AN: Guess who finished another chapter? I did! Yay! So anyway, this chapter should finish up a lot of the skipped time stuff. And it just might include a few more avengers and provide a little more light to the occasional oc... Ah, the joys of story writing. Simple plots are boring, am I right? Much for fun if there are multiple moving pieces!
VERY IMPORTANT! MUST READ!
Okay, so I'm trying to decide if the story should be in two or three different parts, kind of like a continuing book series, or if it should be like one big long novel. I really want to know what you guys think, so tell me in your reviews! If you don't, I'll be forced to ask my Muses, and as there is an ever growing number of them... Let's just say it would take a while. Much better for you guys to decide...
Disclaimer: As always, not mine... Don't credit me for anything but the ocs, the plot and the awesomeness of it all.
11 Hours Before Thor's Arrival
With Steve Rogers
Steve Rogers sighed as he wiped the sweat from his forehead. It felt good to be back in the gym again. No Avengers, no alien invasions, no more terrorists or Nazis trying to invade and take over. Life was working out pretty well. Gathering up his things, he headed for the door. He could use a break. It was breakfast time anyway.
Walking down the sidewalk, he sighed. New York was as busy as always. Dozens of people were walking or cycling to work or just around town. Car horns, engines, and angry shouts from annoyed drivers filled the air. He walked down the block and turned to his left. The street sign caught his eye. Sixth st. and Neptune av. It had always amused him that this seemed to be were modern day met ancient Greece. In front of him was a small café. The sign in the window read "The Olympian Café, an Olympic Dinning Experience." It seemed to be a theme on that street. Next to it stood "Aphrodite's Make-Up and Accessories." Farther down the street was "Jupiter's Electricity and Plumbing," "Apollo's Music Shop," "Hermes' Express Delivery," and "Hephaestus Repair Shop."
With a smile, he entered the Olympian Café. Looking up from filling a coffee cup, the waitress smiled. "Mr. Rogers," she said cheerfully. "Have a seat and I'll be right with you."
He gave a wave and grabbed a menu, taking a window seat. He glanced over most of it with a mild eye. He already knew what he was getting. The waitress grinned as she walked up to his table, a small note pad in hand. She had beautiful brown hair and twinkling green eyes. Her face was one that was clearly made to smile. She wore a black apron, with an orange Pegasus on the front. Jeans and a black t-shirt clothed the rest of her body.
"Let me guess, Mr. Rogers," she laughed, "You'd like our Atlas breakfast meal, eggs sunny-side up, and pancakes with strawberries."
He grinned in reply. "That sounds wonderful, Claire."
With a smile and a nod, she walked back towards the kitchen, jotting something down on her notes. She was just about to disappear when the bell rang, signaling another customer. Steve watched her turn and see a grown man enter the café. He wore a dark hat and sunglasses to cover his face. A long, black trench coat covered his body. He silently grabbed a menu and took a seat at one of the empty tables. Claire frowned, before knocking a very specific pattern on the door behind her. Then, she plastered a forced smile on her face and walked over to him.
"Welcome to Olympic Café. Can I take your order or do you need more time?" she asked with a smile.
"You see, the menu doesn't have what I'm looking for on it. I prefer things a little more… Rare," he stated, a grin working its way onto his face. He shot out of his seat and lunged at her. A small noise sounded across the café as her pen and note pad clattered to the floor.
The instant the man had lunged, Steve had stood. But he blinked in confusion as she stood behind the man, one hand on her hip. "Did she truly just roll over his shoulder to land on the bench behind him?" he demanded silently. It sure seemed that she had and his eyes confirmed it.
"I'll let security handle you," she told him rather loudly. It was almost immediate. Two rather large and bulky men carrying batons walked out of the kitchen.
"We'll have to ask you to leave," one of them said, face perfectly stoic behind his sunglasses.
When the man did not move, his companion stepped forward. "We can do this the easy way," he listed, pointing to the café door. "Or we can do it the hard way and you'll have to meet the manager." He jerked a thumb at the kitchen.
The strange man glared at all three of them, before lunging at one.
"Hard way it is." The security team went into immediate action. The only sound heard in the next minute or so, was the swift, painful taps of the wooden weapons. In the end, the man was kneeling on the floor. The first guard grabbed his collar.
"Let's go buddy. You'll have to talk with the manager for that," he growled.
The second guard turned to the other customers and smiled charmingly. "Sorry for the interruption this may have caused. Please, go back to your meals." With that, the three men left through the kitchen.
"Claire!" a voice called from the kitchen. "The orders!"
"Coming," she replied. She grinned at the guests and shrugged her shoulders innocently. "It's New York," she told them playfully. "Whatcha gonna do about it?" With that, she turned and headed into the kitchen. She reappeared a few moments later with several plates of food, carrying them around to the different tables. As she set things on Steve's table, he looked up at her with a frown.
"Are you alright?" he wondered.
She smiled and shrugged. "It happens; I am working in New York after all."
"But, were did you learn moves like that?"
"Why? Inspiring your inner man?" she teased with a laugh.
Steve blushed at the innuendo of the comment before opening his mouth to reply.
"Don't worry, I know what you meant," she promised. "I've lived in New York since I was young. It's important for a young girl to know how to defend herself in a large, dark city. Besides, I was in town during the invasion. We lost a few members, so the manager stepped up his requirements in self-defense."
"We were fighting aliens with high tech weapons; I'm not sure hand-to-hand combat is much use."
She shrugged with a smile.
As she turned to walk away, he stopped her. "I've been wondering, who's your manager?"
A look of surprise passed through her eyes, before she schooled it down. "Well, he's-" They were interrupted by the ringing of a cell phone. Steve's to be more precise. He glanced down at the caller I.D. before glancing back up at Claire.
"You should probably take that." Her smile never faltered as she turned and delivered another plate to the next table.
With a sigh, he opened the device and answered. "Hello?"
"Steve Rodgers?"
"Yes. Who is this?"
"My name is Agent Breckt of the Strategic Homeland Intervention and Logistics Division."
"S.H.I.E.L.D.?"
"Precisely. The director has asked me to inform you that an information packet is available at the New York headquarters for you. More details will be provided by onsite Agents and/or through the packet."
"What does Fury want?"
"He is assembling the Avengers, sir. Don't be late." Click.
11 Hours Before Thor's Arrival
With Tony
Tony jerked awake to the sound of a loud, incessant ringing. The tools he had been working with the night before crashed to the ground, adding to the noise. The inventor shook his head and rubbing his temples. The sound continued. At first, he assumed his ears were ringing, then, he noticed his phone. An unknown played on the screen. Despite the voice in the back of his head telling him not to, he answered it.
"Hello?" he tried to sound awake and cocky.
"Mr. Stark, I presume," a female voice on the other end said.
"Sorry, you're late. I have a girl friend."
"I'm not interested in your love life, Mr. Stark. I'm calling about business."
"Call my secretary," he replied arrogantly.
"I will, when I'm done talking with you. My name is Agent Breckt with the Strategic Homeland Intervention–"
"S.H.I.E.L.D. I know. What does Captain Eyebrow want?"
"A n information packet has already been delivered to your secretary. Read it carefully."
"Ah, great, so I can read about why my foster sons are evil. Wonderful stuff. In the meantime, I'm busy. Buh-bye." He hung up, without waiting for her to respond.
He sighed, before picking the tools back up off the floor. Spinning in his chair back to the desk, he smirked down at his damaged armor.
"When I'm done with you," he told the suit. "We're gonna go find my kid."
Tony was still working when Pepper entered his lab an hour later.
"Tony," she called, "You have to read this information packet! You have a meeting later!"
"I'll do it when I'm done," he replied with a shrug.
"No, now."
"Can't, I'm working."
"Tony," she said warningly.
"Ok, ok. Just leave it on the desk there."
"No! You need to read this."
"Why don't you read it and give me the highlights?"
"I already read it. If you want those highlights, you have to read it too."
"But-" his voice trailed off as she leaned in and began to whisper in his ear. He groaned, closing his eyes.
"But the last time you promised that– But what about– Why can't– Ugh!" he complained loudly. "Fine! I'll do it."
Pepper grinned at him. "I knew you would!" she told him, pecking his cheek. With that, she turned and headed for the door.
Tony watched her leave. Well, watched her body, but same difference. When she was gone, he dug through a cabinet and pulled out a bottle. "The things I do for that woman," he grumbled as he opened the folder.
11 Hours Before Thor's Arrival
With Bruce Banner
Bruce Banner was bored. He was out of things to do. He had already searched both Percy and Nico on the internet. He had finished all the projects he could think of. The only thing he could think to do was sit there and fiddle with a pen and a note book, jotting down equations and solving them and doing more.
Slowly, but surely, his mind drifted off and he thought of a boy he had helped before. He had no idea why this kid stuck out from all the other times he had helped people, but he just did.
~Beginning~Of~Flashback~
The boy looked to be about fifteen, although he was huge. His build was similar to a football player and he was tall. Yet as he handled the other patients, he was gentle.
"Careful," he said as he caught a little boy who tripped. "You could get hurt."
The tiny child nodded, before scurrying off to his parents who smiled gratefully at the teenager. His skin was a dark chocolate and his close-cropped hair was a dark brown. His kind eyes were a deep brown. His pronounced features formed a frown as he walked over to a boy about the age of ten who was sitting against a wall with his parents.
"That looks broken," he observed, nodding at the boy's forearm. It was bent at an inhuman angle.
"Yeah," the boy agreed.
"Why haven't the doctors taken care of it?" he asked.
"Because, they're busy. Some people are bleeding really bad, and I'm not."
The teen looked around for a doctor, and his eyes landed on Bruce, who was finishing checking a sick patient. The other doctors, a mere two others, were busy helping a man who had fallen and torn open his thigh and a woman in labor. When they met eyes, the scientist realized why the kid was in there. Between the side of his eye and his temple a nasty cut ran from his forehead to half-way down his cheek. Blood trailed down to his jaw and outlined it like dark paint. The older boy turned back to his young friend.
"You're right. They do look busy. Would you mind if I set if for you? Don't worry, I've been trained how and I've done it before," he added when he noticed the parents' expressions.
Hesitantly, they nodded.
The boy grabbed a reasonably straight piece of wood off the ground nearby and pulled two handkerchiefs out of his back pack. Then, he knelt next to the family.
"You should probably hold your mommy's or daddy's hand," he suggested.
"Why?" the boy asked.
"Because it's going to hurt. If you hold their hand, you can squeeze when it hurts and that way you don't move your arm as much."
"Oh," he replied softly, grabbing the man's left hand with his right.
"Now, this will hurt some, but it will heal faster afterward, okay?"
A soft nod was his answer.
"Okay, on three, one, two," he said. It didn't make much noise, but Bruce knew from experience that the feeling of bone shifting under your hands was not something easily forgotten. The boy shouted in pain and gripped his father's hand with a white knuckled squeeze.
Bruce finished up and grabbed a roll of gauze and a sling and made his way over to the two boys. The older boy laid one of his handkerchiefs down on the boy's arm and then laid the wood along it. He reached down beside him, as if expecting to find something. A soft curse in another language came when he did not feel anything. He looked over and saw Bruce, holding out gauze and sling while smiling. With a quick nod and smile of his own, he grabbed the gauze, dropping the sling on the floor at his side, and secured the wood in place at the elbow and wrapped from the wrist to the fingers, leaving the thumb free. He grabbed the sling and tied it around the boy's neck, resting his arm in it gently.
"There, good as new. Just try not to run or jump for a while. Don't bump it. You should probably come back in a month or so and get it checked out by the doctors to see if you can take it all off," he advised them, shaking the father's hand. The little boy beamed at him.
"Thanks," he said, before leading the way out of the rundown medical center.
"That was well done," Bruce complimented.
"Practice," he replied with a shrug.
"Now, let's see to that face of yours, hm?" the doctor suggested, leading him over to an empty seat.
"Sit," he instructed. "I need to get supplies, I'll be right back." Surprisingly, when he came back, the boy was still there, and did not appear to have moved. Bruce shrugged it off. Why would that surprise him?
"My name is Doctor Banner," he said as he dipped a cotton ball into a container of cleansing alcohol.
"Name's Marc."
"Do you have a last name?" he wondered, rubbing lightly at the cut.
Marc winced, whether at the sting or his name Bruce never knew. "Glory. Marc Glory."
"What's the name of your village or do you live here?"
The boy grinned. "New York," he replied. "I'm here visiting my mother, then I head back to New York."
~End~Of~Flashback~
He still remembered the boy, although he did not know why. He had never seen him again, and he had quite forgotten the boy over the events of the last few months.
"Doctor Banner?" a feminine voice broke through his memories.
He turned one of the young agents stood at the door to his lab, a file folder filled with paper in hand. "Yes? Come on in."
She smiled and entered. She wore glasses over calculating, gray eyes and her honey blonde hair was pulled back into a neat bun. "Thank you. My name is Agent Beckt. Director Fury tasked me with distributing these to the Avengers," she explained, handing the folder to him.
"Well, thank you," he replied with a slightly smile. Oddly, she reminded him of someone, he just could not place who.
She smiled back, no fear visible in her eyes, face or stance. "My pleasure, Doctor Banner." She turned and walked out of the room. She stopped at the door. "Oh, and Doctor Banner?"
"Yes?"
"You have a meeting with the Avengers tonight. The packet will explain further. Please don't be late. On a side note, you should check your third equation on your fourth row. It's incorrect." With that she left, a small smile on her face.
He blinked. Bruce Banner was stumped. He had no clue what to think of her. But she seemed familiar. In the way she walked, the way she stood, her tone of voice. It took him a moment to realize that Marc Glory had walked the same way. Well, not the exact same. He had probably never swayed his hips in his life, but the point stood. The confidence and security in their manner, along the aura of power and control and their wary attention to the world around them. They had both walked like soldiers. They walked like Steve.
Vaguely remembering her comment about being wrong, he glanced down at his sheet. Frowning, he scanned the problem, and then he erased it and redid it. She was right; he was wrong.
Five Hours Before Thor's Arrival
With Nico di Angelo
Silence seemed to be the order of the day. Everyone had heard the curse… Sorry, prophecy the night before at the campfire. Campers were racing to get their battle gear. Even some of those who did not want to be involved seemed to feel like they had no choice now. After all, no one in their right mind would try to oppose a prophecy. 'The big three tried to,' a part of him thought. 'As I said, no one in their right mind,' he told himself.
With a sigh, Nico sank onto a nearby bench. The bags under his eyes were ten times worse than they had been at the beginning of the week. Silently, Will Solace slid onto the bench next to him.
"You okay?" he asked.
"I will be," the son of Hades replied.
Will nodded, as if that made sense. It probably did. In the silence that followed, Nico wondered what he and the son of Apollo were. They weren't friends. No, that would be the wrong word. But they weren't enemies either. Nico did not feel right calling him an acquaintance, after they had been through two wars together. He finally settled on ally. Sure, they got along better, but he supposed after going through Kronos and Gaia that made sense. They had seen each other for years, but neither really said hi. Like, seriously. What do you say to the guy who's the son of the god of songs and the sun when your dad is the god of the underworld, a place forever in the dark? So they just didn't talk.
It dawned on him that he did not know why Will was even sitting next to him.
"Can I help you?" he finally wondered, glaring slightly at the other boy.
"Well, um, not really. I just figured, you know, misery loves company, right?" the blonde suggested.
Nico did not look impressed. "Good thing I'm not miserable," he replied.
"You sure? You look pretty miserable to… right, not miserable, got it," he said quickly as the son of Hades' glare darkened.
"Why are you really here? You never interact with me."
"Not true," the son of Apollo denied, "I healed you, didn't I? You know, when you and Reyna brought the Athena Parthenon back."
His glare darkened. "Yes, I remember the first time your said more than 'hi' to me."
"Uh, right."
"Annabeth sent you, didn't she?"
"What? No! That's ridiculous."
Nico's glare did not falter. The son of Apollo was many things. He was an amazing shot. He was a beautiful singer. He was good with crowds. He was also a really bad liar. The son of Hade's glared at him in disbelief.
"Well, not in so many words," he finally admitted. "I think what she said was that you were lonely and that she had battle strategies to plan. But who can remember who said what, right?"
Silently, Nico stood and left, rolling his eyes in annoyance.
Left on his own, Will sighed. "Annabeth is going to kill me," he muttered.
~Beginning~Of~Flashback~
"Nico's seemed a little down lately. I can tell he's been having nightmares," Annabeth told him, jotting down notes with a pen.
"Okay," he replied, "and what exactly do you want me to do about it?"
"Oh, I dunno. Find something he likes to do and get his mind off of Percy."
"Stuff he likes to do, you mean like mope?"
"Take this seriously."
"I am serious! Moping is his favorite pass-time!"
"Well, I'm sure you'll think of something. I expect to see him cheered up next time I run into him. I have battle strategies to check."
Will watched her leave, chewing his lip. "Well, who doesn't like a challenge?"
~End~Of~Flashback~
Four Hours Before Thor's Arrival
With Annabeth
It was nightmare. He was gone again. But this time, she knew who to target. Nick Fury, director of S.H.I.E.L.D. If they ever met and he did not return her Seaweed Brain to her, she would kill him. That was a fact.
Annabeth Chase sat at her cluttered desk, writing up one more back up plan. After all, a child of Athena can never have too many fail safes. Stacks of plans, charts and blue prints covered all but the part of the desk she was writing on. Papers littered the floor around her desk. A trash can in the corner was half full of crumpled paper and the floor held a dozen of the scrapped sheets.
"Hey!" she heard her brother, Malcolm, call outside the cabin. "You can't go in there! Annabeth is working!" A second later, the door was flung open and in marched Nico di Angelo, the famed son of Hades.
Annabeth hardly looked up. "Hello Nico."
"I know you're the one," he told her.
"The one what? The one that's dating Percy, the one that's planning the attack on the S.H.I.E.L.D. base, the one that's busy? Which 'one'?" she wondered.
"The one who sent that stupid son of Apollo to check up on me. I'm not a little kid, I don't need a baby sitter!"
"I didn't send a baby sitter," she denied.
"Like Hades you didn't!"
"I've been working on plans for who knows how long," she grumbled, turning her chair to face him. "I've hardly had time to watch your every move and pick someone to baby sit or watch you. Besides, you handled yourself for a year before we found you in the labyrinth."
"Exactly! Stop sending people to check up on me!"
"What people?" she grumbled, returning to her writing.
"First Jason stops by my cabin, and then Thalia shows up at the Big House, and now Will sits next to me by the sword arenea! Claim you aren't behind any of those!"
"I wasn't behind all of those."
"But you were behind Will!"
"What do you want me to say?" she demanded, standing up. "You've hardly slept at all in the past five days. All you do is wander around, or practice sword fighting, or shadow travel around looking for Percy. Even sons of Hades need sleep."
"I'm fine," he growled.
"Fine, whatever," she rolled her eyes.
Nico glanced at the paper she was working on. "Are you writing another back up plan?"
"You can never have too many back up plans," she argued.
"Uh, yes you can. You're never gonna use any of those anyway!"
"Whatever. Malcolm, spread the word. We leave in about an hour and a half. We need to get there with enough time to get in position," she continued when her brother popped his head in the door.
"Got it. I'll tell everyone to be in the cars in an hour and fifteen." With that, he left. They could vaguely hear his voice as he spread the word, calling it to some of the nearby campers.
"We're taking the vans?" Nico wondered.
"How else would we get everyone into the city? You can't shadow travel that many, and neither can Mrs. O'Leary. We'll save those skills for getting into position."
Two Hours Before Thor's Arrival
With Natasha
'I'm starting to believe in bad luck and conspiracies,' Natasha though glumly as she walked through the halls. She was nearly out of time before the surprise Avengers meeting. It was just her luck that as soon as she had made up her mind to snoop around his room earlier, they got called away on a mission. The only good thing that came of the mission was the ride home, on which she had managed to take Clint's wallet. After flipping through it, she found a small coin pouch tucked in the back. There were about seven golden coins in there, all with the man's face and the empire state building. And then of course she had to go to meet with Fury, Hill and Clint about Agent Tacker.
She silently unlocked his door and slipped inside. She began looking through his drawers and his closet. She checked under his bed and even knocked lightly on the walls and floor. She could not find anything.
Giving a huff of annoyance, she turned around and stared at the room. That was when she noticed the slight tear in the box spring just barely visible below the edge of the bed cover. Walking over, she knelt down next to the bed and moved the blanket. It revealed a long tear. In the dark, something glinted. She slipped on her gloves. Then, slowly, she pushed her hand into the tear. She frowned when her fingers connected with something hard and cold. Gently, she pulled it out, revealing what looked like… a baton? No, it suddenly glinted like metal. It seemed to shimmer almost in and out of existence. In her vision, it seemed fuzzy, even though she held it in her hand. Slipping off one of her gloves, she ran the back of her fingers over the hilt. It was wrapped in leather and smooth. It felt kind of like metal, which was impossible.
She waved it around gently, feeling its balance. She stood and twirled it in her hand. It swung just like a baton, but something felt off about it. As she swung it, it slipped from her hand, and fell to the ground, landing head first on her foot. Or rather, through her foot. She gaped at the baton as it stood on end straight through her appendage. Silently, she moved her foot, but it moved as if the weapon did not exist. Picking it up, she tapped it against her palm, only to see it go straight through. She trembled slightly, unsure whether from excitement or fear. What kind of weapon could someone hold and yet have it not hurt them? What was the point of such a device?
Suddenly, she heard the sound of someone walking down the hall. Reluctantly, she slipped the baton back into the tear, just as she had found it, replaced the blanket and slid into the nearest vent as someone slid a key into the door. Silently, she slipped down the vent until she came to an exit point. There, she climbed out of the vents, her mind heavy with thought.
A voice over her comm. set broke through the haze. "Intruder alert! Security breach in the weapon containment department, cell seven!"
Her blood ran cold. "No," she begged softly as she sprinted down the hall, towards the containment department. "Anywhere but there!"
Two Hours Before Thor's Arrival
With Clint
As he slid the key into his lock, he knew something was wrong. Turning the key confirmed his suspicions. The door was unlocked. He extended his bow and grabbed an arrow. Turning the knob, he left the door cracked as he notched his arrow, then he kicked the door open. The room was empty.
He frowned and checked the closet. No one there. He checked the bathroom. Empty. He returned to his main room in confusion. Why was his door unlocked? He checked his drawers and dressers and desk. All untouched. He turned to walk over to his bed and froze.
The tear was visible and indented. He rushed to reach into the darkness and feel for his weapon. He sighed when his hands closed around the familiar grip. He pulled it out and gazed at the slightly curved bronze sheath. Thankfully, it was still safe. He weighed the blade in his hand before drawing it.
Turning and aiming for a target on the far wall, he threw the blade with deadly accuracy. It hit its mark, leaving a deep gash in the target across the bullseye before ricocheting off the ground and back towards him. He caught the blade easily. He strapped the sheath to his leg, sighing in relief at the familiar feeling of his trusted weapon on his leg once more. As he sheathed the weapon, he remembered the day he had first picked the blade.
~Beginning~Of~Flashback~
"Pick any weapon you like," his guide, Kaleb, told him, opening the door to the old shed. "Go on. But be careful. Everything in there can kill you." His brown hair was medium in length and flipped whenever he moved his head. He had bright blue eyes and tan skin. He wore jeans, boots, an orange t-shirt and a sword on his belt.
Clint frowned. "Um, and you keep all this in a summer camp, because?" he wondered, peering at the swords, knives, bows, guns, lances, even a super sharp shovel.
"Um, because of creatures like the empousa who attacked you," the other boy replied. "Trust me, we don't use them to hurt campers."
"Generally," added a boy who was walking by.
"Ignore him," the first boy advised. "His name is Tyler. He's one of the determined Hermes kids."
"You guys mention 'determined' a lot," Clint noted, gazing at the weapons. His hands itched to handle one of the bows.
"I guess we do. Someone who's determined belongs to a certain cabin, instead of being undecided and staying in the Hermes cabin. It's like writing your name on your stuff or identifying a lost child as your own. It's the way the gods tell us which kid belongs to which cabin. Your mom or dad will probably claim you soon. Careful!" The last part was followed by the sound of falling metal.
Clint shoved one of the fallen shields off of him, and sat up. "Sorry."
He laughed. "No problem. Just be careful. If the wrong item falls on you…" he finished the sentence silently, dragging a finger across his neck.
The fallen archer's eyes widened. "Right," he breathed nervously.
"So anyway, is that the one you want?" Kaleb asked.
Clint looked down. His hand clutched a long dagger in a plain, bronze sheath. "Uh… I dunno," he admitted.
"Try it out. If you don't like it, you can always talk to Chiron or one of the senior campers about switching weapons."
"Oh, okay." He stood and stepped out of the shed, walking a few feet away. He unsheathed the dagger and held it out in the sunlight to get a better look at it.
"Uh, on second thought, maybe you should pick another dagger," his companion advised.
"Why?"
"The blade's name is always written on it. That one is Spasménos."
"Broken," he translated immediately. "Why would someone name their blade Broken? And how did I know it was named Broken?"
Kaleb grinned. "That second one is a demigod thing. All of us knows some Greek automatically. You'll get better with practice. As for the name, it's called that cause no one can use it. One of the Hephaestus kids made it a while back. It's supposed to be a throwing knife, but it never hits the mark. It has a bad habit of swerving and almost hitting people."
"Why can't you just use it in combat then?"
"Not reliable. It's a throwing knife. Sure, in a pinch you can use it in combat, but it's not designed for prolonged close combat. It was supposed to work like a batarang and come back to your hand after ricocheting off the target. Needless to say, it didn't work."
Weighing the blade in his hand, Clint threw it by the tip towards the shed door about three feet away. It slashed a gash into the door, before bouncing off the door frame and coming straight back at him. He yelped and dove out of the way. The blade struck and quivered in the ground a few feet behind where he had been standing.
"Now I see why no one uses it," the young archer gasped.
"How did you do that?" Kaleb demanded. "How did you make it work?"
"What do you mean 'work'? It tried to kill me!"
"No it didn't! It's supposed to ricochet back to your hand, remember? That was incredible!"
"So… You think I should keep it?"
"By the gods, of course you should keep it!"
~End~Of~Flashback~
Clint was snapped out of memory lane as a voice blared over his comm. set. "Intruder alert! Security breach in the weapon containment department, cell seven!"
Eyes wide, he turned and ran for the door. He raced down the hall. Completely forgotten in the panic was Spasménos, still trapped against his thigh.
Two Hours Before Thor's Arrival
Weapon Containment Department, Cell Seven
One woman stood in the open doorway, gazing at the item inside. She was grinning. The lights flickered on, revealing a strange scepter. It sort of resembled a curved rifle with a long blade on the top of it. A blue orb sat where the end of the gun would have been. A smaller blade curved along the underside of the scepter. The woman walked into the room. She had long black hair, brown eyes and pale skin.
"Ah," Apate said as she reached towards the scepter. "Sister, I found it."
"Nice," Eris replied, walking over and entering the room. "Now we just have to return it to the master."
"Halt!" a loud voice rang through the room. Nick Fury stood in the doorway, several agents surrounding him. Among them were Maria Hill, Clint Barton, Natasha Romanov, and a young man standing near Clint. He could not be older than seventeen. He had a mischievous face and sharp features. His light brown hair was slightly messed up and his green eyes sparkled with the promise of a little trouble. He wore combat boots, black pants, a black shirt and a black jacket with the S.H.I.E.L.D. logo on the shoulder. A holster on his right thigh held a gun, as well as one on his left hip.
Apate chuckled slightly, looking around. "It seems they think they can stop us, sister."
"Mortals always have been fools," Eris agreed.
Clint notched an arrow and aimed it at them. "How about you step away from the scepter." His tone of voice made it clear that it was not a suggestion.
"I'm afraid I am in need of this, so I'll be taking it with me. Farewell, mortals," Apate said, as she and her sister began to glow.
"Look away!" Clint and the teenager shouted together. The archer released his arrow and it exploded in front of the women. Meanwhile, his friend threw himself at Fury from behind and gripped his hands as the man threw him over his shoulder, swinging around into Agent Hill. Natasha turned at the sound. A light flashed brightly and then it was dim. Every agent turned back toward the scepter's stand. It was empty. It had not been much time, but it had been enough. Eris and Apate were gone.
Growling in anger, Fury grabbed the young man and shoved him up against a wall.
"Where did they go?" he demanded sharply.
"Director," Clint interrupted. "He doesn't know. Let him go."
Fury turned and glared at the archer.
"Well done, Agent Lavden," he told the younger agent, ignoring the director.
"Thanks, Agent Barton," Lavden replied through grit teeth, his arm twisted up behind him and his face smashed against a wall.
"Let's just undo that," Clint suggested, easing the pressure off the boy and pulling him off the wall. "Now, don't we have a meeting to get to?"
"Explain yourselves!" barked the director.
"After the meeting," the archer agreed. "But for now, suffice it to say, he just saved your lives." With that, he left the room. Natasha followed after him, with one last glance at Agent Lavden, who looked somewhere between proud of Barton's praise and terrified of the Director's anger.
Fury growled angrily, shoving the younger agent towards Hill. "Place him in a holding cell until further notice. I have a meeting to run."
Shortly After Thor's Arrival
With the Half-Bloods
Thunder crashed outside as Annabeth stared at her watch anxiously. 8:59:57. 8:59:58. 8:59:59. 9:00:00. Right on schedule, a loud roar echoed through the entire building. A roar much too loud to be thunder. That was the sign. Annabeth and her team burst from the room they had been hiding in and charged into the hall with a roar. They slammed swords into the skulls of nearby agents, dropping them. Some used arrows to take down agents, permanently. Others had guns, or lances. Every half-blood made sure their opponent stayed down, no matter the cost. Gun shots could be heard down the hall.
"Shields!" Annabeth roared. All of the demigods raised their shields as new agents rushed around the corner and open fired. Bullets ricocheted. Out of the corner of her eye, the daughter of Athena saw one half-blood stagger, wounded. His neighbors kept him upright. They all pushed on.
Rounding a corner, Annabeth thrust her shield into the face of an oncoming agent, sending them stumbling back. She used her knife to knock them out. Then she moved on to the next opponent. The fight seemed to blur as she pounded, thrust, slashed and slammed her way forward. Opponents dropped before her like Hypnos kids to a lullaby.
Then, a sign on a door caught her eye. It read, 'Survelliance Room 3.' She grabbed Leo and dragged him into the room.
"You said if we got you to a computer you could find him, so find him," she shouted over the clamor.
He grinned. "You keep them out of the room, and I'll find your boyfriend." With that, he began typing away at lightning speeds.
With the Avengers
Thor's words had an effect like magic. Almost instantly, every Avenger along with the Director were flying from their seats and racing to the deck. On the way to the deck, they were informed of the attack on the New York base. Thor and Tony took off instantly, while the rest piled into a quinjet.
"Seven minute eta," Clint called back as he settled into the pilot's seat.
Natasha took co-pilot. Glancing at the controls, she frowned. 'Seven?' she wondered silently. 'It shouldn't take that long. Eta is four minutes…' She had an uncomfortable sneaking suspicion that Clint did not want them to catch whoever these 'Olympians' were. She glanced at his face. The worried frown that decorated his lips told her all she needed to know.
'I gave him specific instructions not to let this happen!' he thought in frustration. 'This shouldn't be happening.' But yet, it was happening and he was powerless to stop it. The only thing he could do was buy his brethren a little more time to get away. The last thing S.H.I.E.L.D. or the camps needed was another war. Especially against each other.
AN: And that rounds off the end of chapter 13. Wow, it seems like only yesterday I was posting chapter 1 *wipes away tear* They- They just grow up so darned fast! Did you guys realize that this is over 150 pages on my computer already?
Anywho, I wasn't too thrilled with how this chapter turned out... Not one of my best I fear. Oh well. You guys'll just have to tell me your favorite scenes in the reviews. I love the feedback I've been getting from you guys! Really, it would probably surprise many of you about how much your reviews really do mean to me. I used to think authors were liars, then I got reviewers of my own... *wipes another tear* you just mean so much!
But yes, this next chapter should take us back to current time, instead of more history classes... And the next chapter has some FUN scenes! Yay! I've already started on it, so it shouldn't be so long this time around...
IMPORTANT STUFFZ!
Okay, so remember to tell me whether you want it to be one huge story (because it will end up being huge...) or if it would be easier to handle in two or three smaller stories.
If you notice something that doesn't make sense, or you don't know how it fits in, ask about it! There is this wonderful thing that can clarify stuff if used properly, it's called communication! It's done through these magical things called WORDS! Don't be like my muse, Gadjer Gadget, and forget to use these wonderful devices...
And finally, I have a challenge for you guys. I want you to tell me your favorite scene in the entire story. Don't worry, what you tell me will not affect your future... At least not too badly ;p
See y'all next time!
-RADyo