Hey guys, here's part 2 of the update!

IMPORTANT NOTE: I posted a chapter a few days ago, for those who are unaware. Just want to highlight that and ensure nobody reads this chapter prior to the last one.

Hope you guys like the chapter - Civil War the movie is wrapping up, and one of our beloved characters is going into space ;)

And just realized that I crossed the 200k word mark, ahh! Longest story I've ever written, love ya guys!

Enjoy!

Civil War: In the Middle of Knowhere

Bruce Banner

Bruce had never heard a more dreaded sound than the beep of that ended call. God, he was so stupid. The moment he'd heard that robotic voice respond, his limbs had frozen up. He'd forgotten the voice modification program embedded in the phones, protecting the identity of the operatives. Before he could frantically redial, the door of his prison was thrown open and four HYDRA agents flooded in . . .

After his failed attempt at escape, Bruce became increasingly terrified of the possibility that he may never see blue skies and sunny days again. All he could hear was Tony's furious voice, and that dreadful tone after he'd hung up on him. He felt rejected and betrayed, which was ironic, considering how many years he'd been on the run. He thought he'd become immune to those emotions.

Would he ever be found? Maybe dead. He tried to imagine what his funeral would look like, but the drug pumping through his veins was making it hard to keep ahold of his thoughts. It would have to be at an undisclosed location, otherwise someone would probably steal his body . . . how many people would attend . . . he couldn't recall if he wanted a burial or cremation, maybe . . . there would be him, and that blonde guy, and a red-haired woman . . . her name, what was her name? . . . words spoken by a low voice with a hoarse laugh, a lullaby . . .

And the soothing voice suddenly burst into a loud BANG! as the door of his prison was thrown open and several HYDRA operatives ran in. One was speaking English, and Bruce struggled to dismiss residual thoughts, trying to concentrate on the here and now.

". . . must hurry, I want to be gone before they arrive! No, idiot—I want him alive!" A gunshot rang out as the speaker killed one of his comrades before he could execute Bruce. "You—see if we can transport the cryostasis pods."

"Sir, it's impossible—they're too large."

An angry growl, a moment of thought. "Fine, stow him. The rest of you, to the helicopter!"

There was a scrambling of feet, and then Bruce felt his limp body being lifted up. He saw the unshaven line of a jaw . . . glaring, yellow lights . . . bodies, sitting behind grimy panels of glass, tubes attached everywhere . . . what had he said again? Cryostasis pods.

Bruce gave a weak cough, trying to fight the drug. A flick of the wrist, and all of his energy was sapped.

The doctor fell unconscious even as his body was stuffed into the sixth cryo chamber.

. . .

A few hundred miles away, a young man frowned at his map while the cold Siberian winds outside rocked his rented jeep vehicle, whipping snow against the windows. He traced a calloused finger along an imaginary line. The base should be . . . here.

Tossing the map in the backseat, he pressed down on the gas pedal and the car jumped forward. Considering how long he had been tracking this group, Mr. Banner had better not be dead yet.

Gods, what a waste of time that would be.

. . .

One hour later.

He strode through the cavernous room, the gun held lightly in his hand. The bodies of the five remaining soldiers floated in their glowing yellow pods, suspended and preserved. Remnants of an old era. Born to tear down the world, only to be used as a lure.

He raised the gun. Now, they were of no use to him. Five gunshots rang out, shattering grimy glass and releasing suspension. It gushed out, leaving the bodies to hang in their tubes.

A sixth? Helmut Zemo frowned as he noticed the remaining pod, a body floating behind obscure glass. The mission book had not mentioned a sixth soldier. But nevertheless . . . he raised the gun again, firing the final shot.

Then he strode out of the room, his task complete. There was nothing left to do. He had lit the spark.

Rogers and Stark would be the flame.

. . .

Less than ten minutes later, even as Helmut made his final preparations only a few dozen feet above in another room, a young man appeared in the shadows of the cavernous room. A gun held loosely at his side, he moved quietly along the wall, keeping an eye out for security cameras even as he took in the cryostasis pods before him. So it had been true all along. HYDRA had successfully created their own super serum-enhanced task force.

Before someone put a bullet in each of them. The young man frowned. Strange. Why would HYDRA take Bruce Banner all the way out here, and then destroy their only chance at world domination?

One, two, three . . . six soldiers altogether. Except—the young man's eyes widened as he realized who was in the sixth cryo pod.

"Don't be dead," he muttered to himself as he hurried to the body in the final pod. What a waste of time and money that would be. Approaching the pod, he gave a quiet sigh of relief. Plenty of death surrounding this place, but not the man. Avoiding the shattered glass, he checked for a pulse even as he knew his answer.

Bruce Banner was alive. Barely.

That was the best he could hope for, considering the bullet he'd evidently taken in the chest. How long he'd been laying here, unconscious and bleeding out, he wasn't sure. Why someone would stuff him in a cryo pod, he was even less sure.

With strength that would have surprised had there been an onlooker, the young man lifted Bruce out of the pod with ease and disappeared into the shadows once more.

And appeared in the shadow of his jeep, just a hundred feet north from the old HYDRA compound. He must have done something in that short time since removing him from the pod, because just as he set the man down in the cold snow, he felt the last shreds of life disappear from Bruce Banner's body.

"Shit!" The young man growled, throwing open the back of the jeep and ravaging through his many belongings. Where was it, where had he put it? There! He grabbed the mobile defibrillator and dropped it in the snow, already charging up the device to maximum voltage and cleaning the paddles. Some residual beef jerky and ketchup on the left one, but good enough. He unceremoniously ripped open the man's shirt, frowned at all the chest hair and grabbed the paddles.

"Three, two, one—" he pressed the paddles in the appropriate position just as the device beeped. Bruce Banner's body arched from the discharge of energy, his eyes flying wide open.

. . .

Bruce

"Hey, stay with me!"

It felt like a rude awakening. A slap in the face, a pinch on the arm—whatever it was, it hurt. It felt like his chest had been cracked open, and his body felt so cold, his bones so stiff. He tried to say something, but realized his lungs were blocked. He coughed, tasting blood. Above him, a man snapped his fingers, shouting at him. He could barely understand what he was saying, it felt like he were on the edge of death. Maybe he was already dead.

"—need you to turn . . . alright?!" The man shouted. "Do you understand? I . . . turn . . . to Hulk! If you don't, you're dead!"

He tried to shake his head, nod, twitch his fingers but all he could feel was a chill seeping into his body. "I . . . I—"

"Don't talk! Turn . . . Hulk! Now!" The man yelled.

Bruce couldn't barely feel anything now, his eyelids slowly closed. The last thing he remembered was another shock to the chest and then . . . a thunderous roar of anger.

Germany

The two of them looked through the glass, watching as Rhodes went through the MRI. At least he was alive. Vision didn't know what he would do if he weren't. He didn't know what Tony would do. Ever since yesterday, it felt like there was a wall between the two of them. A silence.

Tony paced back and forth, a subdued agitation in his step. "How did this happen?" He asked.

"I became distracted." Vision said quietly.

Tony shook his head. "I didn't think that was possible."

Vision looked at him. "Neither did I."

Stark turned away. On his face, Vision got a glimpse of . . . betrayal. Disgust.

He was angry. Vision could understand. He felt . . . angry, as well. Though he wasn't sure at whom. At himself? At Wanda? Or perhaps this was not anger. Perhaps this was what guilt felt like.

So many feelings, he didn't know what do with them. He could feel his grasp on control slip away. Yesterday, he had not acted on logic, he had simply . . . acted. Instinctually, upon emotion. Upon the anger and hurt of seeing Wanda injured.

Was it possible that he had purposefully targeted Rhodes because he had used his sonic disruptors upon Wanda? Had it truly been a mistake, or was there some part of him that had wanted to exact revenge? He'd just heard the command and aimed at the target, like he'd always done.

Vision looked down at his hands. He'd always recognized his capacity to damage and destroy. And discerning the enemy to be targeted was but an easy task. But what if his emotions were leading his clear mind astray? How misled could he become?

Millions of bodies, strewn everywhere—Vision clenched his hands into fists, unwilling to pursue the thought. He was healthy, nothing was wrong. That strange daydream he'd had yesterday was toying with his mind.

"The end is nigh.

A seeker of stones,

The mad titan

Courts death . . .

He watched as the MRI progressed, the colonel giving some light conversation even as his legs lay still as stone.

Somewhere above the Atlantic Ocean

The storm Tony travelled through was tumultuous, to say the least. It was as if the sea and sky were getting ready to tear each other's throats out. But the nut job weather was currently the least of his worries.

New intel was beginning to cast doubts on Barnes' involvement in UN attack—video footage pulled up by Friday showed that one Helmut Zemo had posed as the doctor originally tasked to perform the psych evaluation on Barnes. According to Friday, Zemo was formerly Sokovian intelligence as a colonel in a covert kill squad. He retired after his family was killed during the Ultron Offensive.

Tony was getting the feeling he would soon be on the end of a big 'I told you so' from Steve. But first things first . . .

He looked down just in time to see a massive structure rise out of the dark, tumultuous waves. The infamous Raft. He couldn't help but look at the prison with disgust. He had helped fund its design with SHIELD, and now he was visiting his friends—hopefully they were still friends—in the same construct.

The moment he landed and got out of the chopper, Ross was standing a dozen feet away, waiting. Despite their mostly mutually beneficial relationship history, Tony had mixed feelings about the man at this point. He'd gone from hunting Bruce Banner, trying to cage him, to being in charge of a prison currently housing four heroes turned international war criminals. He had been promoted, one could say. And it was evident he was enjoying every second of it.

"So, you got the files?" Tony assumed, tucking away his shades. "Let's reroute the satellites, start facial scanning for this Zemo guy."

Ross scoffed. Yup, he was enjoying every second. "You seriously think I'm gonna listen to you after that fiasco in Leipzig? You're lucky you're not in one of these cells."

The best Tony got was a tour, and he was greeted with a slow, mocking clap the moment he entered the cell area.

"The Futurist, gentlemen! The Futurist is here! He sees all! He knows what's best for you, like it or not," Clint said derisively, his tone heavy with contempt.

Tony stopped before his cell. "Give me a break, Barton. I had no idea they'd put you here. Come on."

Clint spat on the ground, not bothering to look up at him. "Yeah, well, you knew they'd put us somewhere, Tony." He finally speared him with a hard gaze. Tony was reminded that there were many reasons people called him Hawkeye.

"Yeah, but not some super-max floating ocean pokey. This place is for maniacs. This is a place for . . ."

"Criminals?" Clint got to his feet, peering at him through the reinforced glass and metal bars. "Criminals, Tony. Think that's the word you're looking for. Right? That didn't used to mean me. Or Sam. Or Wanda. But here we are."

"Because you broke the law," Tony responded finally.

"Yeah," Clint scoffed, turning his back to him. "La, la, la, la . . ." It was evident from his mocking singsong tone that the archer wasn't in the mood to listen.

"I didn't make you."

"La, la, la, la, la, la . . ."

"You read it, you broke it.

"La, la, la, la, la . . ."

"You're all grown up, you got a wife and kids. I don't understand, why didn't you think about them before you chose the wrong side?"

Clint turned towards him suddenly, his eyes hard. He'd struck a nerve. Even as Tony walked away, he could feel the man's eyes carving a hole into his back.

"You better watch your back with this guy!" Clint slammed his fists into the bars, the ominous bang echoing through the room. "Chances are he's gonna break it!"

Tony struggled to maintain a neutral expression.

Passing by another cell, a man inside gripped the cell bars, eyeing him. "Hank Pym always said, you never can trust a Stark."

Tony frowned. Wasn't this the guy who turned into the extra large giant at the airport? "Who are you?"

The man groaned in disbelief. "Come on, man."

Tony ignored him, stopping at Wilson's cell.

The ex-pilot looked resolved to his fate. "How's Rhodes?" He finally asked.

"They're flying him to Columbia Medical tomorrow. Fingers crossed." Tony looked him over. "What do you need? They feed you yet?"

Sam raised an eyebrow. "You're the good cop, now?"

"I'm just the guy who needs to know where Steve went."

Sam gave him a hard look. "Well, you better go get a bad cop, because you're gonna have to go Mark Fuhrman on my ass to get information out of me."

Tony sighed, already well ahead of him. A couple of deft taps on his watch and . . . done. "Well, I just knocked the A out of their AV. We got about 30 seconds before they realise it's not their equipment." He could already imagine Ross barking at bewildered technicians and hitting the monitors in anger.

Sam still didn't look convinced, remaining near the back of his cell.

Tony opened up the hologram on his watch, making sure to keep his back blocking the cameras he'd marked on his way in. "Just look. Because that . . ." An image of a deceased man in his hotel room floated, "is the fellow who was supposed to interrogate Barnes. Clearly, I made a mistake." Tony pressed. "Sam, I was wrong."

"That's a first." Sam snorted.

"Cap is definitely off the reservation . . . but he's about to need all the help he can get. We don't know each other very well. You don't have to—"

"Hey," Sam shook his head, "it's alright." The man sighed, his resistance crumbling. It was clear he knew just how critical the situation was. "Look, I'll tell you . . . but you have to go alone and as a friend."

"Easy."

Brushing off questions from Ross as he headed out, he ordered the chopper back to the Avengers facilities before dropping out in an iron man suit and shooting through the storm, bound for Siberia.

Maybe it was time for both of them to fess up to their mistakes. It still wasn't too late.

I'm coming, Cap.

It did not have the ending that either Steve or Tony expected, or wanted. The Avengers felt like a distant memory, divided and then shattered in one vicious fight that left Tony's suit mangled, Barnes' arm brutally torn off, and perhaps . . . perhaps a war hero lost.

The shield lay a foot away, and Tony couldn't bring himself to pick it up. His bones ached, his head throbbed and it felt as if there were a massive hole in his chest.

Technically, there was. Looking down and examining his arc reactor, it was clear that it was beyond repair. Cleaved right in half.

By that damn shield.

The same shield that his father had designed and created. Paired with a war uniform also designed by his father, and worn by one of the most iconic war heroes of any century. Steve always said that he and Howard had been great friends. And from the number of times Howard mentioned Captain America during Tony's childhood, it was evident that the inventor had been an admirer. And how did Steve repay him? By protecting the man who murdered him and Maria Stark.

Tony grit his teeth and finally picked up the star-emblazoned vibranium. Steve Rogers didn't deserve this shield. He didn't deserve to be Captain America.

After a moment, Tony stood up and limped his way out of the compound.

. . .

Tony,

I'm glad you're back at the compound, I don't like the idea of you rattling around a mansion by yourself. We all need family. The Avengers are yours, maybe more so than mine. I've been on my own since I was 18. I never really fit in anywhere – even in the Army. My faith is in people, I guess. Individuals. And I'm happy to say for the most part, they haven't let me down. Which is why I can't let them down either. Locks can be replaced, but – maybe they shouldn't. I know I hurt you Tony. I guess I thought – by not telling you about your parents I was sparing you, but . . . I can see now I was really sparing myself. I'm sorry. Hopefully one day you can understand. I wish we agreed on the Accords, I really do. I know you were only doing what you believe in, and that's all any of us can do . . . it's all any of us should. So no matter what, I promise you – if you need us, if you need me . . . I'll be there.

Steve

He looked at the bulky, outdated flip phone that had come with Steve's note. Typical.

It'd been a little over a day since Tony returned from Serbia, beat and exhausted, his black eye—courtesy of Barnes—still throbbing. The Avengers compound was a bittersweet sight now, the empty rooms and quiet halls unsettling and lonely. He had Rhodes, who was undergoing his rehabilitation with a steadfast attitude, although he could see the pain that came with the loss of his legs every day.

Vision was here, as well, but . . . he wasn't entirely here. He disappeared for many hours of the day, kept to himself, and Tony couldn't bring himself to comfort the guy. Every time he tried, the sight of Rhodes struggling even with his leg implants and casts stopped him in his tracks.

Tony didn't need to be told the irony of the situation. That they had spent five years operating as a team with the goal of protecting the people, only for one of those very people to dismantle them with an ease identical to Mjölnir taking apart a child's lego structure. Just one minute to unravel everything they had accomplished.

Public affairs kept Tony busy and distracted. It was time to regroup, reassess and deal with the consequences of all their actions. Everybody currently in the Avengers had signed the Accords—everybody translating to Vision, Rhodes, and himself. They were officially under the thumb of whatever council the international community could cook up. Natasha had also signed, but she was keeping her distance. Tony couldn't remember the last time he'd seen her at the compound.

Zemo was being held in the Raft, and would be put on trial in a few days. T'Challa had all but disappeared back to Wakanda, slipping away before he was forced to sign the Accords. The sly cat. And according to the United Nations, Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, Scott Lang and Wanda Maximoff had all been deemed war criminals, dangerous and on the run. Tony couldn't tell anyone otherwise, but he could sit back as Ross rang him up and urgently informed him a Raft prison break was currently underway.

He hated Steve's guts, but . . . he wasn't ready to visit him behind plexiglass, bound at the wrists and ankles with magnetic cuffs and bio-dampeners.

He looked out the window, grimacing. And of course, the weather was a whole 'nother matter. Why it had decided to snow in the middle of summer, neither he or Friday knew. Nearly all commercial flights had been grounded. Cities accustomed to the cold (during the proper months) were going into full-on winter mode, while annually warm regions called in military forces and international aid as they struggled with the cold and snow. Economists struggled to project the amount of money lost due to a massive number of factors including closed businesses, damage to infrastructure and monuments, destruction of human and animal habitat, and loss of prime crops. Given the current circumstances, people would probably start blaming the Avengers if answers weren't found soon. It seemed they were becoming a scapegoat of sorts for all the problems of the world.

Tony glared at the desk phone, watching the red light beep on the interface. At least he got to put Ross on hold. He wasn't a spiteful or petty person . . . but it was nice hearing the man get his knickers in a twist over this prison break.

Steve

Sam watched as the metal bars and glass receded upwards, unable to stop the smile surfacing on his face. "About time."

"Sorry, got tied up in Siberia." Steve said ruefully.

The two embraced, clapping one another on the back.

"We didn't know if you were dead or still fighting those winter soldiers . . ." Sam stepped back, regarding his friend. "You look like shit."

"You don't look too great yourself," Steve gave a brief laugh, noting the prison uniform and tired gaze of the ex-pilot.

"Well, we've been cooped up here for what feels like months," Clint stepped out of his cell and stretched, whistling appreciatively as he noted the unconscious guards sprawled across the floor just outside the room. "Wondering when someone was going to bust us out. Where's Barnes, by the way? Thought he'd be with you."

Steve grimaced, and no one missed the pain in his eyes. "Long story."

"And it's only been four days . . . trust me, I've done my time," Scott Lang assured Clint, crossing his arms as if to prove his point.

"Sure, tic-tac," Sam responded.

Scott frowned. "Every time you say that, it sounds like an insult. I'd like a new nickname."

"Probably broken a couple dozen laws, federal and international, so how about we get going and trade insults on the way," Steve said, starting towards Wanda's cell. He clenched his jaw in anger as he realized the state that she was in.

The metal bars and glass were gone, but the Sokovian had yet to leave her confined space. She sat quiet and still as Clint struggled with the collar around her neck. The straightjacket she'd been forced to don had yet to be removed, keeping her hands—and her powers—restricted.

Wanda herself looked terrible. Dark circles under defeated eyes, her head bowed . . . She was just a kid, but a massive burden and exhaustion seemed to weigh on her shoulders.

"Here—" Steve stepped in, taking out a knife and deftly cutting through the bindings of the jacket. The material came apart, and he tossed it to the ground before moving on to the collar. Wanda barely moved, her arms and hands staying close by her side as if they were still immobilized in those positions.

"Damned thing won't come off," Clint growled, trying to cut it away with another knife that Steve handed to him. The archer looked just as angry as Steve felt, maybe angrier. "Ross called it—" he wedged the knife into a chink of the plating, "—a bio-energy dampener."

Crack. Clint finally managed to take off the protective metal case and Steve crushed the rest of the collar with one hand, disposing of the delicate inner wiring across the cell floor.

Wanda looked at Clint finally, her body still limp and defeated. "I'm not leav—"

"Oh no you don't," Clint overrode her. "Up you get, c'mon." He physically pulled her to her feet, steadying her as she swayed. "I don't want to hear your BS. You're leaving this place."

Wanda shook her head, unwilling to take another step. "You don't understand—I belong here. I-I can't leave."

"We're all leaving, including you," Sam said firmly.

"Hey, Wanda," Scott placed a tentative hand on her shoulder, and Steve was reminded that the two had only known each other for less than a week. "Maybe you're feeling guilty, and maybe we all belong in some kind of detention centre. But I also know that being in prison, even if you don't deserve it, can convince you that you belong here anyway. But . . . we don't belong here," he waved his hand around the room. "And, based on personal experience, having a mental breakdown while trying to complete a prison break is really bad timing. So . . ." He guided her out of the cell, and she reluctantly let him. "Let's get out of here while we still can and give ourselves a slap on the arm when we're not in supermax."

Finally, Wanda nodded and the four prisoners and their saviour hurried out of the prison, making their way to the quinjet that Steve had taken to arrive in the first place.

Sam fell in step with Scott, giving the thief a nod.

"Nice going, tic-tac."

"Thanks! Back when I was doing time for—"

"Don't push it."

Percy

"You!" Thor stalked towards the two demigods who were picking themselves off the ground, brushing snow off their clothes, and raised his hammer threateningly. "You traitorous spies!"

Percy barely had enough time to draw Riptide before Thor raised his hammer, ready to summon a bolt of lightning that would come down and smite him into a greasy spot in the snow.

But there was only a rumble of thunder before the clouds flashed with lightning like a massive, malfunctioning lamp, as if the bolt were being withheld by the heavens.

It looked as if Zeus had put a stop to having his trademark element being used by the Asgardian.

Thor's face darkened even further. "You think your gods can protect you forever?" He threw his hammer at Percy, the weapon making a deadly metallic echo as it shot towards him. Percy dived to his left just in time, rolling back to his feet only to duck as the hammer curved like a boomerang and returned to its owner. Straightening, he was met with a wide arcing swipe at his head by the lankier Asgardian, Fandral. The stout man (Vole Stag?) watched the fight with disinterest, as if he couldn't care less who was killed.

"We didn't know!" Percy grunted, catching Fandral's blade at the hilt and trying to disarm him. But the man was stronger than he looked, yanking his blade back and taking Riptide with it.

"We would never spy on you," Annabeth added, eyeing the woman named Sif as they circled one another, both of their weapons out. A dagger versus a long staff. Shink! A long staff tipped with a blade on either end.

"How do we know you're telling the truth?" Sif asked, not taking her eye off the dagger.

"They are lies!" Thor growled. Behind him, the black-haired, oriental looking Asgardian pulled back on his shoulder, saying something quietly. But Thor shook him off, unwilling to listen. "Your promise of friendship, to help find the relic, all lies!" He leapt at Percy, but the ocean had finally had enough. A massive wave crashed inland, body checking a midair Thor and sweeping Fandral off his feet before he could have another go at him. The two flailed in the frigid, tumultuous waves, giving shouts of anger.

"I promised to help only if you helped fix everything with the nymphs!" Percy snapped. "Which, by the way, you didn't! Instead of apologizing and making peace, you started a fight!"

"Foolish demigods!" Fandral hissed in pain, his lips turning blue as he staggered out of the water, his sword held limply in his hand.

"That was their own fault!" Thor struggled to his feet, giving a deadly glare as seaweed clung to his legs and water streamed out of his hair and clothes. With the cold, Percy was surprised the two weren't frozen statues by now. "They should not have asked for Mjölnir. Those elfin sprites—"

"NYMPHS!" Percy shouted. "Dryads! Satyrs! Not stupid elfin sprites! How hard is it for you to remember?" The ocean waves pounded harder, fueled by his anger. Gods, he wanted to swear nine miles to the Underworld. After everything he had told the Asgardian, after he promised to help them, he'd gone out of his way to provoke the nymphs. Didn't he understand? He'd just started a war between the nymphs and gods! "Get it through that thick—"

"They are inferior creatures that I have wasted much time on, for you!" Thor spat. "I was foolish to think that a demigod would help me find my relic."

Inferior creatures. That's how he saw the nymphs. He should've known it would end like this. All the Asgardian wanted was to find his magic relic. Percy shook his head, drawing Riptide out of his pocket and levelling the sword at Thor. "Clearly, you were. So leave—go back to Asgard."

Thor pointed Mjölnir at Percy. "I am not leaving without the—"

"Forget about your stupid stone!" Percy snapped. "Get out before you get kicked out."

"That would be the wise choice," someone said, coming up from behind Percy. "You are no longer welcome, Thor Odinson." Chiron had his bow drawn, a notched arrow pointing straight at the Asgardian. The centaur did not look happy.

"It is time for us to leave," Sif agreed, going to Thor's side. It didn't look as if she had traded any blows with Annabeth. In fact, if Percy didn't know any better, a brief moment of understanding seemed to travel between the two. She turned to look at the demigods and centaur even as the other Asgardians drew to her side. "We apologize for what trouble we have caused."

"Lady Sif—"

The woman traded a look with Thor, and he finally gave a reluctant nod. "Very well." He cast a final look at his former friends, pointing his hammer at them. "You had better hope we never cross paths again, demigod." Then without another word, he looked up at the sky and shouted, "Heimdall!"

Almost immediately, a massive column of blazing, white energy roared down from the sky, engulfing the five Asgardians. Both Percy and Annabeth staggered away, taken aback by the sudden heat and light. Then as quick as it had come, it retreated back into the clouds, leaving behind nothing but a strange, smoking symbol burned into the wet ground, the steam from the evaporated snow and ice already freezing in the cold air.

The return to Camp was not enjoyable. While Annabeth was greeted with joy and relief, news of the wayward negotiations with the nymphs quickly had everyone pestering Percy, trying to make sense of the events. It turns out that after they had been whisked away to Olympus, Jason had gone back to Camp, giving few answers and even more questions. All the while, snow continued to fall, covering everything in an ominous white blanket and destroying most of the gardens and crops with sudden frostbite even as Calypso and the Demeter cabin frantically tried to save them. Emergency hearths and bonfires were lit and winter jackets were doled out, but they could only prepare so much for a summertime snowfall.

Annabeth called a meeting with the entire camp in the mess pavilion, trying to calm fears and stop panic before it spread. It didn't work very well.

"You're telling us that the nymphs want nothing to do with anybody now, and neither you—nor the gods—know who is responsible for this snow. Oh, and apparently we have yet another incomplete prophecy that could be far worse than the last two great prophecies that we've suffered through!" Malcolm finished, shaking his head in disbelief as he nursed cold fingers.

"Di immortals," someone said quietly.

Apparently, immediately after the snow had started, Rachel had received a prophecy unlike any she had ever delivered. It had not come from Delphi, nor Apollo. She believed it had come from the Fates themselves.

"Them, the Parcae and three . . . others," Rachel had told Jason through IM immediately after, clearly shaken by the events. "They were . . . old. Very, very old. I don't know how the Greek and Roman counterparts were able to exist as two separate entities. And they weren't alone—there was someone else with them. I think-I think it was trying to stop them." She had swallowed, and for the first time since the demigod had met her, the tough and brazen oracle had looked scared. "It did stop them."

No one wanted to consider the worst case scenario. The Fates would not let a mere disturbance silence them forever. Unless . . .

"I don't think either the Fates or Parcae can be killed," Jason said silently, addressing what they were all thinking. And yet, he sounded unsure.

"We need to focus on the prophecy now," Annabeth said firmly, addressing all the demigods in the pavilion, her back straight and her eyes focussed. Percy forgot how much he missed that intense gaze of hers. He also forgot how well she could give the silent treatment. Since they had entered Camp, she hadn't spoken a word to him. "We need to figure out the missing lines, and what they mean. Somehow, it's connected to this snow."

"Not to be a party pooper, but it barely makes sense, even for normal prophecy standards," Leo pointed out. "'Mad titan'? I don't think any of them follow that title, unless it means 'angry'. Then it could apply to all of them from the titan war, couldn't it? And 'thunder's hammer'? Or the 'City of Gold'? Man, if I knew there was a city made of gold, I wouldn't be here right now. And has anyone noticed that this prophecy doesn't even rhyme? I always hated it, but I think I'm starting to miss those verses right about now."

"Please, my boy, let us take a moment to compose ourselves." Chiron said quietly. "As Miss. Dare had informed us, this is no ordinary prophecy."

"Yeah, because someone went out of their way to make damn sure Rachel wouldn't get it," Clarisse said. "Someone powerful enough to take on the Fates and win."

Demigods stirred in their seats and on their feet, uneasy.

"Someone said from Camp Jupiter that the prophecy has already started." A young Hecate kid said.

"Obviously," Clarisse rolled her eyes. "The final winter will arrive before the leaves have fallen, or something like that."

"'Ere the boughs are shed of leaves'," Annabeth recited. "And it's believed that the 'bird apocalypse' that recently occurred, along with the presence of sparti at the other camp may be associated with the line, 'Pestilence will rot the beasts'."

"But the gods didn't mention it at all?" Jason asked, frowning.

Annabeth shook her head. "No. Looking back, I don't know why we didn't even discuss it . . ."

"Apollo." Percy finally spoke up, standing only a few feet to Annabeth's right.

For the first time since they'd returned, she finally made eye contact with him, realization dawning on her face. "Apollo is still absent," she nodded, understanding.

"So, what—without the god of prophecies, the rest of Olympus doesn't know about this?" Piper asked, disbelieving.

"Maybe, but they're bound to find out soon, if they haven't already." Percy said, shifting on his feet. He was tired—all he wanted was to go back to his cabin and bury under the blankets. Maybe when he woke up tomorrow morning, he'd find out that all of this was just a bad dream. "It's too big for them not to know."

"And what about Thor?" Malcolm asked. Everybody's ears perked up.

"Mr. Odinson has returned to his own realm," Chiron started, saving Percy the trouble of trying to devise some kind of explanation. "He is not returning in the foreseeable future."

"So . . . not friends anymore," Leo summed up. Piper elbowed him in the side, glaring at him. "Ow! Uh, shame, he left his stuff in the armoury."

"And if we're on the subject, what about the rest of the Avengers?" Malcolm continued, looking directly at Percy and Annabeth now. "After everything that's happened the last week, will you still continue to meet with them?"

Percy looked at the daughter of Athena, who looked back at him as if to say, This is your mess to clean up, remember? Sometimes, he forgot that Annabeth could play that cruel streak just as well as any Ares kid. It reminded him of Athena every time. Looking back at the rest of the Pavilion, he said, "Well, I think that's primarily Annabeth's decision, considering she's the one who's been working for Tony Stark."

The daggers she glared at him promised him pain later. ". . . We will see," she said finally.

"And the nymphs?" Piper asked quietly. The Pavilion fell silent in mourning, eyes drawn to a satyr standing in the corner.

Grover shifted on his hooves, looking down at the floor with silence. When he finally looked up, tears were streaming down his face. "I . . . I don't know. The aurae are still trying to find out what happened. W-we lost hundreds, thousands," he swallowed, twisting his rasta cap with shaking hands. "I don't—" The satyr shook his head, his voice failing him as if his throat was clogged with grief that no words could describe.

"Hey, man," Percy walked over to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. He would never have anything near the same kind of bond that Grover had with the wild community, and he already felt terrible. He couldn't imagine what his friend was going through. "I'm so sorry."

Eventually, the meeting descended into questions even as demigods began to troop back to their cabins, unwilling to hear any more bad news until they had had at least a few hours of sleep.

Percy kept by Grover's side as they left the Pavilion, grateful to be finally out from the spotlight.

"Percy . . ." Grover started, wiping tears from his face. "Do you—do you know what happened to Juniper? If she's . . . still alive?"

Percy felt a lump in his throat even as he responded. "No, I'm sorry, I don't know. But if she was in Central Park, then I think she'd be okay—the nymphs there didn't seem to be affected." It might have been because of their location right beneath Olympus, but no one knew for sure.

Grover nodded, sniffing. "I-I can't stay here, Percy. I have to find her. I have to find out what happened, and see how many dryads and naiads are left." At the last words, the satyr started crying again.

"I know. I'm so sorry, Grover. I'm so sorry," Percy repeated quietly, unable to help but feel that this was all somehow his fault.

Leaving Grover under the careful eye of Chiron, he headed back for his cabin, only to strike shoulders with a certain daughter of Athena. The two regarded each other silently even as Piper approached them, noted the standoff, and sighed, walking away to let her friends deal with their problems.

But Percy was no longer in the mood to argue. "I just wanted you to be happy," he said quietly. Then he walked away.

Annabeth watched with mixed feelings as her best friend disappeared around the corner of the Big House, heading back to his cabin.

"I know," she said quietly. And she just wanted honesty.

Querci

"You dared?" The cloaked figure bore down on the oaken dryad, her normally peaceful face twisted with fury. "After everything we did for you—after I hid you from my brother's eye, after I smuggled you to the new lands, after Dionysus gave your sisters freedom to leave the camp grounds—you dared to curse us?"

Querci did not break eye contact with the goddess, her poster straight and unmoving. "Only after you 'dared' to wipe us from the earth. And I never asked for his help—he has never been a father —"

"Ungrateful dryad!" Demeter spat. "I should never have wasted my time on you! And once again, your pride has blinded you: we were not responsible for these deaths. Perhaps it is time you were reminded how lost you once were without my help!" And with that, the goddess disappeared in a furious explosion of wheat, the grain raining down on the two dryads left behind.

Querci's face remained unchanged as Lily placed a light hand on her shoulder. "You did what you thought was best," the naiad said quietly.

"And yet, you still do not agree with my choice." Querci responded.

Lily picked wheat out of her hair, avoiding the water lilies carefully tied into her braid. "Cursing them is always questionable. And after what she said . . . do you think she was speaking the truth? They didn't cause all these deaths?"

Querci's shoulders slumped, her doubts and vulnerabilities revealing themselves. "I do not know, sister. We have suffered the worst loss in history, suddenly find ourselves a scarce race across this Earth, and I do not know if I made the right choice." The dryad looked down at the smaller wild spirit. "Why did you choose to come here? Why did you join me?"

"Because you asked." Lily said simply. "Whatever your methods, your intentions are true."

"I have always questioned my methods," Querci sighed, her words heavy with regret and grief.

"But it's done. We can't change the past."

"But the past will always return to change the future," Querci swallowed. Just as her past with the gods was resurfacing, the curse she had cast would inevitably come back to twist what destiny the Fates had in store for her.

The dryad grasped Lily's hand. They stood there, two sisters searching for a moment of warmth amid the snow.

Percy

Percy looked up at the bronze Hippocampi decorating the cabin ceiling, his eyes wide and alert even as he lay in bed.

He couldn't sleep. Every time he tried, his thoughts strayed towards his dad, and the look on his face as he tried to justify his actions.

He had been used by so many people, by so many gods. As a pawn of the first and second Great Prophecy, and in all of his quests. As a reluctant messenger, a thief, a fighter. Sometimes without his knowledge. The list was never ending. And yet, he'd always thought that Poseidon had his back. That even while he was bound by his godly duties and the Ancient Laws, he would always support him.

But nope, he was just like all the rest.

And yet, a part of him wanted to go down to the beach and find a bearded man fishing, complaining about game wardens and too-small serpents. And maybe offering an excusable explanation as to why he had done what he had done.

But a larger part of him wasn't about to let him off the hook that easy.

The turmoil of his thoughts wasn't going away, and if he lay here a minute longer, he was going to start bouncing off the walls. Walls that had been constructed in the name of Poseidon, housing a beautiful fountain given by Poseidon, in a bed crafted with Poseidon in mind. Yup, he had to get out of here. He pulled a sweater on and left the cabin.

Only to realize he had nowhere to go.

He was not in the mood to talk with Annabeth, and wasn't looking for advice from Chiron. His thoughts strayed to his mom, before he realized that he would have to tell her what had happened. And she would be beyond pissed with Poseidon, no doubt about it. He didn't want her to worry, not when everything was going for her right now. Nearly finished her first book, working at writing workshops across the city . . . he didn't want to spoil the good mood.

Or he could head downtown and talk to . . . but he barely knew them. And after what had happened, all the conflict splashed across the news, did he want to keep in contact with them? Annabeth had given no indication whether or not she would be going back to Stark Industries, and Percy wasn't about to ask her.

But hey, when was the last time he'd made friends with someone whom he hadn't fought alongside in some life-threatening situation? Maybe it was time to take a step back from the demigod world. Lighten up. Have a chat with a guy like Clint in a nice restaurant, or play ball with a normal kid like Peter.

Except, Peter definitely wasn't normal. He was freaking Spider-Man.

Well, he had the whole night to waste away. Might as well find out what this kid's deal was while he dropped by the Tower.

Peter

Peter returned to NYC feeling like an entirely different person. The airport, Captain America's shield, the tiny figurine who grew into a giant . . . he was bruised and concussed, and he'd never felt happier in his life. He wanted to perch on top of the Empire State Building and shout his lungs out.

But suddenly, the iconic building didn't seem so tall. The city's yawning skyscrapers and shining condos paled in comparison to the beautiful architecture of Berlin and the massive plane parts he had dodged. He'd gotten a taste of something besides New York, besides normal life, and now . . . now he wanted more.

His entire mood turned sour when he found out who was waiting for him in the Tower.

Happy dropped him off at the Avengers Tower after pulling out a painstaking promise to not touch anything in Mr. Stark's absence, even though Peter had already tinkered with half the stuff in the workshop. Knowing that he would have to return home in a few hours before his aunt became anxious and called the police, Peter drifted through the suite, chatting with Friday.

And stopped short when he saw the black-clothed man sitting at the empty bar, sipping some amber liquor.

"Hey there, Peter." Fury greeted him without turning. "Have fun in Germany?"

After all the excitement of international travel and fighting among the Avengers, Peter had almost forgotten his homebound problems. Almost.

"Y-yeah. Lots." Peter managed, not moving from his spot.

"Only been twice. Got a few friends there, that's it." Fury continued, finally standing and facing him. His dark shades were tucked away, but the eyepatch remained, his remaining eye looking at him unnervingly. "Make any new acquaintances?"

"Plenty. Probably a few who could kick your ass," Peter threatened, feeling more confidant. He'd faced down Captain America—he could take care of an ex-spy.

"Ooh, looks like you lost some manners over there," Fury laughed. "Can't blame you. This has been dragging longer than I have the patience for."

Peter blinked, unsure if he was hearing him correctly. "You mean . . . ?"

"You're off the hook, kid." Fury downed the last of his drink. "I'll take care of Percy Jackson."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"None of your business. Go do what you kids do, finish your internship. I'll give you a call if I need you again."

"Whoa, I'm not helping you again!" Peter said. "Ever. And if you come after me, Mr. Stark will—"

"Mr. Stark this, Mr. Stark that. He could be still be manufacturing bombs and you wouldn't see anything but a saint, would you? Asks you to join him on an adventure on the other side of the world, and bam—" Fury snapped his fingers. "You don't think twice about it."

"They needed to be stopped." Peter pressed. "They were helping a freaking terrorist!"

"You always eat up everything you're told? Maybe Stark needed to stop them. And maybe he needed firepower, so he used you."

"He didn't force me onto that plane! I chose to help him. You're the one who tried to use me!"

"And I never tried to hide it," Fury chuckled. "Look kid. I've known Tony for a long time, and he probably doesn't even know it, but he's using you all the same. A billionaire comes down to Queens to talk to a nobody?" Fury raised his eyebrow. "Get your head outta the gutters, kid. This ain't some bullies in the playground. This is real life, and you better start figuring out whose rules you gonna play by."

Peter shook his head. This guy didn't know what he was talking about. Tony was his friend—he'd never use him. "I'm playing by my rules."

"You keep telling yourself that." Fury stood up, downing the rest of the drink before walking towards the elevators, patting Peter on the shoulder on his way. "Just giving you some advice kid, in case you didn't realize."

Percy

Percy wished he had pulled on something thicker than a sweater and sneakers. By the time he arrived at the Tower, his fingers were freezing even as he tucked them under his armpits, and his toes felt like they were about to fall off. His shoes squeaking against the flawless marble floor of the lobby, the receptionist quietly gave him access to the elevator, directing it to the top suite.

He arrived on the floor just as one man was leaving. He was vaguely familiar . . . wait, he'd seen him last week, when he and Annabeth were fleeing the Tower and trying to escape from Thor. The dude who wore sunglasses and a trench coat—in the middle of a summer night.

The man came to a stop just as he was about to enter the elevator, regarding Percy with his dark spectacles.

"Uh, can I help you?" Percy asked, feeling a sudden urge to draw Riptide.

"Nah. Percy, right? Tony's said great things," the man gave a half-smile, as if they were old friends. The smell of liquor wafted through the air.

"Uh, thanks." Percy stepped out of the elevator and the man entered, his trench coat tails brushing against him. The guy was beginning to remind him of Nico, what with his whole black and aloof attire. "Don't think I ever got your name.

The man only smiled again. "See you around." He dipped his head in farewell even as the elevator doors closed shut.

Percy snorted. "No thanks."

Leaving behind the elevator, he drifted through the rest of the floor, but was disappointed. It was empty. Besides an empty glass sitting at the bar, he could find no company. He was about to leave when Friday's voice abruptly came to life.

"Mr. Jackson, it appears company is arriving from Asgard."

Percy blinked. Asgard? Oh gods, it'd only been a few hours and they were already coming back for round 2?

He heard a roar of wind and turned to see a familiar column of energy striking the landing pad outside. There was a moment of blinding heat and light, and then the portal disappeared again to reveal two people.

Percy cautiously approached them, his hand drifting to his pocket.

"Percy Jackson." The woman—Sif—spotted him and strode towards him quickly. There was a cut on her face, and her armour was covered in some strange, sticky substance. In one hand, she held her two-bladed staff. In the other, a . . . gun? Firearm? Blaster? Following closely behind was the man Fandral, who was similar armed. It looked as if they had just left a bloody battlefield.

Percy held out his hand, motioning for them not to come any closer. "What are you doing here? I thought Thor made his threat pretty cl—"

"We need your help, demigod."

Her tense tone made Percy do a double take. The Asgardian didn't seem like one to ask for help—whatever this was, it had to be big. "What kind of help? What's going on?"

Sif hissed impatiently. "I do not have time to explain—can you fight or not?"

"Yeah, I can. But let's clear something up—you need my help?" Percy shook his head. "After everything Thor did?"

"Keep your arrogance," Fandral sniffed, already starting back towards the landing pad. "He is as dumb as a babe, Sif. We don't need him." His limping leg said otherwise.

Sif scowled at her comrade. "We need all the help that can be mustered, don't be a fool!" She turned back towards Percy, her dark eyes firm with resolve. "Please. From one warrior to another, I ask for your sword in combat."

His mom would be busy for another few hours, Annabeth wasn't talking to him, Tony was gone who knows where . . . and the fact that they were asking for his help? It had to be bad.

Percy straightened, nodding. "Alright. Long as he keeps his mouth shut," he nodded towards Fandral.

Sif didn't wait, immediately turning and running back to the landing pad. "Come! We must hurry!"

Percy followed on her heels, wondering what he had gotten himself into. Probably something he should have considered before he agreed to help. The three of them skidded onto the metal appendage of the Avengers Tower, the cold winds threatening to push them into the streets below. Didn't want to do that again. "Uh, where are we going, by the way?"

"Knowhere."

Percy blinked. "Uh, okay. Then what do you need me for?"

"No, imbecile. Know—"

Whatever else Fandral meant to say was overridden by the roar of the portal, and suddenly he was hurtling through blinding light. His body felt as if it were about to spontaneously combust into oblivion . . . his stomach wanted to barf itself out through his nose . . . was this air travel, because Zeus would definitely blast him . . . and was he really subjecting himself to this just because Annabeth wasn't talking to him. Out of the blue, he caught a sudden glimpse of a man, his piercing, golden eyes glowing beneath a massive helmet with two curving horns—

Solid ground suddenly struck his feet and he lurched forward, jelly legs sending him crashing down.

"Oh gods . . ." Percy clutched his stomach as he struggled back to his feet, only for Sif to shove him back to the ground right before something shot past, right through the spot his head had been.

"Don't get yourself killed, demigod!" Fandral shouted.

"Then maybe you should've told me where I was going before you teleported me here!" Percy yelled back. "Not freaking nowhere!"

A cluster of glowing blue bullets suddenly shredded a massive metal barrel two feet away from them, sending a shower of sticky, iridescent goo splattering all over. Percy gagged, the overwhelmingly repulsive smell flooding his nose. Sif answered with a few shots from her own gun, taking out a 7 foot . . . humanoid figure. With far more arms than the average human was bestowed. Maybe he was related to Brian, the Hundred Handed One? His brain was overloading with information, and his ears were getting crammed with noise. Screaming missiles, brightly-coloured bullets were whizzing and ricocheting everywhere. Commands for reinforcements and yells of pain filled any rare pockets of silence.

Percy looked at the dark, chaotic scene spread around him, above him, below him on other levels and platforms that jutted out from massive columns and yawning chasms. He was beginning to realize the enormity of the situation he'd gotten himself mixed up in. Everything seemed strange, otherworldly, alien. And . . . what was that?

No way . . . don't tell me those are what I think they are, Percy prayed as he looked through a 100 foot wide, grimy window. They could be planes, lighthouses, flying Leos in full-on fire mode, but not . . .

Stars.

He had entered a battlefield. In space.

So . . . that happened.

School is starting up for me again at the end of this week, so I cannot guarantee when the next chapter is going to come out . . . Apologies in advance, you guys know me well enough at this point that it could be well into spring or summer before the next update, unfortunately.

Fingers crossed that that does not happen, wish you all an awesome start to 2018!

- 100th Century

Response to Guest Reviews

Achievement: Aw, that's more than understandable, my bad. Hope you're still able to enjoy the story, no worries otherwise. Happy New Year!