•--• •• •--• • •-•

Piper hefted her pouch of murder marbles. (murder marbles was catchier than Marbles of Death, she’d decided) It was nearly empty. She’d used a good number of them defending groups of people as they made their way to the police barrier or subway stations. 

She’d have to ask Leo for more of these after all of this was over. 

They were so useful. 

One marble was enough to spatter three or four aliens with green flames that ate through their bodies and spread to their comrades as long as they were standing close enough. Luckily they worked in groups so it normally was. 

Would it be possible to load them in a paintball gun and shoot them that way? Guns weren’t really her style, but for this level of efficiency she could make an exception.

Wait. 

No. 

After this, she would be home. 

Most of the monsters she attracted were weaker ones that she could easily dispatch with her sword and dagger. There would be no reason to carry around paintball guns full of greek fire ammunition, even if that would be really cool. 

Then again she might have a somewhat skewed perception of weak monsters. After fighting 40-foot giants who could only be killed with godly assistance, most other monsters seemed laughable in comparison.

Maybe Shel could use the greek fire paintball gun. She was a good shot in laser tag (she’d yet to take her girlfriend paintballing, but she figured the skills were somewhat transferable) and would probably be more comfortable with a paintball gun than a sword. 

Shel hadn’t faced a monster attack yet, but it was only a matter of time now that she knew about the gods. 

It had been kind of necessary to explain everything after Apollo flashed them his godly form, but if Piper was being honest, she probably would have told her regardless. 

She’d learned the hard way how important open and honest communication was in a relationship.

Piper dropped her most recent group of mortals off near the police barrier and ran back towards Stark Tower before the cops could call her back. 

She could always charmspeak them into letting her go, but her voice was getting hoarse from all the shouting she had to do to be heard over the explosions. It was best to save herself the trouble.

She moved through the streets, directing stragglers to safety, fighting off any aliens who dared attack those under her protection. She stepped under a patch of bright sunlight, feeling a new surge of strength sweep through her, but it faded quickly as she ran herself ragged.

Sweat trickled down her neck. How long had she been here? 

An hour? 

Two? 

She hadn’t fought for this long with so many opponents and so many noncombatants since… well, never. All her other battles had been with other campers, who could all fight, with nobody to protect but the injured. 

Now she was fighting essentially alone with thousands of people to protect and enemies coming from all sides. 

Huh. 

New battle experiences. She hadn’t thought there were many more of those for her to collect.

She wiped the sweat from her face with the back of her arm. They’d better get that portal closed soon. 

She didn’t know how much longer she could go on like this.

••• - • •••- •

The dragon was back. And it brought friends. 

Specifically, three teenagers wearing armor and carrying swords like overenthusiastic gladiator impersonators. 

Steve was too old for this.

“Captain. We need to talk.” The blonde one said seriously. She had piercing gray eyes and a calm, calculating expression that had no business being on the face of a literal child.

He stared in disbelief for a few moments, which the blonde and her taller companion took as an opportunity to slide off the dragon, using the extended wing like a slip-n-slide. The dragon took off into the sky with the third still on its back. 

Something about the two teens on the ground set him on edge. They struck him as dangerous, even without taking into account the swords.

Steve had to consciously lower his shield as a show of trust he didn’t feel. He opened his mouth to answer.

The boy’s gaze snapped onto something just over Steve’s shoulder and he raised a hand. Steve immediately raised his shield in defense. 

Then something warm and wet spattered over his back, and he turned just in time to see a Chitauri warrior collapsing to the ground. What was left of its skin was completely covered in indigo blood, which was presumably the substance that was now dripping from his suit. 

He looked from the corpse to the boy, who was now in the midst of a silent conversation with his blonde companion. 

His expression was one of cold determination that Steve had seen all to many times on the battlefield. There was no doubt that these kids had real battle experience under their belts. 

“Well okay then.” He said in a measured tone. Both teens immediately turned to him with twin piercing stares. “Let’s talk.”

The blonde nodded to the boy and he began to dispatch the surrounding aliens, giving them space and time to converse. Then she stepped forward. “I’m Skepsi, and that’s Riptide.” she nodded toward her companion, who was currently beheading a Chitauri warrior.

He raised an eyebrow at the obvious pseudonyms, but nodded. “I’m Captain America.”

“According to the history books, you’re a tactical genius.” Skepsi said frankly. “So I’m sure you know that everything we’re doing right now is pointless unless we can get that portal closed. You clearly know more about all this than I do, so I’m offering my assistance. What do you need to do to close the portal?”

Steve blinked at her bluntness, then adjusted his shield as he answered. “We’re not entirely sure. The portal is being created by a device that is surrounded by a force shield, and nothing we’ve tried so far has broken through.” 

Skepsi hummed consideringly. “What fuels the shield? Where does it get its energy?” 

“The Tesseract,” He hesitated. “It’s a cube of pu—”

“Pure energy that disappeared along with you and a plane full of bombs in 1945. Yes. I’m familiar with it.” Skepsi finished, pressing her lips to her knuckle thoughtfully. “Is there anything that uses the Tesseract’s energy that could break the barrier? A gun? Bomb? Sonic screwdriver?”

Screwdriver? He thought, confused. Must be some kind of pop-culture reference.

“There is, but not anywhere near here.” He said, thinking back to the crates upon crates of weapons in the helicarrier. He should have brought some of them. The portal might have been closed by now if he had. 

Well, no use dwelling on that now. 

“What abou—” Skepsi started, but she was cut off by the Black Widow, who had been thrown into an overturned car by a Chitauri warrior. 

The beast pressed forward, its spear raised in attack, but it never got close enough to use it. Skepsi frowned in slight disgust as she wiped dark blood off of a white blade —was that bone?— and extended a hand to Widow. Widow took it, pulling herself to her feet and sparing Skepsi a nod of thanks before turning to Steve.

“Captain, none of this is gonna mean a damn thing if we don’t close that portal.” She said, her words and tone eerily similar to Skepsi’s from just minutes before. 

Steve sighed. “It’s like I just said, our biggest guns couldn’t touch it.”

Widow’s eyes narrowed in determination. “Well, maybe it’s not about guns.” 

Her eyes lingered on the portal, and Steve shrugged. “You wanna get up there, you’re gonna need a ride.”

Skepsi’s eyes flashed, and she stepped forward. “I can help with that.” She made a few clicking sounds, raising her eyes to the sky. “Pyre. I’ve got a scary red-headed lady who needs a ride to the top of Stark Tower.”

“‘Scary red-headed lady’, huh?” Widow deadpanned, one hand lingering on the gun strapped to her thigh.

Skepsi shrugged. “Don’t ask me. Pyre is horrible at nicknames.” 

“Is that so?”

“He wanted to call me Riddler. Like the comic book character,” She fixed Widow with an incredulous look. 

“Do I look like someone who wears bright green suits and asks people convoluted questions they can’t answer just for the fun of it?” She paused, “Oh shut up Siren, I’m a very straightforward person.” Another pause. “I thought we agreed to never talk about the chinese handcuffs again.” 

Skepsi scowled playfully at whatever the people on her coms were saying. The expression was so different from the one she had sported earlier that it was slightly jarring. Steve was struck by how young she looked at that moment. Just another teenager being teased by her friends.

The bronze dragon swooped down once more, its giant claws scraping against the concrete. Widow did a remarkable job of keeping a straight face, the only sign of surprise was a slight widening of her eyes. Steve was only slightly ashamed to report that he nearly jumped out of his skin when the dragon lowered its head and stared at them with bright ruby eyes. 

The shorter, curly haired boy —Pyre, apparently— winked and gave an unsettlingly wide grin. 

“Vamanos!” He waved Natasha over. “One ride to Stark tower, coming right up.”

•-•• •-• •- -• -•-

The playful banter died out quickly, the others clearly having muted themselves. Every now and then someone would report an update or ask for assistance, but for the most part the coms were silent. 

Understandable. 

Too much chatter could sometimes be deadly, and it sounded like they were in the home stretch of this apocalypse. Frank muted his own speaker as well.

He focused on his flight, long black wings flapping occasionally to catch a draft. He scented the air and let himself settle into the cold-clear-calm of a pressing crisis.

As much as Frank had enjoyed the peace of the last several months, he had to admit that it was almost a relief when he’d gotten the message from Annabeth explaining another impending apocalypse. 

He didn’t have to feel that impending doom overshadowing his brightest moments. No more waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

In an apocalypse, the impending doom was visible, tangible, and he could do something about it. The rush of adrenaline and heavy worry in the pit of his stomach was familiar to Frank: comforting in its consistency. 

It was a familiar routine by now.

This apocalypse didn’t even seem that bad on a global scale. 

Worst case scenario? New York is destroyed and he and all the people he loves die and go to the underworld. 

Tragic, yes, but the world would keep turning. Camp Half-Blood would live on. New Rome would find new praetors. His father would have new children. He and his friends would see Jason and never have to worry about the end of the world again. 

Gods, when was the last time he’d had a fight with such low stakes?

He shook himself. 

Bad Frank. Millions of people live in New York. Their lives matter. You cannot afford to be apathetic now.

A distinct odor caught his attention, and his stomach dropped as he flew closer. The smell grew more pungent to his sensitive nostrils as he neared an overturned car. 

The smell of death and dying.

Vultures can smell when an animal is close to death. It was why he used this form. The organs failing and systems breaking down release a distinct, recognizable scent and Frank had made it his business to memorize that smell for moments like these.

He neared the ground and seamlessly transformed, his feathers melding smoothly into cloth and his claws into feet. He crouched by the shattered passenger side window and saw three figures: a sluggishly blinking woman in the driver’s seat, a teen hanging limply in the passenger’s and a young child —maybe four or five— struggling against the strap of her carseat in the back. 

He unmuted his coms as he pried the door open and sliced through the teen’s seatbelt with an imperial gold arrowhead, catching them deftly as they fell and depositing them on the ground nearby. 

Moving around to the other side of the car, he did the same for the woman. She gave him a lost, confused look as he set her down. There was blood seeping from a head wound over her left eye. 

That was not ideal. 

“I’ve got three over here.” He reported quickly. “I’d say about 15, 40 and 5. One’s unresponsive, one’s got a concussion and the last seems mostly uninjured. I’m closest to you, Raphael. Are you up for it?” 

He moved on to the child as he awaited the response, reaching uncomfortably around the seat, as the rear door was too collapsed to realistically open. He carefully slit the straps as far away from the child as possible and caught her, pulling her out of the car. Her tiny fists clung to his shirt desperately, her terrified sobs much louder now that she could breathe properly. 

His heart tightened painfully.

“Bring them here. I’ll do my best with them and if they need to be moved to a hospital, Haze can do it faster than you can.” Came Will’s clinical response.

“Copy that.” He said, doing his best to keep the slight tremor from his voice. He muted himself and hummed soothingly to the kid as he gathered her companions from the ground, arranging them on his back so when he shifted into a dragon they were settled securely between his wings.

Frank took off softly and made his way to the MoMA. A few chitauri tried to stop him, but after he charbroiled the few dumb enough to get close, they seemed to get the idea and moved on to easier targets.

He tried not to let the kid’s startled shrieks distract him as he wove delicately between buildings. He purred gently, hoping the soft vibrations would soothe her. 

Predictably, it was somewhat difficult to comfort people as a giant fire-breathing dragon. 

Not that he was very adept at it even when he wasn’t a giant fire-breathing dragon.

Nico, gods bless him, was waiting for him outside the doors. He transformed again, letting Nico take the teenager and support the woman between the two of them, and made his way into the gallery. 

The makeshift infirmary had high ceilings and white walls with precious paintings. It also had four injured civilians in various states of consciousness being tended to by a 16-year-old with blood already smeared on his scrubs. 

His youngest companion’s cries echoed in the open space, but Will just glanced at them and nodded before turning back to his patient. He hummed softly as he glued a deep gash on the man’s shoulder with quick, practiced motions. His hands glowed faintly and the wound progressed through several day’s worth of healing in moments, the blood-flow stopping and the beginnings of scabby scar-tissue forming as a hard crust over the wound.

Will was clearly conserving energy, trying to spread himself out as far as he could.

They set the two older civilians down on the floor. Nico pulled over the mangled remains of what might have, at one point, been a bench and propped their feet up so their legs were above their heart. 

He leaned in to examine their injuries as Frank did his best to escape the screaming child. 

Several unsuccessful moments later, Nico looked up from where he had been drawing the roman numeral II on the woman’s forehead with black marker and pulled the kid away. 

“Go.” he said over the child’s renewed screams. Frank winced, but Nico continued seriously. “There are people dying out there. You can help them. Trust that Raphael and I can help the ones in here.”

And so he turned and walked out the door, blinking furiously, and took flight once more as a vulture. Immediately, the stench of death filled his nostrils and he shuddered, his feathers puffing out in discomfort.

This was going to be a long day.