heroes get remembered (legends never die)

There are flames at his fingertips and blood in his mouth; it’s sticking to the back of his teeth, and he spits to try and clear the taste. Whatever monster they’d encountered in the dark had gotten one good swipe at his face before Jemma had managed to get one of her knives into it and it had dissolved into dust. Fitz supposes he’s just glad it didn’t seem to have claws.

Jemma, curled warmly against his side, stirs, and he extinguishes the fire in his hand.

“Fitz? Is it my watch yet?” she asks, her words slurring, and he smiles. It’s three minutes until he said he’d wake her for the second watch, but she doesn’t need to know that.

“No, Jemma. Go back to sleep, I’m fine.”

“You promised you’d wake me up. You need to sleep, too. How’s your jaw?” She reaches gentle fingers up to probe the dark bruise on the left side of his face. Fitz winces, using the arm not curled around her to catch her hand and tug it away, holding onto it as he settles back.

“It’s fine. I’m fine. Go back to sleep.”

“Promise you’ll wake me up when it’s my watch.”

“I promise, Jemma.”

It’s an hour and a half before he gets too tired to keep his eyes open and reluctantly shakes her awake; she scolds him for not waking her earlier, but he just smiles and closes his eyes, one hand around the grip of his sword and the other wrapped around her smaller one.

—————

“Is that your mum?” Jemma asks, and Fitz nods, turning away from his sketching, drawn by the smell of food.

“How’d you know?” he says as she settles next to him, handing him a warm burrito type thing and a bottle of water.

“She looks like you,” Jemma says, settling down with her own dinner.

They’re outside of a small town on Long Island, which was where Jemma, based on Fitz’s dream of the big expanse of water and the smell of strawberries, had decided they were supposed to go. Fitz isn’t quite so sure they should be relying on his fragmented dreams, and he tries not to think too much about the fact that he’d followed Jemma’s dreams across an ocean but is so unsure of his own.

“You miss her.” It’s not a question, but Fitz nods anyway. “I miss my parents too,” she adds, and he nods again. They lapse into silence for a few minutes before Jemma speaks again. “Why’d you run away? I mean, it’s just that I’ve heard you talk about your mum, and it doesn’t seem like you were unhappy.”

Fitz took a long drink from his bottle of water before he says, “I think she can see the monsters. She’s not… she’s not like us, but she always seemed more aware of the monsters than other people. They never bothered her, but…”

“You were afraid they might.”

“I thought if I wasn’t there anymore, they wouldn’t have any interest in her. I figured they would just follow me and leave her alone.” He stares down at his lunch to keep Jemma from seeing how glassy his eyes are.

“That’s a better reason for leaving than I had.”

“Yeah?”

“I just… I love my parents, I do, and even though they couldn’t see the monsters, I did want to protect them. But I always thought- I thought there had to be something more. There had to be some reason I could see the monsters, and I wasn’t going to find the answers in Sheffield.”

“That’s not a bad reason for leaving,” he says, and Jemma looks up.“Sounds like you. Wanting to know something that badly, that you’re willing to make that kind of sacrifice.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s not a bad reason for leaving.”

“Yeah, it does.”

Jemma blushes, rolls her eyes, “Eat your burrito.”

—————-

They decide their best option is to walk around the town, rather than just cutting through. Even trying their best to look presentable, their travels have left them fairly ragged, plus they’ve got their bags with them; it just seems easier to avoid being seen altogether than to take their chances and have someone in town call the police. It’s down in a bit of a valley, and Fitz and Jemma walk along the extended ridge of hills around it, which alternate between wooded areas and open clearings.

Fitz has felt strange all morning, and Jemma keeps insisting they stop to rest; he turns to tell her he’s fine as they enter a clearing, but freezes before he can say anything. In front of them, engulfed in flames, is the mansion from his dreams. He gapes, his hand dropping to his sword without his notice.

“Is that-?” Jemma asks, and Fitz nods, “What do you think it mea-?” she starts to ask, but she’s cut off by a shout for help from inside the huge building. Fitz drops his bags and pulls his sword out of his belt, taking a few steps forward before he even realizes what he’s doing. He hasn’t been scared of fire in a long time, but something about this one is making his hand shake around the grip of his sword.

“Fitz!” Jemma calls, and he turns back. She bites at her bottom lip, “Just be careful, okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, nodding as another shout comes from the mansion, and he takes off running towards the building.

There’s a side door in a part of the house that’s not yet on fire, and Fitz is glad that it’s unlocked. Once inside, he yells out, trying to figure out where the calls for help are coming from, rubbing his eyes against the heat, which is unsettling; Fitz can’t remember the last time heat from a fire bothered him.

“I’m upstairs! I’m up-” calls the voice, close enough now that Fitz can clearly tell it’s a girl. He takes the stairs two at a time, sword held out in front of him as he reaches a long hallway full of flames. The shouting is coming from behind the second door on the right, broken up by long spells of coughing, and he rushes forward, grabbing for the handle before recoiling with a gasp. His hand stings, like the time he’d swung clean through a monster and whacked his sword against a light post, the bronze vibrating all the way through to the handle.

That’s never happened before, and Fitz stares down at his hand in shock before the girl’s shouts jolt him back into awareness. Wrapping his hand as firmly around the grip of his sword as he can manage, he brings the pommel down against the door handle, which splinters off, the apparently old wood giving much easier than he’d anticipated.

“Watch out!” he calls, and listens as closely as he can for a shuffling that indicates the girl has backed up before kicking the door as hard as he can. It swings inward, revealing a girl about Fitz’s age, maybe a little younger, covered in ash and clutching a backpack.

“Come on!” he shouts, and she stares at the sword in his hand for a few seconds, but follows him out into the hall, where their path is blocked by flames. Fitz hears the girl curse behind him, and he reaches back, grabbing for her hand. “Do you trust me?” he asks, keeping his eyes on the growing fire.

“No.”

“I suppose that’s fair.” Screwing his eyes shut to concentrate, he runs full speed through the flames, tugging the girl behind him. A sharp pain immediately blooms between his eyes, and he has to gasp for breath, but they both burst out of the flames, stumbling down the grand staircase of the mansion and to the side door Fitz had come in.

Once they’re outside, Fitz lets go of the girl’s hand, sprinting across the clearing towards Jemma; he feels bad about it, but he can hear her footsteps behind him still, and he needs to put as much distance between himself and the burning mansion as he can, as quickly as possible. Jemma catches his arms as he stumbles towards her, head pounding, trying to force air into his lungs, and it’s the only reason he manages to stay upright. The girl stands next to them, hands on her knees as she tries to catch her breath.

“You ran through fire,” she gasps out, and Fitz nods, “I ran through fire.”

“You’re welcome,” he manages, before looking up at Jemma, “We have to go. We need to- There’s something wrong with that fire. We need to go.”

“Catch your breath first, Fitz,” she says, but he shakes his head as emphatically as he can manage.

“There’s something… bad about it. We have to go now.”

“A monster started it,” says the girl, having regained her breath, and Jemma and Fitz both turn to stare at her, “At least, I’m pretty sure it was a monster. It’s head was on fire, and it walked funny, and it was talking to someone I couldn’t see, calling them my lord.”

Jemma’s the first to recover from the shock, shouldering Fitz’s backpack as he continues to try to catch his breath, glancing back over his shoulder at the huge house in flames, a shiver running down his spine at the sight.

“Can you carry Fitz’s bag?” she asks the girl, who nods and grabs the gym bag off the ground.

“You want me to come with you?” Jemma nods. “Why?”

“You can see the monsters. We’ve got to stick together,” she says, grabbing Fitz’s hand and tugging him back towards the trees they’d initially emerged from. It takes him a few seconds to get his feet under him to follow her at a run, the other girl next to him.

———————

Her name is Skye, and she’d run away from her foster family a few weeks before; she’d only had problems with the monsters for a few months, but Fitz gets the distinct impression that that didn’t really have a lot to do with her choice to run away. He can hear Jemma and Skye talking, but he’s studying his hands, passing a small flame from finger to finger, letting it grow and dim as it moves. Fitz doesn’t realize how long he’s been zoned out until Jemma pokes his shoulder a few times.

“Sorry,” he says, closing his fist to extinguish the fire and turning to her.

“Time for bed, I think,” she says, nodding at Skye, who has already curled up under a blanket.

“It’s my night for first watch,” he says, turning to make sure his sword is within easy reach, but Jemma shakes her head.

“Not after how you looked earlier today. Besides, I think running into a burning building to save someone qualifies you for a little sleep.”

“Jemma-” he starts, but she just stares at him until he reluctantly stretches out next to her with a sigh. “I really am fine. I don’t know what happened at that house. It just felt… wrong.”

“That’s why we’re being cautious,” Jemma says, and Fitz admits defeat, tugging the blanket up over himself.

For the first time in months, his dreams are different. The campfire and the dark expanse of water are still there, and the first glimpse of the man in the golden armor, but the house is gone, and the second time the golden man appears, he’s not screaming but laughing, a dark, rough sound that sends a feeling of dread down Fitz’s spine, not unlike the one produced by the sight of the mansion that morning.

He wakes up with a gasp, Jemma shaking his shoulder, and rolls over with a groan.

“Sorry. You were shivering pretty badly,” she says before yawning hugely. Fitz glances at his watch and groans again.

“You were supposed to wake me up two hours ago.”

“You can’t possibly be about to lecture me for that,” Jemma says, curling up against his side, her head on his shoulder.

“Why not?”

“Because you do it at least twice a week,” she replies, and he can feel her smiling against his t-shirt when he stays silent. “What do you think of Skye? Can we keep her?”

“She’s not a pet, Jemma,” he says, and she pokes him hard in the stomach.

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah. Well, it’s like you said, about the monsters and needing to stick together. Now go to sleep,” he says, but she’s already drifted off before he can finish the sentence.

—————

“You three certainly aren’t easy to find, are you?” says a voice from next to their table, and Fitz looks up from his food in time to see the guy who had spoken slide into their booth next to Skye. He’s four or five years older than them, wearing a faded orange t-shirt that does nothing to hide the muscular roundness of his shoulders and a dark knitted beanie, and as the three of them stare at him, he seems to take quite a while to arrange his legs how he wants them.

Skye is the first one to get over her surprise. “Mike?” she asks, and the guy laughs.

“I told them you would remember me!”

“You know him?” Fitz asks, as their waitress returns to the table with her notepad.

“Can I get an order of fries on a styrofoam plate and a can of Coke?” Mike says, and the waitress nods, walking away as he turns to them, “Skye and I went to the same school for about four months a few years ago.”

“What are you doing here?” Skye asks, as the waitress drops off Mike’s order.

“Well, somebody had to come get the three of you eventually, make sure you get to camp in one piece. I’m Mike Peterson, by the way. Nice to meet you.”

“Camp?” Jemma asks, and Mike nods.

“Yeah. It’s a safe place, somewhere you guys can finally get some answers. Can’t tell you much more than that yet. You guys, especially you two,” he points at Jemma and Fitz, “are already monster magnets. I haven’t seen anything quite like it since Thor, and he was a Big Three kid. Either of you able to summon lightning or tidal waves at will?” he asks, laughing, and Jemma glances at Fitz, who busies himself picking at the remains of his food. Mike, still talking, doesn’t seem to notice the exchange.

“You guys have done a pretty good job, especially since you don’t have any real idea where you’re going, but you probably wouldn’t have been able to just stumble into it. I hadn’t gotten away from camp in way too long, and since I already knew Skye, I figured I was as good a choice as any to come make sure you got there in one piece,” he explains, finishing off his fries and standing. It seems to take him a few moments to get his balance, and then he drops a few bills on the table and grabs the styrofoam plate and his empty Coke can. “You guys coming?” he asks, and Skye nods quickly, slipping out of the booth. Fitz waits silently for Jemma to nod before following.

Skye leads the way to the small group of trees where they’d left their gym bags, not wanting to attract more attention in the small diner than necessary. Mike walks with a noticeable limp, and when they reach the clearing, he collapses onto a boulder with a sigh of relief, kicking off his shoes. Fitz assumes he has some sort of bad foot problem, and he turns away to give the guy some privacy, but he’s drawn back by Jemma’s gasp. He realizes pretty quickly that it can’t be a foot problem, since Mike’s legs pretty clearly end in a set of cloven hoofs, and his ankles are furry.

“You mind giving a guy a little privacy?” he asks, when he sees them staring at him, and the three of them spin around.

“What the hell?” FItz whispers, looking at the other two.

“That’s better. I don’t know how humans deal with wearing pants all the time,” Mike says, and Fitz turns back to see him stuffing the jeans he’d been wearing into his backpack.

“You’re a satyr!” says Jemma, pointing at the furry goat legs that Mike has exposed. Fitz vaguely remembers reading about satyrs in her book of Greek myths.

“Of course. You think they’d send just anybody to get you three?” he asks with a smile, lifting his hat to reveal the small horns poking out of his short hair, “Now come on. It’s not too far, but we’re walking, and I’d like to make a little distance before it gets dark.” He sets off out of the clearing, taking bites of the Coke can he’d taken from the diner, Skye walking beside him. Fitz goes to follow, but Jemma grabs his hand and tugs him to a stop.

“What?”

“Nothing. It’s just- Well, I think we can trust him, and Skye obviously does, but with what he said, about- Maybe you should be careful with your pyrokinesis, just until we know more about him.”

Fitz nods, “That makes sense. Might be good to have a secret weapon, if it turns out it’s a trap.”

“I’ll say something to Skye when I get the chance. Now come on,” she says, tugging on his hand, “He says there’s answers wherever he’s taking us.”

—————

Mike freezes, and Fitz’s hand drops to the hilt of his sword. A few minutes ago, the satyr had been telling them that they were within a mile of camp, his excitement clear in his voice; now he’s standing stock-still, glancing around.

“What?” asks Jemma, her knife already in hand.

“Probably nothing. Area around camp always smells like monsters. Just be careful, alright?” he says, and Fitz pulls his sword out of his belt.

They continue forward, with a notable urgency that’s tinged with anxiousness now instead of excitement. Mike stops again, and curses under his breath in a language that Fitz somehow recognizes as Greek. A few seconds later, he becomes aware of a screeching sound behind him, and turns to see a black cloud of something descending towards them, shrieking.

“You’ve got to be kidding me, we’re fifty feet from the tree!” Mike yells, and then a black hyena type thing with wings is hurtling towards Fitz. He slices at it, sheering off one of its wings, and it goes spinning off course.

“What are they?” he asks, sorely regretting his decision to keep his pyrokinesis a secret from Mike. He’s not awful with Pyrrhos, but he misses the added insurance of a handful of flames.

“Gryphons!” Jemma yells back, not seeming at all handicapped by the fact that she’s down a knife. He watches her turn two of the monsters to dust before his attention is drawn by the one-winged gryphon circling back towards him. Fitz gets the other wing this time, and it disintegrates.

They’d initially been attacked by a crowd of fifteen or so, and there’s eleven now; Fitz assumes Skye had gotten one, to go along with his one and Jemma’s pair, although she looks as awkward with the borrowed knife as he ever had. The remaining ones seem to be smarter than the four that are now piles of dust, regrouping and surveying the four of them before diving again. Fitz is able to fend off the four who attack him with a long sweep of his sword, but Jemma, with the shorter reach of her knife, has to stab three times in quick succession, while Skye just ducks. The monsters regroup again, and Jemma steps close enough that her shoulder presses against his.

“Can we make a run for it?” she asks, looking at Mike over her shoulder, who shakes his head.

“They’re dumb, but fast, and if they grab one of us, we’ve got no way to take them down if they get away. Fifty feet! We can see the tree!” he moans, and Fitz, trying to keep one eye trained on the gryphons, glances back towards what he assumes Mike is talking about, a huge pine tree at the top of the hill to their backs.

The group of monsters dive again, and Fitz manages to catch one across the neck with the jagged spike of metal on one side of his sword, more luck than anything else. He’s just about to relax slightly, prepare for the next attack, when he hears Mike cry out behind him. One of the gryphons had lagged behind the rest, slipping through as Fitz and Jemma tried to deal with the crowd, and it has one taloned foot around Mike’s shoulder, lifting him up even as the satyr struggles and twists.

“Mike!” Skye yells, lunging forward with her knife, but the gryphon is already out of her reach.

“Fitz, you can hit it,” Jemma says, and it takes him a second to realize she’s talking about his fire. He’s never attempted to control a lance of flame as long as the one he’ll need to have a shot at the flying monster, but they’re pretty much out of other options. His hand is just about to catch when the gryphon holding Mike gives a particularly loud shriek, and Fitz can see what looks like an arrow sticking out of its side. It circles lower and another arrow appears briefly before the monster disintegrates and Mike drops, hitting the ground with a roll.

Looking up to figure out where the arrows had originated from, Fitz is surprised the see four kids in jeans and orange t-shirts like Mike’s running down from the direction of the pine tree, one of them holding a bow and the others with various other weapons. Most of the gryphons split off toward the new threat, and it becomes clear that this is a mistake pretty quickly; the speed with which the four of them dispatch the pack is scary. Of the two that stay with their original target, Jemma gets one and Skye, seeming intent on revenge for Mike’s attempted kidnapping, takes out the other one before rushing over to help the satyr up.

“You were so close, man,” says the guy with the bow, shouldering it to pull Mike to his feet.

“Fifty yards! We can see the tree, Trip!” Mike yells, and then hisses as the other guy prods at his shoulder, where his shirt is torn and stained with blood.

“I think you’ll be alright. Talons don’t look like they dug in too bad.”

“Not as worried about my shoulder as I am about getting those three inside the border before anything else decides to come after us. I still smell monsters,” Mike says, nodding his head at Fitz, Jemma and Skye. Trip laughs.

“That’s just Ward,” he says, and the tallest of the four kids, holding a long spear, rolls his eyes before turning to head back up the hill. The other two follow them, and Mike indicates for Fitz and the girls to go next, with him and Trip bringing up the rear.

Fitz doesn’t understand what’s so special about the pine tree. It’s massive, but other than that it looks pretty much like any other pine tree he’s ever seen. The three kids, who all look older than him, stop next to the tree, and Fitz and the others stop too, though he can practically feel Jemma vibrating with anticipation, to let Mike limp up behind them.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here, go ahead and step over the border,” he says, rolling his eyes. The older kids step forward past the tree, and Fitz follows, then freezes in his tracks. Spread out below him is a huge valley, dotted with buildings, Long Island Sound in the distance.

“Welcome to Camp Half-Blood,” Mike says, and Fitz can tell he’s enjoying the looks of astonishment on their faces, “Come on. I bet Chiron and Mr. D are at the Big House. They’ll explain things.”

Kids in orange t-shirts watch as they pass, and Fitz, used to making every effort to go undetected, feels incredibly exposed. They’re headed toward a large, sky-blue building with a wrap around porch, which he assumes is the ‘Big House’ that Mike had mentioned. Waiting for them at the railing are a sullen looking man in a tiger print shirt and a centaur. Fitz has seen some pretty unbelievable things in his life, especially in the last year, but that still brings him up short.

“Nice to see you back in mostly one piece, Mike,” the centaur says, and Mike laughs.

“Brought you some new campers, Chiron. Jemma, Fitz, Skye. Couple of them came a long way to be here,” he says, and the centaur’s focus shifts towards Jemma and Fitz.

“Yes. Well, I hardly think the usual orientation film will suffice here, Mr. D,” Chiron says after studying them for what seems like a long time to Fitz, turning to the dark haired man next to him.

“Indeed,” he says, taking a drink of his Diet Coke, and Fitz hears some scoff behind him.

“‘Indeed?’ That’s all you’ve got to say? Those two are wearing hellhound teeth!” the tall boy with the spear says, pointing at Fitz and Jemma. Fitz glances down and realizes that during the fight with the gryphons, his necklace had come loose from his shirt; blushing, he tucks it back under his collar, watching Jemma do the same next to him.

“Yes, thank you, Mr. Warren. Having been alive for millenia and having personally dealt with hellhounds, which, I will remind you, you have not, I’m incredibly thankful for your help.”

Ward, or Warren, or whatever his name is, ducks his head, fiddling with his spear. Chiron clears his throat.

“Ward, Trip, why don’t you see that Mike gets patched up properly, and then I’m sure your cabins would appreciate your help with their chores. Coulson, May, you’ll stay and take these three down to the cabins when we’ve finished?” he says, and the small group breaks up, Mike waving over his shoulder at them as he walks off with two of the guys. The two oldest looking people in the group, the boy with the big bronze shield and the girl with the sword, lean against the railing of the porch as Fitz, Jemma and Skye follow Chiron and Mr. D around the corner of the house to a collection of lawn chairs. The centaur stays standing while the rest of them take seats, the kids on the opposite side of a table covered in playing cards from Mr. D, who is still drinking his Diet Coke and regarding them coolly.

“I suppose I should formally welcome you to Camp Half-Blood,” he says after a few moments, and then he seems content to let Chiron take over.

“Tell me, how much do you know about the Greek gods, and the associated myths?” he asks, and Fitz glances at Jemma, who speaks up.

“I’ve got a book. Fitz and I have read it.”

Mr. D scoffs, “Oh, she has a book. Excellent.”

Chiron ignores him. “Good. That may make certain things easier for you to accept.”

"Like what?"

“Well, you know about the monsters. I can only assume that you’ve faced a great many of them in your journey here, and I don’t think that you would deny that they’re very real. And just as the monsters are real, so are the gods from those stories you’ve read.”

“You’re saying that the Greek gods are real? Like Zeus and Hera and all those?” Skye asks, and Chiron nods, “But weren’t they just stories to explain like, the seasons and whatever?”

“Whether people believe in them or not, immortal means immortal, Skye. The gods have been around for millenia, moving with the heart of the West. They’ve been in the US for about two hundred years now.”

“And what does that have to do with us?”

“A great deal. As I’m sure your friends can tell you, one of the most common occurrences in the old myths is the gods falling in love with mortals and having children. They haven’t changed their habits much, and you three, and the rest of the campers here, are proof of that.”

It takes Fitz a few seconds to understand exactly what Chiron is saying, and he hears Jemma gasp next to him when it dawns on her at almost the same moment. With his powers and everything, he supposes that he always knew that the explanation for it all would be something supernatural, but he never could have guessed the actual answer, not in a million years.

His dad is a god. Fitz wonders if he’s about to be smited for all the rude things he’s thought about him in his life.

“I know it’s a lot to take in, and I’m sure you have a lot of questions. Some things will just take time, but I’d be happy to answer any you may have over the next few days, or beyond, and I’m sure Coulson and some of the other older campers will make themselves available as well. Speaking of, I’m sure you’re all tired and curious about the camp, so I’ll let him and May take you down to the cabins to leave your bags, and then show you around if you want,” Chiron says, and he gestures for them to follow him back around the porch.

May is nowhere to be seen, but Coulson is still leaning against the railing where they left him. He’s frowning down towards the collection of buildings that Fitz assumes are the cabins Chiron had mentioned, but he brightens when he sees them, standing and swinging his shield across his back.

“May had to go check on something in her cabin,” he explains at Chiron’s questioning look, but he won’t meet his eyes.

“Well, I’m sure you can handle taking these three down to cabin eleven and getting them settled in by yourself,” Chiron says, and Coulson nods. The centaur smiles at the three new campers before disappearing around the corner of the house once again.

“Alright, follow me, you three. I’m Coulson,” the older boy says, turning to lead them towards the group of cabins.

“Just Coulson?” asks Skye, and he laughs.

“Phil Coulson, but everyone just calls me Coulson. Disney’s Hercules kind of ruined the name Phil for demigods. That’s what we’re called by the way, if Chiron didn’t tell you. Sometimes he forgets to bring the new kids up to speed on some of the vocabulary. And don’t worry if Dionysus never learns your name properly. Ward’s been here as long as anybody, and he still can’t get his name right. Nobody really knows if he actually doesn’t bother to learn our names or if he’s just doing it to mess with us.”

“Dionysus? As in-”

“The wine god? Yeah. He’s stuck here supervising camp as a punishment from Zeus, something to do with a wood nymph,” Coulson explains, and Fitz isn’t really sure how to respond to that.

“Your father is Hermes?” asks Jemma, pointing at Coulson’s shield, which Fitz can now see has a design painted on the bronze, two snakes twisted around a staff, which he vaguely recognizes from Jemma’s book as a symbol of Hermes.

“Yeah. Shield was a gift from dad. You’ll be bunking with me and my siblings until you’re claimed, since Hermes is the god of travelers. All the newbies spend at least a little time in cabin eleven.”

“Claimed?”

“Your godly parent will give some sort of sign that you’re their kid. That’s when you move out of Hermes’ cabin and into your parent’s.”

“And how long does that usually take?” Jemma asks, and Fitz smiles. Presented with the opportunity to finally get some answers, Jemma Simmons is taking full advantage.

“Used to be that some kids could go unclaimed for months, even years, but the Avengers- you’ll learn about them pretty soon, I’m sure- put their foot down a while back after some serious stuff went down and the gods got better about claiming their kids. I bet you’ll all be out of cabin eleven by the end of the week. Speaking of,” Coulson says. They’ve reached the group of cabins, and he pushes open the door of the first one on the right side of the horseshoe shaped group of twelve cabins, closest to the straight line of slightly smaller cabins, revealing two long rows of bunks. There are a few kids lounging around on their beds, all of whom jump to their feet looking guilty when Coulson walks in.

“Don’t you all have chores you could be doing? You want us to get stuck on stable duty again?” Coulson asks, and the kids groan but dutifully file out, glancing at Skye, Fitz and Jemma as they leave, “There’s three empty bunks at the back you guys can take. Drop your stuff off, and then I’ll give you a tour of camp before dinner.”

—————-

Fitz is exhausted, and he can’t fall asleep.

He’s probably as comfortable as he’s been in a long time. He can’t remember the last time he was totally free of worry about monsters like he is here, and he’s sleeping in an actual bed for the first time in almost a year. He’d had more food at dinner than he’d had since they’d left Georgia, even if it had been a little strange to scrape some of his food into the fire as a sacrifice to the gods, and disconcerting to have so many people watching him as he ate. Word seemed to have spread pretty quickly through the camp about the new arrivals, and campers in orange shirts had stared at them all through Coulson’s tour of the camp and dinner. The Hermes kids at least seemed to be used to new people in their cabin, and so Fitz and the girls had finally been able to escape from the attention when dinner had ended.

He shifts in his bed, trying to get comfortable, and then the mattress dips slightly as he feels Jemma slip under his blanket and curl up against his side. He’s pretty sure Coulson sees this from his bed across the cabin’s center aisle, but he doesn’t say anything, and Fitz lets out a sigh of relief as he wraps his arm around her shoulders.

“Sorry. Couldn’t sleep,” she says, and Fitz smiles.

“‘S fine. Me neither.”

He’s finally comfortable, and he’s starting to really drift off before Jemma whispers his name.

“Yeah?”

“I have two mortal parents,” she says, and Fitz blinks, trying to wake himself up.

“What?”

“I mean, Skye has no idea about her mortal parent, and you’ve just got your mum, but I’ve got my mum and my dad.”

It takes him a second to figure out what she’s saying. “Oh. I don’t know, Jem.”

“Does this mean that one of my parents cheated on the other, and I’ve got to wait until some Greek god or goddesses sees fit to claim me to find out which? But I’ve seen photos of my mum when she was pregnant with me, and I look like my dad, right?” Fitz nods. Jemma has a few pictures of her parents in her backpack, and she’s got her dad’s smile and his eyes. He pulls her closer and drops his nose down against her hair with a yawn.

“I don’t know, Jem,” he repeats, “But this is where we can finally get answers, right? Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out. We made it.”

“Yeah. We did,” she answers after a few moments.

“Night, Jemma.”

“Good night, Fitz,” she says, and he waits for her breathing to even out before drifting off.