Not Another Apocalypse

Peter’s eyelids sagged, almost closing; not even the full cup of espresso he’d drunk that morning helped his chronic sleepiness. He was tired right down to his bones, completely and wholeheartedly exhausted; the nasty kind that an ibuprofen and a cup of coffee couldn’t fix. He’d almost fallen asleep in the early Robotics class, which was pretty impressive considering it was his passion. Between homework, nightly patrols and exams in a month, sleep wasn’t a priority. Last night was atrocious – forty-eight calls over the night. Seven robberies, two assaults, a flasher, several complaints about kids spray painting dicks and curses on fences – the list went on and on. It felt like all of New York had decided to become criminal bastards overnight. The crowds of students swirled around him, trying to get to their second class of the morning, and he barely avoided smacking into people in the crammed halls.

He heard a familiar voice pass beside him and he turned around, a tired smile pulling across his face. MJ chatted with Ned next to her locker, and wordlessly Peter joined the two, tuning into their conversation.

“Not that I care,” MJ pulled on her lock, popping it open, “But why would you transfer in March? The year’s almost over. Why not just do your classes online?” Peter loved hearing her voice in the morning. She always had something in her mind, and behind her edgy facade was a passionate scientist with a slight loner complex. It was kind of endearing, “Also what’s up with the skunk streak?” She turned to Peter, giving him a once-over, “You look like shit.”

“Thanks, I really try.” He smirked, helping her cram her oversized Calculus: 10-1 textbook into her bag, “What are we talking about?” He yawned.

“Nothing really, just MJ’s obsession with the hot transfer students from upstate,” Ned gave MJ a wink, to which she gave him a light slap.

“I never said they were hot,”

“Like the scar guy and the blonde girl?” Peter asked, watching a blush form on MJ’s cheeks.

She nodded, and Peter internally groaned. They’d only been there for a day, but word travelled fast and the entire school was interested. Even Flash wanted to know what was up with the two newcomers, which was incredible considering he barely had a brain to wonder with. Rumours floated around about both of them, but mostly about the guy. Apparently he had a reputation for blowing things up and sending his classmates for unplanned swims. Peter figured some of the rumours were definitely true but others were pure bullshit. ‘I heard he was in a gunfight with a rival gang member’, ‘I heard his family is loaded and tried to get rid of him’, ‘Isn’t he the kid who dunked his class in a shark tank?’ Spider-Man already had enough to worry about.

A smirk pulled at MJ’s lips, “They’re attractive but I wouldn’t call them hot.” She mumbled.

Peter raised his eyebrows, and MJ blushed red all the way to her ears, “I mean, for rumoured gang members. Like for criminals they’re okay. I guess.”

Peter scrunched up his face in minor disbelief, “No way they’re in a gang. The Scorpions are pretty much toast after they got raided by the cops last January, and they have a brand on their neck. Doubles have to hang out in a certain part of town or they're ex-communicated or killed or whatever gangs do. The Russians are Russian, and the Tracksuit Mafia wears all burgundy.” He waved his hand dismissively, “They’re probably transfer students from Canada, like Jeff and Audrey.”

MJ cocked her head, “Since when were you an expert on New York gangs?” She had a joking smile on her face, but Peter could hear the suspicion in her voice.

“I, uh – had a weird phase when I was ten.” he hoped she didn’t hear his voice catch on the lie. I really need to get better at this, He thought, his heart pounding through his chest.

MJ nodded slowly, and Peter silently breathed a sigh of relief, “Yeah, same. I used to be really into serial killers and their biographies and stuff,” She shrugged, “I still think they could be gang members. Jeff didn’t have a perma-scowl or a switchblade hanging out of his pocket. And have you heard his accent? Mr. ‘I look like I plan to rob you later’ is definitely a New Yorker.” She finished with a satisfactory smile, buzzing with energy, the complete opposite of Peter, “There’s something off about them.”

“Chill out, Forensic Files, I don't think they're America's next most wanted or anything.” Ned chuckled, “No matter how many serial killer documentaries you watched, you’re probably not gonna find anything.” He added with a laugh.

“I –“ she began, but interrupted herself, “Do you have any other ideas, Einstein??”

“Yeah,” Peter chuckled, “I got one. They’re loaded. Weird hair streak that looks too good to be dyed? If you’ve got money you can keep dying it. He’s got a switchblade right? Rich people have weird collections. He’s got that preppy perma-smirk, both him and his girlfriend are tanned as hell, probably from lounging in the sun of LA.” He listed the theories off on his fingers, “How else could they get into a private school at the end of the year?”

“If he’s so loaded why would he wear scuffed ass clothes?”

Peter shrugged, “Blend in, it could also be a new trend or something stupid.” He shrugged, “I don’t know, but I know he’s not in a gang.” He smirked at her response to the biting comment.

“Street clothes though? Aren’t rich people like, known for flaunting their wealth through fashion?” Ned waved his hands around in a poor imitation of jazz hands.

“You got a point there, Leeds. If I was loaded I’d hire some henchmen and buy a creepy old mansion, a shitload of black clothes, weird trinkets and a bunch of crows. Then I’d teach them to speak and release them all into New York.” MJ deadpanned.

Ned turned, “Why?”

“Four words; The Addams Family Aesthetic,”

“I guess,” Ned shrugged, “If I was loaded, I’d buy every Lego Star Wars set and a house to set them all up in. Then I’d make versions of the movies out of Lego, and sell them for millions. It’d be so cool too, I’d put a whole bunch of galaxies and paintings on the walls so it'd be just like the movies.”

“Childish, I like it,”

“Okay Edge-Lord,” Ned smirked, earning a light shove from MJ.

The two continued to talk about what they’d do with their hypothetical riches, and Peter sighed with relief from the change of topic. Eventually even he couldn’t help but smile at their bickering. Ned was currently ranking the best Star Wars movies, and their posters. Both had smiles on their faces, however MJ wore a half-offended expression as he ranked A New Hope, “You guys are idiots.” Peter sighed, exasperated.

MJ smirked at him, giving a small wave and quiet goodbye as she turned into her classroom, leaving Peter and Ned alone.

“I don’t know what you see in her, but you need to get your eyesight checked.” Ned said jokingly, giving Peter a pat on the shoulder. His eyes widened as a rosy blush crept down his face and dusted his ears.

“Shuddup, dude.” Peter sheepishly hid his face and pulled Ned towards their class. The hallway was packed with students trying to grab their textbooks from their lockers before their next period, but a system had evidently been subconsciously set up where students stick to the right to go forwards, like they were driving. Peter and Ned followed everyone else, taking a quick stop at the water fountain so Ned could get a drink before class.

They entered their morning English class long before the bell, taking their usual seats in the back next to the electric pencil sharpener and side cabinets. Only a couple of other kids were in the classroom, and they were all in their distinct groups chatting with each other.

“Ooh, speaking of Lego, I got a new Rogue One set, wanna help me put it together later?” Ned asked, turning all the way around in his desk, “MJ can come too, if you want.” He shot Peter a knowing smile.

“Yeah, I’ve just got a couple things to finish up for class but I’ll be over later. I also need to do some patrols tonight.” He groaned. Hopefully it was different tonight; Not a flasher or spray painter to be seen.

Fat chance, but he could hope.

Ned nodded, “This is a kinda random question but I kinda just wanted to ask you because I’m really curious,” Ned rambled, while Peter watched with his eyebrows raised in amusement, “How does your Spider sense work? What kind of danger can you sense? Like is it limited to certain things or people like I didn’t trigger it when I figured out your identity so are you like, unable to sense danger from me or does it work by pheromones…?”

Peter glanced around, “Keep your voice down. I don’t need the biggest Spider-Man fanboy in the school finding out my identity.”

“Do you mean Flash, or Mr. Harrington or…?” He said quizzically.

Peter didn’t answer his question. “I don’t know, I just know what to do sometimes. I know my spider sense isn’t pheromones though, because a car flying at my face has nothing to do with pheromones but I know it’s there anyways.”

“So it’s precognition?”

“Well, no, I don’t see the future.” He shrugged. He never really thought about it too hard, “It’s more like really specific, on-the-spot anxiety I guess. I mean I’ll be doing something and then it’s like a big ‘YIKES’ appears and I know what to do.”

“Cool. Terrible, but cool.”

Peter smiled. He loved Ned's enthusiasm about his powers, even if it was overbearing at times. It really reminded him that his powers weren’t a curse or a punishment, but an opportunity to help people. He slouched back in his chair, waiting for the teacher.

Instead of their usual teacher, Mrs. Colben, Mr. Harrington replaced her. He was a poor substitute to say the least, and English crawled by, even with Ned wisecracking every chance he got. At some point they were handed a worksheet to do while Mr. Harrington fixed the projector, but nobody was doing it. Peter’s stomach growled halfway through but he didn’t feel like getting up to get his lunch, so he absently glanced around the classroom instead to distract himself.

It had the teachers desk in the front right corner, a smart board flanked by white boards across the front, and cabinets lining the side of the classroom. The back of the room consisted of bulletin boards, each sporting different things. Some had the definition of articles, nouns, conjunctions and all the common figures of speech. Another was covered in the common themes found in the works of Shakespeare, mostly Hamlet and Romeo and Juliet. The last board, closest to him, had a map of the world and North America, as well as dozens of Spanish verbs tacked to it via flashcards. His eyes drifted lazily around the room, until they landed on two people sitting outside the widow on his right.

The window opened up to a courtyard, filled with benches and greens. It was a popular spot for students with spares to waste time or study. Two such students sat cross legged on the grass, doing both. A blonde girl with a tanned complexion sat next to a guy with black hair and darker, almost copper skin. He recognized the two immediately as the transfer students. They seemed to be studying – well, the blonde girl was. He was fooling around, showing her the old ‘pull my thumb off’ magic trick and pulling up grass and tossing it around. The girl smirked at him and tossed the grass back. He laughed, comfortably resting his head on her shoulder to peek at her book. They looked so… casual. At that moment Peter had a hard time believing the rumours that floated around about them.

At first glance that was. He peered closer, and saw the girl – Annabeth, that was her name – had a white-knuckled grip on her book. Her eyes darted around the courtyard, and she picked at her nails, fidgeting. She kept moving her shoes underneath her, chewing her lip and surveying the area.

In contrast the boy beside her was much more relaxed, but his eyes still watched the other students. Peter could see a tattoo peeking out from the short sleeve of his t-shirt, a single stripe and some letters Peter couldn’t read from that distance. He had no trouble believing the guy was rich. He was smarmy, tattooed, and had that certain complete disregard for his education that was common in rich kids. He had a beautiful, paranoid girlfriend, had no trouble getting into an amazing school even though the year was nearly over, enough sass to impress Loki, and hair perfectly dyed. Hanging out around Stark Industries so often, he’d met a lot of preppy types. Most of them were nice enough, but they didn’t like associating with those of the lower class. They liked to believe people were after them for some reason, loved to think they were highly desired, either for their looks, money, influence, or genius. Peter wondered which category the highly esteemed Percy Jackson fell into.

Then he turned, and Peter knew he was wrong. He had a smile that looked as if it had seen the inside of hundreds of principal offices; It was crooked, mischievous, downright cunning or even malevolent. He constantly looked like he was somehow scheming. That smile paired with the smirk and tattoo, the skater boy attitude and lack of effort, was a textbook definition of what Ned loved to call past-prep-syndrome. Someone who was a preppy asshole formerly but had either been demoted via bankruptcy or who was an outcast in their family. Peter was trying to gauge which one Percy was when his jade-green eyes grew wide with surprise as he saw Peter through the window.

And Peter saw him. He felt his hackles raise; a cold shiver went up his spine. The world expanded, was so much brighter, so much louder than it had been before. He was suddenly very uncomfortably aware of his clothing on his skin, the air that enclosed him. The fluorescent lights felt like the sun against his eyes and his heart began to race. Someone dropped a pencil in the class beside them. Two students whispered during a test, avoiding the watchful eyes and keen hearing of a teacher. That was on the other side of the hallway.

His whole body screamed at him to run or to fight, but he sat still.

“You think he’s got any powers, wise girl?” Percy – flipping a little plastic skateboard in his fingers – cracked a smile, not-so-discreetly gesturing to the widow with the board, where he could see Peter, and Peter could see him.

Peter froze. He could hear his own heart pounding in his chest. He stared straight ahead, head spinning.

Annabeth didn’t look up from her book, she just flipped the page, “Maybe. Hopefully he’s not hiding eight legs and excellent sewing abilities,” She joked half-heartedly, but her voice was slightly on edge. She was using humour to cover up a real fear, something she dreaded.

He knew it was rude to eavesdrop. That he should ask to be excused and calm himself down. But they were talking about him. He knew without a doubt they were. But why? He kept his eyes on his assignment in front of him, listening intently. A phrase came to his mind, something May used to say when the neighbours argued loudly about their relationships; ‘Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back.’

School didn’t have much to do with May’s inability to resist interesting gossip, but he did hope this situation didn’t turn out like Apartment 203’s marriage.

Peter heard the grating of cloth as Percy leaned over to speak to Annabeth, his jeans folding as he did so.

“I think he can hear us,” he whispered, so softly it was barely audible.

Annabeth's heartbeat spiked in turn with his own, “How can you be sure?”

Percy stayed silent for a moment, almost as if he dreaded telling her, “His blood rushes when we talk. And it’s fast, like, Ella’s heart fast.” He side-eyed Peter, clearly watching him for a reaction. For any indication that he had heard.

She sighed, and stayed quiet for a moment, then another. Peter counted the seconds as they passed, using the loud ticking of the wall clock to keep track. He could hear something swishing in the wind, but didn’t dare look.

After five minutes and a half, Peter risked a peek out the window. Annabeth moved her hands slowly, trying to converse in sign.

“Fuck,” he muttered, regretting not taking Sign Language back in freshmen year.

He kept watching, for what he didn’t really know but it felt wrong to just let them talk about him while he didn’t know. Eventually Percy threw up his hands, “I can’t understand shit.” He shook his head, then stared right at Peter, an uncomfortable grin spreading across his face. It was the same grin that the kids in detention wore after they’d taped an air horn to the bottom of the teacher's hair. He whispered something to Annabeth that Peter didn’t quite catch, what with Mr. Harrington returning with a noisy cart.

“See you around, webs.”

His eyes grew as wide as dinner plates as he watched them quickly gather their things and leave. Annabeth gave Percy a light slap, but he laughed it off. Peter’s heart pounded in his ears.

They knew, somehow they knew. How? And why reveal that?

Peter watched them leave, and knew he wasn’t in any immediate, life-threatening danger but his spider sense apparently didn’t get the memo. The lights felt brighter than ever, the air clunky and humid. He raised his hand, quietly asking to be excused. Ned did the same, following Peter out of the room. Mr. Harrington absentmindedly nodded, clicking through something on his computer.

“They know my identity,” He whispered. Despite them being empty, he kept his head down in the halls.

“What?!” Ned hissed beside him, “They’ve been here for two days, how did they find out?”

Peter swallowed hard. He didn’t know, he didn’t care. He shoved his hands in his pocket, nervously picking at his nails, “What if they tell someone?” The lights felt brighter than ever, his footsteps became thunder claps, “What if they spill it to a friend, and they tell someone else and then the class, and then the school, and then the world. And then it’s over.” His breath was quick, and his voice quiet.

“Hey, It’ll be okay,” Ned stopped him, setting a hand on his shoulder, “They haven’t told anyone yet, so maybe they won't. And besides, who’s gonna believe them? They’re highschoolers Peter, not the New York Times,” He smirked.

“Yeah, I guess,” Peter took a deep breath. Maybe Ned was right, maybe they’d keep it to themselves, “How do they know though? I haven’t told anybody, I haven’t even left school to do Spider-man stuff. It’s not like we talk about it all the time –” He sighed, frustrated.

“I don’t know," He admitted, "I didn't tell anyone, and you definitely didn't. But I do know that standing in the halls doing nothing isn't gonna help anything. Let's go get a drink or something." 

"Yeah, sure," He let Ned lead him to the cafeteria, and absentmindedly handed him his wallet to get them both a coffee. The question still burned at his mind, how could they know? Where had they seen him, overheard him. Surely they didn't see him change into his suit outside his apartment building, or see him return home then trace the apartment back to him. They didn't overhear him in class, they'd never even shared a class together. 

"Dude, lets go," Ned pulled him along by his sweater, handing him his coffee, "Forget about them, so what if some delinquent knows your secret, it's not like he can do much with it." 

Peter nodded. Maybe it was because it was Ned saying it, or maybe it was because it was true, but he felt better. What really could they do with the information? His heartbeat slowed as he took a sip of the coffee, a weird sort of apathetic calm seeping into him.  

“Thanks, Ned.”

“No problem. Tonight I wanna see the web shooters though, how do they shoot so far?” He wore a confused expression, but it soon shifted to hopeful, “Wait, can we test that?”

Peter chuckled, “Fuck it, why not.” He laughed as Ned’s face lit up, and the two headed back to class in high spirits. The lights felt normal again, and he could no longer feel the air touching his skin. For the rest of the class he felt strangely normal considering what had just happened. Despite the inherent horror of someone knowing he sneaks around in a red morph suit all night, despite them knowing he was an illegal vigilante, he felt calm. However, the clock seemed to tick slower and slower and by the end Peter was more than ready to go.

Ned quickly stopped at his locker to drop his textbooks before lunch, and the two linked up with MJ on the way to the cafeteria.

“Hey losers, how was English with Harrington?”

Ned side-eyed her, “F-fine, it was fine, why?” He knit his hands nervously, and Peter had to resist the urge to face-palm. Ned was a horrible liar, he was too nice, too trustworthy almost to a fault. Not that Peter was an excellent liar either.

“How’d you know we had Harrington?” Peter tried to shift the conversation off of Ned, “You don’t have Colben?” He added just a hint of joking suspicion to his voice to put MJ on the defensive.

She waved away the question, “I was supposed to have Harrington but he had to leave to teach you guys, ‘cause they couldn’t find a sub,” Her eyes quickly lit up, “Did you hear what the transfer students did?”

Ned visibly paled beside Peter, “Uh, no?” He swallowed, hoping his friend wouldn’t blow anything.

“Aquaman over there set a new city record in swimming, and she kicked a thousand-dollar punching bag off the chain. Almost got expelled for it too,” She smirked, “Now do you believe me?”

Ned opened his mouth to speak, but Peter interrupted him, “Yeah, yeah we believe you. You said you think these kids are gang members right?” Ned gave him a smile and a small nod. He knew what Peter's plan was. They could use MJ on their team to figure these kids out, and this was the perfect way to achieve that without telling her about his secret identity. 

MJ’s eyes practically sparkled with mischief and excitement; she lowered her voice to just a whisper that was barely heard in the noisy Cafeteria, “No, I think they’re spies.”

Peter couldn’t help but smile at her outlandish theory. He shoved her playfully, shaking his head, “I take it back, you’re insane.”

“Have you considered that people from Manhattan just look like that?” Ned cut in with a smile. Peter grinned, but MJ waved off his joke.

“I’m serious,” MJ rolled her eyes, “The evidence is damning,” A smug smile played across her face, “Why would anybody semi-athletic go to a Technology school?” She ignored Peter's offended expression, “The guy is covered in scars, scratches and even bruises. The girl carries around a switchblade!” She plopped her backpack down and began tearing it open in search of her usual bagged lunch, “Is it really that far fetched to think that, in a world of Gods, superpowered beings, flying robot suits and secret government agencies, our classmates could be involved with one?”

Peter raised his eyebrows, unconvinced, “MJ, your evidence is that the guy has a couple of scars – probably from fighting other kids – and his girlfriend has a knife. I seriously doubt it.”

“You said it yourself that they might be rich – that they look rich. I’d imagine a spy’s salary is decently high. Also you haven’t heard the rest of my evidence,” A mischievous smile played across her lips.

“Do tell.” Peter said, dry as desert sand.

“First of all, both of them speak dead languages, same as any Shield Agent. Secondly, they were talking about Riptide, the Long Island and Manhattan vigilante.” She began, naming her points off on her fingers, “Third, his mentioned appearance, his shady attitude, he constantly switches schools and,” she paused for dramatic effect, “Get this – that bus explosion a couple of years ago, in like third grade, was him. He fired a cannon at an empty bus, got expelled and then was kidnapped the next year. And the year before that he dumped his whole class in an empty shark tank in Marine World. And then in 9th grade he was caught setting the fire at Goode, but that was kinda disproved. The point being, wherever this guy goes, trouble follows.”

“So?”

“So it’s the perfect cover-up. When a student is expelled all the records are either handed over to the next school, or they’re sealed. If his cover was blown, he could easily erase that by–“

“Yeah but, why would a secret agent even attend school in the first place? Don’t they have like – training and stuff?” Ned asked, “If I was a super secret, highly paid government agent I wouldn’t waste my time at school.” He shook his head like the idea was utterly outlandish.

MJ rolled her eyes.

“I’m with Peter on this one,” Ned continued, unimpressed, “I love this theory and it would be so badass if we went to school with real assassins but that evidence just isn’t convincing me.”

“Agreed.” Peter dodged a flying piece of broccoli that had been thrown from across the Cafeteria, “Why the hell would a Shield Agent or a vigilante draw attention to themselves by getting expelled. That’s just silly, it's like asking to be found out.” He laughed, “He could've just left the school, no reason to go out in a bang.”

“Have you met that guy? He’s smarmier than Tony Stark.” MJ defended.

Peter rolled his eyes, “Okay, well, if they were here to spy on someone, who is it?”

A wry smile stretched across her face, “Spider-Man.”

_________________________
One month Earlier.

Annabeth scoffed, rolling her eyes.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

She stared at the picture, trying to imagine the scrawny kid as a crawling, eight-legged monster. She tried to image fangs and barbed, tangling spider legs and a venous glare. But it was impossible. He was too meek.

The big house was quiet that evening, except for Seymour snoring above the fireplace and the quiet dripping of the sink. Most of the campers were gone for school, and the few that were left were just bumming around. Chiron sat compacted in his wheelchair in front of her, holding a photo of a teenager with brown hair, a scrawny, small build and a bandage on his arm.

Chiron shifted uncomfortably, putting the picture aside, “We’re not sure, but our satyrs think he could be her – or at the very least, a piece of her.”

“You think he’s Arachne. Reformed, after barely a year? The Doors of Death would have to have opened again for her to be back so quickly. And these records,” she sifted through a pile of school records that Chiron ‘borrowed’ from the front office of Midtown School of Science and Technology, “They’re legitimate. They date back to preschool, kindergarten – a monster wouldn’t have the foresight to fake those records. And why fake them when you can just lie?”

“We’ve been looking into it differently,” he shifted nervously, picking at his blanket, “Perhaps she possessed a real student.”

Annabeth's face paled, “That’s not possible.”

Chiron shrugged, “There are many things we’ve seen in the past few years that shouldn’t be possible. Camp Jupiter, two olympian wars in as many years, children of the big three peacefully coexisting – it all should be impossible.”

Annabeth shook her head, “She’s a monster Chiron.”

“Yes, however I believe she could have refor-“

“Trust me, She couldn’t have. The way they reform is… A process. They’re down there, growing in these giant, parasitic pouches until they’re whole again on a plane of blisters and boilers.” She took a shuddering breath, the horror of Tartarus washing over her all over again. The hot, sticky air that clung to her and suffocated her. The burning water that scorched her throat and nearly killed her. Bob. That moment where she could feel his heartbeat in the plains, and knew he was alive. Knew that she was standing in a living, breathing hell that wanted her dead more than anything in the world. She exhaled slowly, “T-then they have to go to the doors themselves, a trek across the whole world. Only then are they brought up.”

She didn’t like to think of Tartarus. She didn’t like to think of leaving Bob, of those few moments in that cold elevator, listening to the music as a battle raged below them. It was a catharsis at the time; she knew she’d escaped. But now that memory stung. With hell behind her, she wondered what lie ahead. Barely a quarter of her life had been lived, and she had already gone through the most vile and horrifying the world had to offer. She had her something permanent, had a best friend that she wanted to share the rest of her life with. But what if it only got worse. What if Tartaurus was only the beginning. She pushed the thoughts aside. They deserved to stay buried.

“And, she has no soul to possess someone with. She's just a spider.” She wanted it to sound concrete and sure, but it came out as more of a scared little girl reassuring herself she wasn’t crazy.

“Arachne is a skilled seamstress and weaver. She wove her own trap, kept her home out of the pit for years, and she bested a goddess. It could be possible that she-“

“What, she just made herself a soul?” She asked incredulously. The thought of Arachne sent a shiver down her spine. Her long, clicking claws at the end of her many legs, the slicing barbs on the sides and her horrible grin that stretched across her face. Those hours she’d spent down in her web, all those times she could’ve killed Annabeth but chose not to, her raspy, disgusting voice made her skin crawl and caused an uncomfortable, gnawing fear in her. The idea that she could be alive, possessing some poor mortal – it was horrifying.

“Please, I want you to look into it. For my sanity,” he sighed, “The monsters have been more desperate since the doors shut, and since the Earth fell asleep. We can’t risk the safety of mortals.” He sighed, “I think it would also be good for you and Percy to try living in the mortal world, find ways to keep the monsters at bay. I suggest febreeze, although it is rather nasty smelling-“

“You want me to go after her?” She asked, horrified.

“Yes,” His eyes softened, and he reached a hand out to take the photo from her. “I know it will be hard, and you can refuse, but you two are the only demigods I trust with this.” He hung his head in shame, “I would send anyone else if I could guarantee they would survive, but I cannot, because they haven’t. You two have killed her, have defeated her.” He glanced down, “I’m sorry, but you and Percy are the only people in the world I trust to kill her without dying themselves.”

She took a deep, shaking breath. Defeating Arachne threw her into Hell itself, and she could never forget those few moments, her ankle screaming in pain and her fingers slipping, dangling over the mouth of Tartarus. Some small part of her had wondered if Percy would leave, and let her die. She almost wished he had.

But Chiron was right. She wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she blindly led someone to their death. Clarisse was most likely her replacement for the quest, and as a child of Ares she has killed no shortage of beasts. But Clarisse had moved on from the wars, and had healed after losing Silena. It wasn’t fair to toss her back into that again, no matter how many times the daughter of Ares had tried to ‘accidentally’ kill her during Capture the Flag..

“If I kill her again, will she stay dead?”

Chiron sighed, clearly exhausted. She wondered absently if he’d had a similar conversation with one of her late siblings hundreds of years earlier, “Yes, I belive so. Perhaps dying in the Pit allowed her to reform quicker, last time you battled her and won, yet the exceptional circumstances-“

“Last time was different. The Athena Parthenos was there, it made me stronger, let me think clearer. And it was my quest. I was destined to succeed.”

“But were you? Or did you fight the Fates for that victory? You were injured, and scared, and on the brink of a war thousands of miles from home. Hundreds of children of Athena walked to their deaths where you walked to success and peace. Tell me that doesn’t sound like any other quest – doomed to fail from the very beginning. The odds were stacked against you, and yet you won.” His eyes softened, “Annabeth, she will stay dead. That I can promise.

Annabeth glanced away, her eyebrows knit. Maybe she could do it again. But if she didn’t, if she died, and after all she’d lost, and all she’d gained back – to go out now would be horrible. But she refused to live in a world with Arachne. That bitch needed to stay dead, for her own sanity.

“How are we doing this? We can’t just drag a random kid to camp and exorcise him.”

Chiron nodded, “I’ve had Lou-Ellen consult Hecate on the matter, and I think we have a solution. If we are correct in that only a part of Arachne is possessing this boy, we can coax it into another host. Nico will shadow travel the boy, leaving Aranche to latch onto a new host, where we can kill her easily with a blade.”

“And then?”

“Thanatos owes me a favour.”

He didn’t offer any other information. Annabeth glanced away, her mind riddling the plan with so many holes it more resembled swiss cheese than a course of action, “One of Nico’s undead hosts I presume? Have you tested any part of this theory? Can humans survive shadow-travel? Will she take the host? Is there anything concrete about this?”

“Not exactly.”

Annabeth pursed her lips, she hated it, every part of the plan, “I can’t live with another death on my conscience. I need to know this will work. Or that it at least won’t kill him.”

Chiron shrugged, “I can promise it won’t kill him. Worst case scenario is she won’t let go of her host. In that case we’ll need a new plan. Second worst is she tries to take Nico as her new host, however we are extremely doubtful that will happen.” Chiron rubbed his neck apprehensively, “The truth is, we don’t know. But we know he’s under her influence. Our satyrs have confirmed it, and I’m willing to take their word.

“And how do you plan to remove Arachne? We’ve never seen anything like this before, maybe her removal could kill him.”

Chiron nodded, “I have my doubts the boy will die. Nico and I have discussed the matter, and he believes that if anything, Arachne would die. The boy is safe, doubly so as Will has agreed to be near for the procedure. As for how we get her to leave him, Nico plans to draw her out with you.”

Annabeth's blood ran cold, “What?”

“She still wants her revenge on you I’m afraid, and would take any chance to get it. We’ll provide a disposable host for her, then kill it, sending her back to Tartarus with the soul.”

Annabeth sighed. If the boy had any of Arachne's abilities she doubted the plan would go as smoothly as Chiron intended it to. Then there was the matter of her being the bait, and the issue of actually killing the little arachnid. She should be terrified of this quest, she should want to run off and hide. However she trusted Chiron more than nearly anyone, and knew that he wouldn’t ask her to do this unless her truly beloved she was the only person fit for the task. And she trusted Nico’s power. She’d seen him crack the very ground, and unleash entire armies of ghosts.

Killing a little spider shouldn’t be hard.

“I‘ll talk to Percy. If he’s on board we’ll check out the school, and enroll in some classes with this kid. If we kill her though, I want her to stay dead. Can you absolutely guarantee that?”

Chiron smiled a smirk she’d only seen once or twice, just before he was about to either tell a terrible dad-joke or reveal a brand new, deadlier climbing wall. It was that of a man who had seen many, many things in his time, and had a few tricks up his sleeve.

“Like I said – Thanatos owes me a favour. And he will deliver.”