Chapter Text
Percy and Annabeth were done.
With monsters and gods and prophecies that crawled under their skin. With wars that never stayed buried. They wanted something so small it almost felt impossible: late bells at school, greasy cafeteria lunches, New Rome. A life that didn’t taste like ichor.
Of course, the Fates had other ideas.
Three weeks after the giant war, they weren’t approached by a god.
They were approached by something colder.
Maria Hill walked into the Jackson–Blofis apartment on a quiet Saturday afternoon, wearing a black blazer and the kind of stillness that meant she’d seen combat and never blinked.
When she knocked, Percy felt it.
That familiar skin-crawling sensation of power brushing too close.
He slammed the door shut.
Annabeth was already moving—halfway out the bedroom window, fingers white in Percy’s sleeve as she pulled him with her. Reflex. Instinct. Tartarus muscle memory that never turned off.
Sally Jackson gave them a look.
That was the only reason the door opened again.
Maria didn’t look offended.
She stepped inside like she’d walked through worse places.
“Praetor Jackson,” she said, voice clipped. Professional. “Annabeth.”
Percy’s jaw tightened. “Ex-praetor.”
Maria inclined her head. “Noted.”
Her gaze flicked to the windows. The door. The faint cracks in the wall where Percy had slammed it.
She clocked everything.
“I am Maria Hill,” she said. “And we need your help.”
Annabeth spoke first. She always did when danger walked through the door.
“You’re Roman?”
Maria nodded once. “Daughter of Bellona. But that’s not why I’m here.”
Percy shifted subtly forward, placing himself half a step in front of Annabeth without thinking. A shield without a rim.
“So you’re telling me,” he said, voice sharp, “that you’re not here because the gods screwed up again and want us to clean their mess?”
Maria lifted her hands slowly. Nonthreatening.
“What do you know of the Tesseract?”
Annabeth didn’t hesitate. “Asgardian artifact. Kept by the Norse gods. Power on a scale mortals weren’t meant to touch.” She tilted her head slightly. “And I’m guessing you’re about to tell me it’s been stolen.”
Maria nodded.
“Loki has it,” she said. “And we believe he intends to use it to take over the world.”
Percy let out a short, humorless laugh. “Yeah. Sounds familiar.”
He leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, trying to look casual, failing badly. “Crazy god. World domination. Not our pantheon. So why are we in this conversation?”
Annabeth elbowed him lightly, but her eyes stayed locked on Maria.
She wanted the same answer.
Maria’s posture tightened.
“Because,” she said, “S.H.I.E.L.D.—Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division—would like to recruit you.”
Silence.
“Initiative name,” Maria continued, “The Avengers.”
Annabeth tilted her head. Studying. Calculating. “Why not ask the Norse demigods?”
Her voice was careful. Measured.
She didn’t say Magnus. Would never say his name in front of someone like this. Someone who would use him like she’d been used.
Maria studied her for a long beat.
“Because,” she said quietly, “you are the most powerful demigods of your generation.”
Percy and Annabeth said nothing.
She pressed on.
“Because Loki didn’t just steal the Tesseract. He used it to enslave people.”
Her tablet lit up again. A paused frame.
A man with a bow.
Eyes wrong. Blank. Obedient.
“Clint Barton,” Maria said. “Adult Greek demigod. Son of Apollo.”
The room felt smaller.
“He’s compromised,” she continued. “Mind controlled. Dangerous. Or dead, if we don’t move. And I bet you're curious to see an adult demigod. Hopeful even.”
Annabeth’s fingers twitched.
“Curious or not,” she said carefully, “why would we get involved? We’ve done our part.”
Maria smiled.
It hit Annabeth like a familiar chill.
Reyna’s smile.
Battle-worn and strategic.
“We could always call your other friends,” Maria said lightly.
The air went sharp.
Percy moved in front of Annabeth fully now.
His frame went rigid.
“Leave them out of this,” he said quietly. “They’ve been through enough.”
Maria met his eyes.
“And you haven’t?”
Silence stretched.
Percy huffed a laugh.
It wasn’t sane.
It wasn’t soft.
“Clearly not,” he said, a smile turning dangerous. “If the Fates are still bored enough to drag us into this.”
He dropped his arms.
Straightened.
“Tell us more about the Avengers.”
That night, they stood in the doorway while Maria’s car idled at the curb.
Sally hugged them both tighter than usual.
“Stay safe,” she whispered. “If not for yourselves…”
She cupped Percy's cheek.
“Then for each other.”
Annabeth laced her fingers through his.
Always.
The car disappeared into the dark.
And somewhere over the Atlantic, something old and angry laughed.
The Avengers were beginning to assemble.
And two very tired, very dangerous demigods had just stepped back onto a war path.