet-first along a gravelly road and he was pretty sure he had a concussion.

After about ten more minutes of similar wincing and whining, the pair reached the crest of the hill, and Lindsey started to yell. "Chiron you asshole I had to hang around with this annoying twat for a year, a year of my life has been wasted on this doofus, not to mention the eyeliner addiction, I mean c'mon! Holy Hera Chiron, not to mention he's so obviously a powerful one? I better be getting a couple decades of rest now-" Lindsey broke off her tirade of rage as a half-man half horse trotted up the hill, staring shell-shocked at something above Pete's head. Pete looked up a little. Black flames. Then, Pete Wentz passed out.

Matt Mixon considered himself a pretty fucking lucky guy. Goat. Goat-Guy. For starters, he'd been assigned the easiest to protect half-blood ever, Andy Hurley, who Matt was pretty sure didn't need his help as the kid was a pretty amazing fighter despite having only just turned 15, and had saved Matt's ass from monsters which where meant to be hunting Andy more times than Matt could count.

Secondly, Andy was actually a really nice kid. Originally Matt had thought Andy would be a son of Ares for certain because of the twinge of anger in his eye, his fighting abilities and his reddish brown hair, but after spending more and more time with Andy Matt decided that couldn't be possible. Andy was always warm and kind to everyone, especially weaker kids in the younger years at his school, and he directed his anger at the establishment, bigots and bullies, instead of literally everything and everyone, like an Ares kid would have.

He was definitely a half-blood, and Chiron had a feeling that he was one of the main 12, so Matt was sorta stumped. Andy was too kind to be Ares, not dark and solemn enough to be Hades, too straight edge to be Dionysus, not delicate enough to be Apollo and certainly not Poseidon, the kid could barely swim. Matt couldn't wait to get him to camp and found out, and the opportunity to do so came soon enough.

Andy and Matt had been sitting in a coffee shop enthusing about tattoos when the attack came. They'd stayed at Andy's mom's house the previous night (Andy's mom was a mechanic by day and vegan hippie type by night who made food so good it bought tears to Matt's eyes) and were having a fucking great first week of vacation when an angry Chimera jumped them. Andy had managed to pull his flannel shirt over the monster's eyes so they could run for it, and run for it they did. They took their bikes and pedaled all the way from Milwaukee to Camp Half-blood, which would have taken a lot longer if Andy hadn't tinkered with the bikes' inner workings, installing motors which made them run more like Formula One race cars than second hand bicycles given to them by a weird old dude with a limp at a 'teens against transphobia' rally. Matt directed them to the camp and Andy beat him over the border, causing Matt to crash into him. They rolled down Half-blood Hill and landed at the feet-hooves of Chiron.

Andy seemed unfazed by the appearance of a centaur and the uncovering of Matt's horns and goat legs ('I had a feeling the beanies weren't a fashion statement, dude') and if he was surprised at learning that his dad was an Olympian he didn't show it. Andy was claimed after only two days, a new record at camp, he had just finished demonstrating an automaton dummy he had built himself for sword practice (it assessed your abilities and what you needed to improve on as you fought it, even Matt's pacifist ass thought that was sick) when a hammer and tongs glowed red above his head. Matt mentally kicked himself as he knelt; of course Andy was a son of Hephaestus! That explained the anger toward people who judge others by things they had no power to change, the strength, the kindness and the gift for mechanics!

The established Hephaestus kids (and most of the other campers) gawped at Andy as he sat at their table eating rice and something wheatgerm-ish that night, they were good kids but not the most...conventionally attractive cabin, thanks to the appearance of their dad, but Andy seemed to be an exception. He was sorta dashing, Matt thought, if you liked shortish ginger punks with nice hair and kind eyes, which lots of the Demeter kids seemed to. Or maybe it was the veganism, who knows. Oh, another camper thought Andy was pretty hot stuff, a certain son of Poseidon, but we'll get to him later.

The way he saw it, Patrick Martin Stump had it pretty darn good. He had a scholarship for music at a high-end private school, a mother who supported him in every area, from providing materials so he could cultivate the phase after he turned ten where he only wore snazzy suits (it lasted a year, he even slept in the things) to cheering him up when he failed spelling tests to accepting him when he came out as aromantic and letting him move from the small sport-oriented public school he had been going to to the boarding school which was quite a distance from their Chicago home. Patrick's dad had never been in his life, but his mom had been with a really nice guy called Mike since Patrick was about 2, so he'd never really been interested into learning who his dad was. Patrick fucking loved the new school, it was music for 8/10 lessons a day, barely any mean kids and one super nice kid called Jimmy, the dude was insanely tall, his hair was always spiked as high as possible, he walked with an odd, lopsided gait and he had the strangest voice Patrick had ever heard but he was also fucking hilarious and really took a shine to Patrick. One night when Patrick was 15 he was up past midnight in one of the school's soundproof recording studios with Jimmy, hitting the drums and screaming away their exam anxiety when a blonde cheerleader called Amelia had appeared and tried to eat Patrick. Like, not in a sexual way, she tried to bite his head off. Jimmy hit her in the face with a bass and dragged Patrick away from the school and onto a train to NYC. On the way Jimmy explained to Patrick that his dad wasn't a starving artist, as Patrick had attempted to deduce whilst very drunk, but one of the Greek Gods. Patrick didn't take it all that badly, but when Jimmy showed him his goat feet the poor kid passed out. When Patrick woke up he was being piggybacked up a hill to what looked like a strawberry farm until he saw a horse-man at the entrance. Then he passed out again.

A few hours and several shots of espresso later Patrick had pretty much come to terms with the fact that he had a divine dad and claimed a bunk in Cabin 11, but not before making friends with his tour guide, a really cute son of Hephaestus called Andy who chatted about drums and weird satyrs with Patrick for most of the day. Andy told him he reckoned that Patrick would be a son of Apollo or maybe a minor God like Morpheus and he turned out to be correct when, a few weeks later after a particularly good piano recital several golden music notes and a crossbow flitted above Patrick's head and he was claimed as a son of Apollo.

Joe was tired. And fucking confused. He had been swimming for hours, and Billie had too, but Joe was definitely a bit slower than him. "C'mon, Trohman, look dude, the beach is there" Billie put on a burst of speed, and was soon even further in front of Joe.

Joe seriously had no idea what was going on, he and Billie had gone for a boat ride, but then Billie had insisted that the stall the boat and jump off. Pretty much as soon as the jumped off, the boat disappeared. Like literally, disappeared. Then Billie had set off swimming, seeming to know where he was going, and with no land in sight, Joe had decided his best bet would be to follow his best friend, after all, Billie had always gotten the two of them out of troublesome situations.

As Joe's muscles began to ache, only one thought was going through his mind. I need to get to shore. I need to get to shore. I need to get to shore… before Joe knew what was happening, he heard Billie scream "what the ever loving fuck have you done now Trohman?" and he felt himself being lifted by a wave bigger than any he'd ever seen, and carrying him forward, towards the sand where he could now see a large crowd of what looked like teenagers, all in matching orange shirts. Abruptly, the wave disappeared from underneath Joe, and he felt his weight being caught by a pair of strong, muscled arms, before they too fell to the ground, and everything fell into darkness