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The cafeteria at Midtown High seemed even busier than usual. As Peter and Ned took their usual seats, Peter noticed a few people pointing toward a student in the lunch line. With his enhanced hearing, he heard one of them whisper, “That’s him!”
“Who’s that guy?” asked Peter.
“Who?”
Peter pointed. “Black hair, blue hoodie.”
“That’s Percy Jackson.” MJ set her tray down across from them and sat.
“Ohhh yeah, I have that guy in my history class,” said Ned. “He has, like, an intimidating aura.”
“Well, duh,” said MJ. “Haven’t you heard what he’s done?”
“What?”
MJ lowered her voice conspiratorially. “According to the 2019 newspapers, he was kidnapped by some Mafia dude when he was twelve years old. He took over a whole bus to get away from the Mafia guy… he exploded the Gateway Arch… and then they had a shootout in Los Angeles and he finally got away.”
Peter glanced over at the Percy guy, who seemed to be doing a little dance while he waited at the spaghetti station. “Sure.”
“I’m serious,” MJ said. “There are dozens of eyewitnesses.”
“This explains the intimidating aura,” Ned whispered. “Seriously? He beat a Mafia boss in a gunfight when he was twelve?”
“Oh, that’s not the only thing,” MJ said nonchalantly, dipping a carrot stick in hummus. “He only showed up this week. He’s a transfer student… you know why?”
Peter could tell she was thriving off the suspense. “Why?”
She leaned toward them. “He blew up the art room at his school.”
“And your source is…?” said Peter.
“A conversation I overheard while sitting outside the teacher’s lounge. Best place for gossip.”
“I don’t know, man,” said Ned. “Why the heck would anyone blow up the art room?”
“Maybe he had, like, a burning hatred for those handprint turkey things,” said Peter.
“Or maybe he’s a nihilist,” suggested MJ. “Maybe he wants to see the world burn.” She looked a little too enthusiastic at the idea.
“Um… okay,” said Ned. “Thanks for the tip. Now we know to stay out of his way.”
The Percy guy had reached the end of the lunch line and was looking around, possibly wondering where to sit. MJ turned and waved at him. “Hey, Jackson! Come sit over here!”
“Or…we could do that,” sighed Ned.
Percy came over and stood next to their table. Up close, Peter understood better what Ned had meant by the “intimidating aura.” Something about his face—the set of his jaw, the hard look in his startling green eyes—made him look like he was ready for a fight.
“Sorry, do I know you?” Percy asked.
“No, but you don’t have any friends, so you should sit with us,” said MJ.
Percy raised an eyebrow. “I have a girlfriend.”
“Oh.” She got that blank, disinterested look that meant she was embarrassed but trying not to show it.
“But she’s on a trip right now.” He sat down. “Looking out for the new kid, are you?”
Ned shrugged. “We’re nice people,” he said with a smile that looked only a little terrified.
“Good for you.” Percy peeled the plastic off his tray of spaghetti and took a bite. He made a face. “Gods, this is almost as bad as the AHS lunches.”
“Yeah, we all bring our own lunch now,” said Ned.
“I did too, but it got lost on the way,” said Percy with a smirk. He took another bite. “Seriously, I’m pretty sure they could replace the noodles with rubber bands and no one could tell the difference.”
“So…” Peter said. “How come you came to Midtown High? I guess it wasn’t for the food, huh?”
“I blew up the art room at my old high school,” Percy said through a mouthful of noodles.
MJ sent Ned a smug smile as if to say, "Told you."
“Oh, okay,” said Peter, his voice about an octave higher. He tucked in to his fish sticks.
“Hey, Penis Parker!” said a voice behind him.
Peter sighed.
Flash came up to their table, trailed by a couple of golddigger “friends.” “Found another weirdo for your weirdo gang, huh?”
Percy turned his head and fixed Flash with a glare. Peter shivered. “That’s really clever,” Percy said, his voice low and monotone.
“I know, right?” Flash said, his smile wavering, his voice breaking at the end.
Percy didn’t blink. “You can leave now.”
Flash cleared his throat. He shuffled his feet. And… he turned around and left.
“How did you do that?” whispered Ned in awe. “You’re even scarier than MJ.”
Percy shrugged and went back to his lunch. “I hung out with wolves for a while. It stuck.”
“Wolves? Like…furries?” Peter asked.
Percy choked on his spaghetti. “No, no—actually, yeah, that’s pretty accurate.”
After that day, Peter decided to keep Percy as a lunchmate. Not necessarily because he hung out with furries. But because he was weird and chill and shockingly good at putting Flash in his place. Over the next two weeks, they got to know more about him, bit by bit. He had ADHD and dyslexia. He’d gone to ten different schools. He had some sort of obsession with fish (maybe part of the furry thing?) and he’d mainly gotten into Midtown because he was the best swimmer in New York.
Peter started to think of him as a friend—a friend with a mysterious past and a possible fish kink, but a good friend nonetheless.
Then, of course, it had to get weirder.
Every Tuesday afternoon, Peter went to the lab at Stark Tower as part of his “internship.” Sometimes, he helped with low-level lab work for actual experiments. Mostly—especially on days like this, when the lab was almost empty—he played around. Currently, that meant pipetting DNA samples from a dead pigeon he’d found in the road. (New York pigeons were unnaturally strong, and he needed to know their secret. For science.)
“Hey, Spiderling.”
Peter looked up from the samples. “Oh, hi, Mr Stark.”
Stark leaned against the lab table. “I’ve got a job for you.”
He straightened up, excitement humming through him. “What kind of job?”
Stark picked up an empty test tube and twirled it around precariously. “It’s recon. Gathering intelligence type thing.”
“Okay…Intelligence about what?”
“Someone at your school. A student in senior year. He’s got a long, confusing history of being involved in destructive incidents. Been sighted in Europe, recently, but mainly in the US. We’re…” He took out a manila folder and slid it toward Peter. “We’re not really sure what to make of him, to be honest. Might be a cryptid with no self-control. Might be part of a terrorist network. Might be something even stranger. We could kidnap and interrogate him, of course, but… Well. Some people thought a more subtle approach would be prudent.”
“So…Where do I come in?”
Stark leaned closer, wrinkling his nose at the dead pigeon between them. “Find him. Get to know him. Go through his phone, his bag. Does he have sketchy contacts? Suspicious habits? Strange abilities? Let me know whatever you find out.” He cleared his throat. “I’m trusting you with this, Peter. So don’t do anything stupid. This guy…He’s dangerous. People have died.”
Peter swallowed. “I’ll be careful, Mr Stark.”
“Great.” He clapped him on the shoulder. “Good luck, kiddo! And, uh, please clean up that bird. It smells like unmentionables.”
As Stark’s steps receded down the hallway, Peter flipped to the first page of the file. The top read: PERCY JACKSON.
It had been one of those shockingly cold early April days, and the school library was so frigid that Peter could see his breath, a little puff of fog clouding his physics textbook. He’d been reading about the motion of oscillating objects for what felt like ages. He rubbed a hand over his face, trying to work some heat into it. Little pendulums rocked back and forth behind his eyelids.
He checked his watch. Four fifty-five; the library was closing in five minutes. He creaked out of his chair, each knee popping, and quickly put his things away.
As he made his way through the maze of stacks toward the entrance of the library, he noticed one straggler was slumped over his books, his head resting on crossed arms. Peter hesitated. Should he wake him up? He kinda looked like he needed the sleep. Then again, it was better than being woken up by the librarian.
Peter stepped up cautiously and put a hand on the guy’s shoulder. “Hey—”
The reaction was immediate. The guy jerked up and leapt out of the chair and away from Peter.
Peter involuntarily took a step back and his fingers twitched toward his web shooters. Then he took in the guy’s appearance: disheveled black hair, bright green eyes, and a ratty blue hoodie with a jellyfish on it. “Percy?”
Percy blinked. “Peter.”
“Uh, sorry for startling you… I saw you were asleep and thought… Um, why are you brandishing a pen at me?”
Percy looked down at the ballpoint in his hand and slowly slid it into his pocket. Then he sent an easy smile Peter’s way. “My bad, man. I can be a little jumpy. What time is it, anyway?”
“Almost five. The librarian’s gonna come for us soon.”
”Five?” Percy took in the dark windows and empty chairs. “Five. Shit.” He started to pack his stuff away, cursing under his breath. “Fuuuuuck.”
“Um,” said Peter.
“Sorry, sorry, thanks for waking me up, really,” said Percy, shoving a sheath of wrinkled worksheets into his bag. Peter winced at the crumpling sound.
“Is there any way I can help?” he asked.
“No, it’s just that I have a precalc test tomorrow and I haven’t finished half the homework and I don’t understand a fucking thing about cosines or how a fucking triangle is supposed to turn into a squiggly line…” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then turned to leave. “Anyway, see you around. Unless I’m kicked out again.” His laugh was a little unhinged.
“Wait!” Peter jogged to catch up. “Maybe I could help you? I’m pretty good at math.”
Percy turned back. “Aren’t you a sophomore?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, but…”
Percy sighed. “Right, I forgot. Midtown High for irritatingly modest geniuses.”
Peter blushed. “So do you want to come to my place? My aunt wouldn’t mind.”
Percy fidgeted with something in his pocket. “I don’t know… Don’t you have homework to do?”
“Nothing that’s due tomorrow.”
“Alright… Do you want to come over to my house instead, though? My mom gets worried when I’m out too late.”
Peter remembered Stark’s words. Get to know him. “Sure, no problem. I’ll just call my aunt and make sure it’s okay.”
One subway, two buses, and way too many stairs later, Percy and Peter were situated in Percy’s room with a plate of blue cookies. For a suspected terrorist, he sure had a nice mom. Peter perched on the bed, looking around the room for hints of insanity or criminal intent. It seemed like your average teenage mess: piles of clothes, stacks of prep books, a couple skateboards.
Percy stretched and took off the puffer jacket he’d been wearing outside, followed by his hoodie. Peter took off his own puffer; after the exertion of the stairs, the apartment was uncomfortably warm. “So…What math problems do you need help with?”
Percy groaned. “All of them.”
He took out the sheath of worksheets, which had come to resemble a giant paper snowball. Peter wondered if Percy had ever considered investing in a folder.
As Percy cleared room on the desk and smoothed out the worksheets on top of it, Peter caught sight of a tattoo on his inner forearm. It was a trident with a line under it and the letters SPQR.
“What’s the tattoo for?” Peter asked
He immediately regretted it. Percy’s easy smile became a little less easy. “Inside joke.”
“Oh.”
For a few moments, there was only the sound of crinkling paper. Then Percy settled into the spinny desk chair and sighed. “Okay. Can you explain this to me?” He handed a worksheet to Peter and pointed to a sinusoidal equation. “Seriously, what the fuck does this have to do with a triangle?”
Peter laughed. “Okay, so imagine a circle…”
They made their way through the problems. Peter enjoyed helping Percy. It was clear that he’d missed a lot of key concepts during his mysterious absences, but he was surprisingly adept at asking the right questions and picking out the important parts of Peter’s somewhat rambling explanations. Whenever Percy seemed to be getting frustrated, he’d crack a joke and they’d keep going. Peter had respect for that kind of perseverance.
After about an hour, Percy’s mom called for him to help her get dinner ready.
“I’ll help,” said Peter, getting up to follow him.
“No, it’s fine,” said Percy. “Just stay here. Chill out.”
“It’s really no problem—”
“Look, Peter, my mother will take away my cookie privileges for a month if she finds out I let a guest do housework. So for the love of the gods—”
“Alright, alright.” Peter put up his hands and sat down. “I’ll relax. See? Relaxing.”
“Thanks, man. Dinner’ll be ready in ten.” He disappeared around the corner.
Peter’s eyes flicked to the blue backpack on the floor. Go through his phone, his bag. Oh, he really did not want to do this. Percy was cool. He’d stood up for Peter, invited him to his apartment, shared his unbelievably good cookies. It seemed wrong to look through his stuff. But…
People have died.
Peter started with the drawers. He felt around the socks and baggy cargos, but there were no hard objects; no guns, no weird gizmos. Only a bunch of orange T-shirts with what looked like Greek writing on them. Peter took a picture.
Next he kneeled next to Percy’s backpack. Inside was a mess of papers, pencils, and packets of gum. He didn’t find Percy’s phone, but he did find two things that were kind of strange: a handful of coins with more Greek letters on them, and a Ziploc bag full of what looked like toffee squares. Peter pocketed one of the coins, then opened the Ziploc. He brought it to his nose. It smelled like toffee, but somehow stronger, like a whiff straight from a toffee-making factory. And there was another, fainter scent that he couldn't place.
“Don't eat that.”
Peter dropped the bag. Percy was standing in the doorway.
“Why were you looking through my stuff?”
“Sorry, I- I- I-” Percy’s expression was genuinely terrifying. “I caught sight of it and I was wondering where you got it from, or, like, if you made it yourself, ‘cause my aunt’s really into toffee and she can never find the perfect recipe…”
Percy raised his eyebrows. Peter tried to look convincingly like an innocent boy with a toffee-obsessed aunt.
“I got it from a friend, and the recipe’s a secret. Never been able to replicate it,” Percy said. “Now come on, dinner’s waiting.”
“MJ.”
“What.”
“I need your help.”
“Too bad.”
They were sitting on the roof of the main New York public library. It was cold and windy, but the view of the sunset was worth it. MJ was sitting criss-cross-applesauce with her sketchbook, drawing the New York skyline. Peter was lying down, a respectable distance away from her, staring up at the soft pink clouds.
“I could just leave you on this roof, you know,” said Peter.
“Sure you could.”
“I’m serious.”
“What happened to ‘With great power comes great responsibility?’”
“Hmph.” Peter got up and started to pace along the eaves.
“Someone’s gonna see you,” said MJ.
He sat down. “Do you know how to pickpocket?”
She looked up from her drawing. “Are you actually dumb?”
“Fine, nevermind.”
“Of course I know how to pickpocket. Why do you ask?”
He leaned in conspiratorially. “I need—”
“Peter, you don’t need to whisper. We’re on the roof.”
“Fine!” he shouted. “I need you to steal a piece of toffee!”
She raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“Look,” he said. “You know that Percy guy?”
“The hot one?”
“Uh…”
She rolled her eyes. “Yes, I know that Percy guy. We’ve been eating lunch with him for weeks.”
“Well…” he said. “I kinda got a super-secret mission from Mr Stark to spy on him.”
“Huh. Why?”
“Something about him being involved with, like, a zillion disasters?”
“Like what?”
Peter counted on his fingers. “A bunch of unusual gas explosions… that gunfight in Los Angeles… the mysterious death of his stepfather… The list goes on and on.”
“Mmmmmmmm,” said MJ. “And you didn’t tell me about this before because?”
He put up his hands. “I wasn’t supposed to! I’m breaking the rules by telling you this at all!”
“Come on, this is exactly the kind of thing I hang out with you for.”
“Oh. I thought you enjoyed my company.”
“Okay, maybe that too.” She smiled at him. It was one of her rare, genuine smiles, the kind that slipped out without her noticing. “So… What does this have to do with toffee?”
“Okay. So. I went to his house, right, and snooped around, and I didn’t find much, but I did find a bag of toffee. But it smelled kinda weird, and when he saw me holding it—”
“He caught you?” MJ shrieked.
“Shhh, it’s fine, he believed my excuse.”
“Oh my God, you’re so bad at this.”
“Anyway, when he saw me holding it he said ‘Don’t eat that’ all intense, as if it were poisonous or something. So then I thought…”
MJ gasped. “Poison?”
“Drugs.”
“Oh. Drugs.” She nodded. “That does seem more likely.”
“You think so?”
“Yeah, he kinda seems like the drug dealer type,” she said. “He has that seen-it-all look in his eyes.”
“Huh.” Peter gazed at the fingers of crimson spreading across the sky.
“So you want me to steal a piece of toffee so we can see if it has weed in it?”
“Could you?”
“It would be my pleasure.”
Annabeth stood behind a marble pillar, trying to find Percy in the crowd of students swarming up the steps to Midtown High. She never could sacrifice a chance to jump-scare him. Suddenly, she spotted him just a few meters away. She weaved between backpacks until she was only a few feet away from him. She crept closer…
“Hey, Annabeth.”
“Shit!” She took off her Yankees cap. “You didn’t used to be able to do that.”
He kissed her. “That was before two wars and a trip to Tartarus.”
She sighed. “Good point.”
He took her hand. “It’s good to see you again.”
She squeezed it. “You too.”
She became aware of how much she’d missed him during the past two weeks, as if by drinking water she realized she’d been dying of thirst. She could see the feeling mirrored in the tightness around Percy’s eyes and the way his shoulders had relaxed when he saw her. Even after months of “normal” life, they only truly felt safe when they were together.
“How was Camp Jupiter?” he asked.
“Good. Lots of progress on the shrines. How about you?”
“Terrible,” he said. “They give twice as much homework at this school. I had a precalc test and I was so desperate I had to find a new tutor.”
“Hmm. Should I be worried?”
He laughed. “Nah, no one can replace you. You make the breaks from studying much more interesting.” He winked.
She rolled her eyes and tugged him toward the entrance. “Come on, we’re gonna be late to class.”
They had the same first period English class. Hand in hand, they wove through the crowd of chatting students.
“So who’s your new tutor?” asked Annabeth, raising her voice over the hubbub.
“A guy named Peter. Nice, nerdy, a little weird. But weird in the normal way, you know?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s kinda nice to have a normal friend for once. Like, I love Tyson and Grover and everyone, but sometimes I just want to hear about Star Wars and Minecraft and not be reminded of what I am.”
“Hmm,” said Annabeth. She was always a little defensive of the world she’d grown up in. But she understood that Percy felt differently. “Yeah. A normal friend.”
The next day, Percy got saved by a guy in Spandex.
It was kind of his fault he had to get saved in the first place. He’d had a shitty conversation with his history teacher about his IEP, and he felt like killing monsters. So there he was, walking along a dark alley at twilight, jamming out to Deftones on his iPod.
When he felt someone sneaking up behind him, he barely faltered in his step. He spun around, flipped them over his shoulder… and heard the crack of a skull on pavement.
He looked down and wow, it was just a regular old mortal mugger, complete with a black ski mask and pistol, which he kicked out of their hand. A small pool of red blood was seeping out from under their ski mask. Oops. Maybe he’d used a bit too much force. He wondered if he should call 9-1-1, or just run for it.
Then another ski mask guy popped out from behind a dumpster and Percy realized he was fucked.
“What did you do?” shouted the man, brandishing his own gun.
“Just gave him a li’l nap,” said Percy. He edged toward the mouth of the alleyway. One of his earbuds had fallen out of his ear, still playing Diamond Eyes.
“Don’t move!” The man’s voice was a little hysterical.
Percy considered the situation. Panicked mortals with guns was not something they’d trained him for at summer camp.
“Look,” said Percy, putting up his hands. “Your bro here needs medical attention. And I need to get home before my mom starts to worry. So how about we call it a truce?”
“Truce? You killed Jacob!”
Sorry, Jacob. “Ehh, probably not. Anyway, I better get going—”
A shot rang out and Percy ducked. But no second shot came. When he looked up, muggers one and two were…tied up? Duck-taped? They were bound with some kind of thick string. And standing over them was a figure in what looked like a superhero suit.
“What the—”
The figure turned around. “Are you okay?”
Percy patted himself down. “Uh, yeah.” A street light flickered on, casting the figure in a pool of golden yellow. “Wait… Are you holding a bagel?”
The figure looked down. “Oh, yeah. There’s this place nearby with the best bagels in New York—Bagelworks, you heard of them?”
The figure’s voice was strangely familiar. Percy stepped forward, into the pool of light. Then it clicked. He said, “Peter?”
At the same time, the figure said, “Percy?”
They stared at each other in stunned silence. Then one of the muggers started laughing hysterically. “Please, just kiss already. Don’t mind us.”
“Shut up,” said Peter, and shot a glob of that thick string at the man’s mouth without even turning around.
Suddenly, another thing clicked for Percy: a video he’d seen over a classmate’s shoulder a few months ago. “You’re Spiderman.”
Peter shrugged. “Looks like it.”
“Looks like it?” Percy closed his eyes, clasped his hands, and took a deep breath.
“...You good?”
“I thought you were normal!”
“Uh, okay. I did just save your life, you know.”
“I was doing fine!”
“Uh-huh.”
“I just wanted to have a normal friend to talk about Star Wars and Minecraft with!”
Peter did a little hip-shimmy thing, complete with jazz hands. “Isn’t this cooler, though?”
“Aaaaaaaaargh!” Percy put his hands over his face. He could hear Peter and the one conscious mugger laughing together. What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck. “Fine.” He put his hands down. “I’m going home. See you tomorrow.” He put his earbuds back in and walked away.
“That’s it?” Peter called after him. “No ‘Thank you, Peter, for saving my ass’ ?”
“Thank you, Peter, for saving my ass!”
“You’re welcome!”
“Yeah!”
“Yeah!”
“Fuck the Fates,” Percy muttered under his breath.
Peter called the police and told them there were two muggers tied up at Harley and Nineteenth. Then he went home, took off his suit, and dialed MJ’s number.
“Sup,” came her voice over the phone.
“MJ.” His voice was a little shaky.
“...What’s wrong?”
“I just saw Percy flip a grown man over his shoulder. Hard.”
“Oh.”
“And then… I was wearing my Spidey suit and… he recognized me.”
“How?”
“I might have gone off on a tangent about bagels…”
She started to laugh.
“Hey! It’s not funny! What if he figures out the Avengers are after him and decides to assassinate me?”
“Well… I have some good news for you, at least,” said MJ.
“Really? What?”
“We were both waiting outside Mr Maley’s office today, and it was pretty easy to steal one of those toffee things from his bag.”
“Oh my God. MJ. Thank you.”
“So at least now we’ll know if he’s a weed dealer.”
“Yeah. I’ll go into the lab tomorrow and take a look at it. And I’ll translate the writing on this weird coin I found, along with some T-shirts.”
“Hang on,” she said. “You know I’m going with you, right?”
“Uh, no you’re not.”
“Yes, I am. I have the toffee, remember?”
He groaned. “MJ…”
“She who steals the toffee gets to go to Stark Tower.”
“But—”
“Nope.”
“...Fine.”
At Stark Tower, even the elevators were fancy. There were unbreakable mirrors on the walls, floor, and ceiling, making it look like Peter and MJ were trapped in an infinite, green-tinted matrix. That meant Peter could watch MJ trying not to be excited from every angle. Her eyes were glazed over, like she was processing the reality that she was, in fact, inside the largest inventing hub in the world. The corner of her mouth kept twitching up into a maniacal smile, which she quickly tamped down.
The doors opened, and she got her first look at the lab. She squealed. Then she cleared her throat. “Shut up.”
Peter put his hands up. “I didn’t say anything.”
MJ walked out of the elevator and spun around slowly, like she was in a dream. “Wow.”
“I know, right?”
She cleared her throat again, seeming to collect herself. “So. What are we doing.”
“Let’s see… First: to the scanning electron microscope!”
While Peter cut off a piece of the toffee and set up the SEM, MJ sat down at one of the computers and tried to get an image-to-text translation of the coin and T-shirts.
“Huh,” said Peter, spinning one of the dials.
“What?” asked MJ.
He turned the display screen toward her. It was completely white.
“Maybe you did something wrong with the machine,” she said.
“I know how to use an SEM. It shouldn’t look like this.”
She frowned. “Weird.”
Peter kept recalibrating the microscope anyway, zooming in and out.
“Peter.”
“Hmm?”
“This T-shirt doesn’t have Greek writing on it… It’s Ancient Greek.”
“Really?” Peter bent down to look at the computer over her shoulder. “What does it say?”
She read the words on the screen. “Camp Half-Blood.”
“Ha! It’s been a long time since I’ve heard that name,” boomed a voice behind them.
They both jumped and turned around. Stepping out of the elevator were none other than Tony Stark and Thor.
“Whoa-ho! Is that ambrosia?” Thor reached into the plastic bag and popped a crumb of the toffee—or ambrosia, as it was apparently called—into his mouth. He coughed and fanned himself like it was a ghost pepper. “That is strong stuff. Where did you get it?”
“A guy named Percy Jackson,” said MJ, who looked like she was about to explode from being in the presence of an alien and a multibillionaire.
Thor’s eyes widened. “You’ve met him?”
They looked at each other. “Yeah,” said Peter. “Why? You know him?”
He chuckled. “Well, we’re not exactly in the same pantheon, but I know of him, certainly.”
“What do you mean by… ‘pantheon’?” asked Peter.
Thor looked at him like he was stupid. “Don’t you know I’m a Norse god?”
“No, yeah, I got that, but what is he?”
“Only one of the most powerful and accomplished Greek demigods who’s ever lived.”
“Greek…demigods? Plural?” MJ looked like she was having a migraine.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” said Peter. “You’re saying a god banged a human and—”
“Peter! Language,” said Stark.
“I said ‘banged,’ that isn’t even a curse—”
“Actually, I also have a few questions about how that works,” said Stark.
“Which god?” asked MJ.
“Poseidon,” responded Thor with a smile. “God of the sea. And horses, and earthquakes.” He made a vague gesture. “The Greeks are kind of random like that.”
“Sorry, thunder guy, can we maybe start from the beginning here?” said Stark.”Because we’ve sort of been tracking this Percy kid for the past six years and it would be nice to finally find out what’s going on.”
“You’ve been tracking him?” said Thor.
At a signal from Stark, Peter handed Thor the file.
He flipped through it. “Nobody ever tells me anything!”
“Well, you don’t have a phone…” Stark pointed out.
Thor slammed the file on the table. “Fine. I will educate you.”
And he did. He told them about gods and demigods, about monsters and wars. He told them about the prophecies and the role Percy Jackson had played. He explained how it was all hidden behind the Mist.
“Are there mortals who can see through the Mist?” asked MJ.
“Yes, actually,” said Thor. “We call them ‘clearsighted.’” He grinned. “Why? Have you seen any harpies or—what are they called— empousai wandering around Central Park?”
“No,” said Peter, at the same time as MJ said “Yes.”
“What? Really?” Peter stared at her.
“I told you. I’m very observant.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? That’s so cool!”
She raised an eyebrow. “Uhh, I don’t know, how do you think you would have reacted if I’d been like, ‘Hey, Peter, I keep seeing a black pegasus flying over Broadway, crazy or nah?’”
“I’ve seen much crazier—”
Stark cleared his throat loudly. “Thor and I were actually about to head to an absolutely fascinating board meeting, and now we’re running late. So Thor, can you just tell me, for the record: is Jackson a security threat?”
Thor laughed. “No. If anything, he’s an asset.”
“Alright. Wonderful. Excuse us, Peter, MJ; the bureaucracy awaits!”
“Oh, Tony, my dearest friend,” said Thor as he was hauled off to the hallway. “Do you really think my godly presence is required at this, ah, absolutely fascinating board meeting?”
The door closed behind them.
“So,” said Peter, crossing his arms and leaning back against the lab table. “Mission accomplished, I guess.”
MJ copied his pose. “Hm. Pretty short mission.” She frowned and pointed at something on the other side of the lab. “Hey, is that a CAD?”
Peter grinned. “Yep. Wanna make something?”
“Hell yes.”
That evening, after he and MJ had finally been kicked out of the lab, Peter decided to swing to the top of the Empire State Building. He felt like he needed time to think, and the seventh-tallest building in New York City was a good place for it.
It had been an unusually warm day. Now the sun was setting, turning the midtown skyscrapers into pillars of gold. Fifth Avenue was a rush-hour river of white headlights and ruby tail lights, the sidewalks swarmed with khaki-clad businessmen. Music from a bustler’s electric piano rose over the sounds of car horns. Peter stopped on the roof of a Chinese bakery to listen to it. He could smell pork buns baking.
He suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude toward Percy, who’d saved the world from titans and giants so that the sun could set on Fifth Avenue and the busker could play an off-key Hallelujah. The hero Percy, who was famous among gods and still wanted to sit with a couple of nerds in a dingy cafeteria and put up with Flash. Who stood up for the little man. Peter could understand that.
He swung down, bought a bag of pork buns, and continued on his way.
But when he got to the roof of the Empire State Building, someone was already there: Percy Jackson…
…standing next to a horse.
“Holy cow!” said Peter. “Or horse, I mean.”
The horse neighed in a way that was almost indignant. It was pitch black, like a knight in a game of chess.
Percy turned around and gaped at Peter. Then comprehension dawned on his face. “Oh, fuck.”
“Fancy meeting you here,” said Peter. “Mind explaining how you got a horse up the Empire State Building?”
“Uh…” He glanced around. They were on a platform that wrapped around the base of the tower’s spike. It was about the width of a sidewalk all the way around, and embellished only by satellite dishes. “Elevator?”
“Sure.”
Percy let out a long sigh and put a hand on the horse’s mane. “Blackjack, would you mind giving us a little privacy? Come back in twenty?”
Peter couldn’t quite catch what happened next. The horse neighed, then jumped off the building, and it almost looked like it was floating, and then it just… disappeared. A headache budded behind Peter’s eyes.
“I think…” Peter’s thoughts seemed to be taking a long time turning into words. “I think your horse just jumped off the tower.”
Percy sat down. “I guess I should explain.” He patted the spot next to him.
Peter sat, his legs dangling off the edge. He took off his mask.
Percy took a deep breath. “I’m actually—”
“A demigod?”
“Wha— how did you know?”
“I talked to Thor today.”
“Thor? Oh, right. Avengers.” Percy rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I’m gonna be honest; after I found out you were Spiderman, I went and read your Wikipedia article. But it’s still hard for me to keep track of.”
“Honestly, me too.”
They stared out at the fading sky. From up here, the city looked like it was made of LEGO bricks. Like you could take it all apart and put it back together.
After a minute of awkward silence, Peter held out the bag of pork buns. “Char siu bao?”
Percy took one. He bit into it and let out a groan. “Holy Hades, this is the best pork bun I’ve had in my entire life.”
“I know, right?” Peter bit into one of his own. It was like biting into a cloud… if clouds had juicy barbecued pork on the inside.
“Do you just swing around New York buying incredible baked goods?” Percy asked.
“Among other things. Like, you know, crimefighting.”
“Right. That.”
“Mhm.” Peter took another bite.
“Why?”
Peter looked over at him. “What do you mean, ‘Why?’”
“Why go out and fight baddies? Why not just stay home and build LEGOs?”
Ouch. “Why would I do that? What kind of person do you think I am?”
“No, I just mean…” Percy sighed. “I’m actually asking.”
“Well, okay…” Peter looked out across the East River. “I mean, it’s actually kind of fun. At this point, it doesn’t usually feel scary and dangerous. I feel in control, you know? Usually.” He subconsciously traced a scar on his leg through the fabric of his suit, a courtesy of his encounter with Vulture. “And it’s also just… Yeah, sometimes I stay home instead, but after a while I always get antsy and guilty, like, What if something happens because I wasn’t there to stop it? ”
Percy looked down at his pork bun wrapper. He folded it into halves, then quarters. “Yeah. I get what you mean. Sometimes I feel that way about Camp Half-Blood.”
“Thor said that’s a training camp for demigods.”
“It’s not just a training camp. It’s also a home. There are… a lot of people I care about there, and when I’m here, I worry. Like, what if there’s a monster attack? Even though the borders are secured. It doesn’t make a lot of sense.” He folded the pork bun wrapper into eighths and folded the point over the curvy edge. It kind of looked like a boat. “But something could happen, you know? There might be a new prophecy. A new quest. A new war. And I don’t want that to happen to the kids. But I also don’t want to be the one to take care of it. I want to stay here and get my diploma and volunteer at the aquarium. Is that selfish?”
Peter swallowed. “No. It’s not selfish.”
“Why not?”
Because… because…
Percy continued. “Last month, one of my best friends died on a quest that I refused to go on. It’s— I don’t know how—” He made a helpless gesture. “I should have been there.”
Peter put a hand on Percy’s shoulder and Percy sort of leaned into it and then they were hugging, precariously, on the top of the Empire State Building. Percy smelled of salt. He was shaking slightly. Peter held him tighter.
Finally, Percy extricated himself, sniffling loudly. “Sorry. I guess I’m kind of sensitive about it still.”
Peter gaped at him. “I mean, it happened a month ago, so…”
“Yeah, I guess.” He wiped his eyes. “I should be used to it, though.” He twirled his hoodie string around a finger. “I think being a demigod is a little different than being a superhero. It seems like when you’re a superhero, you see shitty things happening and you go out and stop them. But…” The string was so tightly wound, the tip of his finger was turning purple. “When you’re a demigod, the shitty things come and find you. So a lot of us are forced into dangerous situations before we’re ready. That’s why most of us don’t get past twenty.”
Peter was at a loss for words. He suddenly felt very, very young.
Percy slowly unwound the string of his hoodie. “I guess that’s why it’s so… freeing. To be able to live in the mortal world and graduate high school. It’s like saying, ‘Fuck destiny. I’m gonna use my magic powers to beat Flash’s ass at swim practice.’”
Peter snorted.
Percy glanced at the paper bag. “Hey, could you spare another one of those pork buns? I forgot to eat lunch…”
“Oh, yeah, of course!” He handed it over.
Just as the sun disappeared over the horizon, Peter’s spidey sense went off. He felt Percy tense next to him.
“What’s wrong?” Peter asked.
“I don’t know. I feel watched.”
“Me too.”
They stood up, both a little unsteady, their legs half-frozen from the cold metal platform. Peter looked up.
“Whoa, that’s a lot of pigeons.”
A flock of birds had landed around the top of the tower…. and every one of them was staring at Percy.
“Those aren’t pigeons…” said Percy.
The next second, the air was rent with the sound of forty wings taking flight. The not-pigeons dove toward them.
Peter didn’t hesitate. He wrapped one arm around Percy’s waist and pulled them both off the Empire State Building.
Percy screamed like a banshee but Peter ignored him, using his webs to swing from building to building. They landed on the roof of an apartment building nine blocks away. Percy stumbled out of Peter’s grip and dropped to one knee, his face pale.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” said Peter. “You looked really freaked out so I thought we’d better get away from those pigeons—”
“Stymphalian birds,” muttered Percy. He looked like he was going to be sick.
“What?”
“They’re not pigeons. They’re Stymphalian birds.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “Ugh… I’m really not a fan of falling.”
“Sorry. I won’t do it again.”
“No, it’s fine. You saved my ass. Again.” Percy got to his feet, still shaking a little. His hair was even more wind-blown than ever, longer strands falling over his eyes. “Give me your phone.”
Peter unzipped a pocket on his thigh and handed over his Android. “What are you gonna do?”
Percy pointed. A swarm of glinting black was headed toward them. “They’re coming back. The best weapon against Stymphalian birds is bad music. As soon as they get here, I’ll turn up the volume to a hundred percent. They’ll fly into a panic and I’ll have a chance to slice their stupid wings off.”
“I’ll help you,” said Peter.
Percy looked like he was about to argue, then clearly thought better of it. “Fine. Here they come.”
Just as the closest birds were within a few meters of the building, Percy put the phone on the concrete and hit play. It’s a Small World blared out of the tinny speaker. The birds reeled and circled around them, confused. Percy slashed their wings with a sword that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. Peter sent webs at them, bringing them down like a frog catching flies.
Within a minute, the two were surrounded by carcasses. Percy leaned over a wriggling bird that was stuck to the concrete by Peter’s webbing. He beheaded it.
“Well, that was pathetically easy,” he said.
“That was awesome! Where did the sword come from?”
Percy touched the tip of the sword and the next moment, he was holding a ballpoint pen.
“Holy crap, dude.” Peter stared at the pen. “How does that even work? Is it nanotech?”
The corner of Percy’s mouth quirked up. “It’s magic.”
“Nah, there’s gotta be some kind of—”
“It’s just magic, Peter.” Percy kicked at the dead bird. He didn’t look victorious. He looked tired.
Peter felt a pang of understanding. “This happens a lot, doesn’t it?”
“At least twice a week now. Between periods, when I’m coming home from school… Sometimes they even try to break into my apartment.” Percy sat down. “It’s exhausting,” he said in a quiet monotone. “All these monsters think they’ll be the one to take down Percy Jackson. And I kill them, and kill them, but they always come back. Makes me want to go back to Camp Half-Blood…. at least then I could walk to class without a hand on my sword.”
Peter sat down next to him. “How do you stand it?”
“Sometimes I don’t. I don’t want to be hunted. I don’t want to be scared shitless every second of my fucking life.” He pressed his palms against his eyes. “But… every monster I kill is one that another demigod won’t have to deal with. At least for another few years.”
“I’ll help you.”
“You can’t help me. You’re mortal.”
“I’m a superhero.”
Percy laughed. It wasn’t a very nice laugh. “Right.”
“What does it matter that I’m mortal?” Peter pressed. “Even if I can’t see what you see. If someone’s threatening you I’ll take them out, whether they look like a monster or not.”
Percy took his hands away from his eyes. They were shining and a little red. “Really?”
“Really.”
Percy offered him a fist. Peter bumped it. “Alrighty,” said Percy. “I’ll admit it. This superhero deal is pretty neat.”
Three months later…
It was a week after graduation, and Percy still couldn’t believe he'd made it. The June air was warm, the skies were blue, the birds were singing. He was going to New Rome.
That didn’t make his defeat any easier.
“How are you this terrible at LEGOs, man?” said Ned.
“I don’t know! I’m not a child of Hephaestus, okay?”
“You don’t need to be a child of Hephaestus to tell the difference between a six axle and an eight axle,” said MJ.
Percy put his head in his hands. “...How do you tell the difference, again?”
Peter leaned over. “Okay, look. You get a sixteen beam and you put the axle next to…” He trailed off. His eyes were fixed over Percy’s shoulder.
Percy turned around. “Oh, come on.”
In the five minutes they’d been bickering, Annabeth had somehow constructed a six-foot rainbow-colored tower.
“Is that…?” MJ gasped.
Annabeth nodded, a smug smile on her face. “The Burj Khalifa. Happy Pride, my little nerds.”
“The tallest building in the world,” murmured Peter.
“Two thousand, seven hundred and sixteen feet,” Ned breathed.
“You know what?” said Percy, taking apart his half-finished LEGO golf cart. “Fuck you.”