Loyalty, Family, and Snarkiness: [Fury's Stresses 3] Demigods are protective of their own. It's a fact of life. It's not one that Director Fury really appreciates, though. Especially not when there's a Norse demigod in the midst of all of this.

Exactly three weeks after being driven off, down to the hour, Fury was back. He was alone, possibly to his detriment, but he doubted that anyone would actually hurt him. Or even try to.

They might think about it, though.

When he knocked—and yes, he did know how to knock like a regular human being—the door was answered by the kid who had invaded his office. The one with 'all the creepy powers' and the equally creepy cheerfulness. He was even shorter than Fury remembered.

"Wow," the kid said, checking his watch. "You say three weeks, you mean three weeks. C'mon in. We're in the middle of an inter-pantheon meeting, but I suppose SHIELD can stand in as another weirdo on the map."

Inter-pantheon meeting?

The kitchen and the dining room were separated only by a peninsula, and there was no separation between the living room and the dining room. With how many people were in this house, that was most definitely a good thing. Otherwise, Fury suspected nothing would ever get done.

He was slightly surprised to see many faces that he knew. Martín, La Rue, Gardener, and Rodriguez he knew about. He also saw someone he recognized from the bridge, as well as Barton and Jason Grace. He was utterly astonished to see Thor and his friend, Sif.

"Director," Grace said, grinning and shaking his hand. "Nice to see you again."

"Grace," he acknowledged. "What is going on, and how long has this been happening?"

The blond shrugged. "About every three or four months? For the past three years?" He saw Fury watching Thor. "It's rare that anyone not Roman or Greek comes, but we had a whole contingent of Egyptians last time. The Hecate and Trivia people were having a ball comparing magicks."

"I really need to brush up on my mythology," Fury muttered. "And I thought that the Norse were bad enough."

"Good luck brushing up on Egyptian mythology. Half of it is misinformation," Grace informed him.

"Wonderful."

Grace reached over and snagged someone out of the crowd. "Oh, hi, Jason," the Hispanic woman said, smiling. She held out her hand for Fury to shake. "Praetor Reyna of the Romans, daughter of Bellona. How are you?"

"Director Fury of SHIELD," he said, shaking her hand. "I'm fine, thanks."

"There's every kind of pizza you can imagine, hamburgers, hot dogs, tacos, salad, and drinks in the kitchen." She sized him up. "If you see any kind of golden-colored drink or something that looks like brownies, I recommend not eating it. I'm guessing you're mortal?"

He glanced at Grace.

"No godly ancestry," he explained.

"That's correct," Fury said.

"Then yes, don't even touch them. There's only one person in this place that can and will spontaneously combust and survive the experience. You aren't him," the Praetor said bluntly.

No one even looked up at the words 'spontaneously combust'.

"I take it that spontaneous combustion is a regular occurrence around here?" Fury asked dryly.

"That's why we have Percy," Grace said, amused.

"Of course," Fury said.

The Praetor moved off, and Fury asked, "Is there a reason why Sif is here?"

"As in, in the house, or as in, on Midgard?"

"The latter."

Grace shrugged. "I've got no idea. My bet is that she came down to retrieve Thor and he gave her puppy dog eyes to let him stay for this one event."

"Yes, I've noticed that he's remarkably effective with those," Fury said.

The blond snorted. "Who?"

"My second-in-command," he groused. "Agent Hill. She ended up buying him a cart full of Poptarts just to get him to stop looking so mournful."

Grace started to laugh. "Oh, Thor and his Poptarts. He would think it's the end of the world if he couldn't find them. I'd hate to see him go back to Asgard and wreak havoc, looking for his Poptarts."

Fury blinked once. He hadn't thought of that. He decided to change the subject before he came to any more unsettling realizations. "Why do you meet every three or four months? Not a set date every year or so?"

Grace sobered. "A lot of times, we're celebrating something or someone. Last time, we were celebrating with the Egyptians that they stopped the apocalypse, again. This time…well, you know the New Orleans tradition of celebrating the dead's life after the funeral? We're celebrating Annabeth. Everyone here…we all knew Annabeth. We fought beside her, we fought with her, we admired her, loved her, and are crying for her."

Fury took a second look around. There was talking and chatter and laughter, but with a second glance, he noticed a lively jazz composition floating through the air and tears on many cheeks, glinting and unashamed.

"It's the demigod way," Grace said, smiling sadly. "We mourn, we celebrate, we remember always, and we move on. We can't do anything else. Our lives are too short for anything else."

"You're half god. How the hell is your life short?"

The small, sad smile disappeared. "Take a look around the room. Every person here has celebrated the life of a sibling lost, except for Percy. Every person here has gone through a war, if not two or three. Every person here has fought so many battles and demons that we stop counting once we hit the triple digits. Percy and I, especially. We led the first war on opposite sides of the country at the age of fifteen, without ever knowing each other. We fought the second war side-by-side. We ran from the third war and then came back and saw our friend sacrifice himself to finish the second and the third almost single-handedly. That's him. Over there, with the flames in his hair. His name's Leo."

Grace heaved a sigh after a moment. "Yes, we're half god. But you've seen some of the battles that half-gods get into—Norse, Greek, Roman, and otherwise. We're all the same. Equally destructive and life-threatening and powerful and absolutely batshit insane. But—and listen to this 'but', please—the difference between Thor and Sif and the rest of us here? There might be half a dozen people here that are old enough to drink. You, Thor, Sif, Clint…I think Katie turned twenty-one about a month ago, though I'm not sure. The people here? We're all amazed that we got this far. Most demigods out and about in the world don't make it to fourteen. And yet…here we are. Four or five years past most demigods' expiration date—some moreso."

"What were all these wars about?" Fury asked.

Grace snorted bitterly. "Recognition. Bitterness. Abandonment. Jealousy. Knowledge."

"Lofty goals."

"Daddy issues," Grace finished with no small tinge of amusement.

"Gotcha."

He exhaled. "After World War II, there was a prophecy. It detailed a demigod who had the power to either save or destroy the Olympians. It detailed a half-blood—another term for demigod—who would be a child of one of the eldest gods. There are six eldest: Hestia, Hades, Demeter, Poseidon, Hera, and Zeus. Of those, only three are termed 'gods' rather than 'goddesses'. They—we, really—are the ones who have the power to…I guess forge our own Fate. Influence the Fate of others. We tip the scales in any battle you'll come across. Of course, those three gods are the ones who sire the most demigod children. But they made a pact…"

He went on to detail the so-called Ancient Law that prevented them from seeing, recognizing, or interfering with their children, the prophecy, and how the two clashed to become the Second Titan War.

"The Second Giant War was just straight up crazy. This was augmented by the Reboot of the Civil War coming into play—"

"Excuse me?"

"Uh, yeah. You name a war, demigods and gods probably had a hand in it. Your Steve Rogers probably knew more sons and daughters of the three eldest gods than exist today. Case in point: Hitler. Son of Hades."

Fury wasn't sure if he wanted to shake Grace for more information or just walk out and block off the information that he had been given. He could feel the beginnings of a headache pulsing in his temples.

"Jason, you're giving the poor man a headache."

"He's from an intelligence agency who deals with aliens, demigods, and gods know what else," Grace retorted. "An intelligence agency not wanting intelligence? That's just not right, man."

Fury had to concede his point.

Jackson looked significantly better than the last time Fury had seen him. His hair was washed, he had color in his cheeks, and he wasn't slouching. Darkened with grief, his eyes were almost a blue-green color like a stormy Caribbean.

He also had a bit of a smirk on his face. "We also didn't have the more and more incredible things happening back-to-back, Sparky."

"Sorry, did I get dropped in an alternate reality? Because if so, what happened on your quest to Greece? I recall sea serpents, enraged mountain gods, hyperactive, spontaneously combusting demigods, Stymphalian birds, and a host of other weirdos."

"I remember the sea serpents and the hyperactive demigods, but I recall drinking fire, poisonous air, nice giants, tame drakons, a Titan posing as a janitor, and taking mist disguises so that Annabeth and I looked like extras from the Walking Dead."

Grace snorted with laughter. "Why do I even try?"

"I don't know," Jackson said cheerfully. "You lose every time."

"Telling a Fury to eat your pants is still my favorite, though," Grace said. "In Latin, no less."

"Speaking of Fury," Jackson said while Fury was still trying to figure that sentence out, "Hi, Director. I don't know if Will has seen you to pass on my message, but you're welcome."

Fury nodded. "We're fairly certain that we rooted all of HYDRA out. For a while there, we weren't sure if we'd be shooting them in the foot with a three-legged race, but we managed."

"I'll keep an eye out," Jackson promised.

"How did you find out?" Fury asked.

His expression suddenly looked extremely aggravated. "One of the greatest perks and worst curses of being a demigod is the prophetic dreams. We can see the future, the present, and the past. Unless I'm being shown someone who is dead or a totally different fashion decade or how far technology has come, I never know which is which. All I saw was a man—thirties, dark, curly hair, blue eyes—in a SHIELD uniform saying 'Heil HYDRA'. Also, I've seen their symbol. That is not a hydra. That is an evil looking octopus."

Grace spluttered with laughter. "One more piece of information, Director: all demigods have some form of ADHD and/or dyslexia."

Fury paused. "That explains everything."

The teens burst into laughter at his dry comment.

"But seriously," Jackson continued. "I've fought a hydra. Clarisse killed it from her Civil War-era ironclad battleship—"

"Where did she get that?"

"—but I got an up-close-and-personal look at it," Jackson continued like he'd never been interrupted. "They aren't octopuses. Octopi? Anyway, they look like they have the body of a lion, but with scales instead of fur, and then six heads. Unless someone chopped a couple heads off, then they could have like, several dozen. I'm not entirely sure if it was a hydra, but I saw something with a hundred heads once. It might have been more, but I didn't stop to count."

"I wonder why. Wait, you saw Ladon?"

"Why do you know the monster's name? You're as bad as Carter and Leroy."

"Why do you know Ladon's name? And Carter named Leroy, for your information."

"I know Ladon's name because I learned it from the two-thousand-year-old huntress who raised the thing and was subsequently killed by its poison."

Grace sighed. "And we're back to the 'why do I bother?' part."

"And my answer is still 'I don't know'."

Fury exhaled. "ADHD demigods. Why haven't you blown up the world yet?"

"Don't worry, the Hephaestus and Vulcan kids are really the only ones who get distracted by something shiny," Jackson assured him.

"That doesn't mean that we haven't tried to blow up the world a couple times, though," Grace said, side-eyeing Jackson.

He caught the look. "Hey! It was one volcano!"

"It was Mount St. Helens!" Grace retorted. "You have no idea the headache that caused for us on the West Coast!"

"Yeah, well, blame Annabeth! She's the one who kissed me!"

"Wait, wait," Fury said, holding up his hands. "You blew up Mount St. Helens because your girlfriend kissed you?"

Grace burst into laughter. "They didn't get together until over a year later."

"Look, I blew up the volcano because it was the only way out," Jackson tried to explain. "I had a newly resurrected Time Lord on my hands—and sadly, I'm not talking about Doctor Who—a horde of adolescent monsters—"

"How do you know they were adolescent?"

"I walked in on them being given their version of the Talk," Jackson said dryly.

"Oh my gods, I'm leaving before I ask any more questions," Grace said, looking horrified.

"Just be glad that you weren't there in the first place!" Jackson called after him, laughing.

Fury rubbed his head. "You know what? I'm starting to believe that I should resign, because I'm not sure if I want to know anything else."

Jackson grinned. Then he sobered. "Clarisse said that you wanted to recruit me."

"I've since been persuaded otherwise," Fury said dryly.

Jackson shrugged. "I've got a bit of an authority problem. Mostly because they're either my parents or trying to kill me. Mostly the latter. Although, once it was both." He paused, obviously switching tracks. "If you tell me something and don't specify to keep it quiet, I will be informing everyone I know about whatever threat it may be. Norse, Egyptians, Greeks, Romans, and whatever ones I'll stumble across in the meantime. If you do specify to keep it quiet, I'll only be telling Jason, Reyna, Carter, and Thor. Possibly Nico, to keep in touch with the Underworld."

"Who is Carter?"

"Carter Kane," Jackson clarified. "He's currently Pharaoh of the House of Life, the Egyptian branch of mythology. It's weird, but their people aren't demigods. They're descendants of the pharaohs of Egypt and their gods possess them. Somehow. I don't understand it," he admitted. "When I asked him, it seemed more like a spur-of-the-moment kind of thing, almost of an 'ask and ye shall receive' type deal, as well as being in the wrong place at the right time—I'll shut up, I don't understand it and you look confused." He shut his mouth, obviously intending to stay true to his word, but he spotted someone. "Hey! Carter!"

They greeted each other with backslaps and a brief hug.

"Percy, I'm sorry," Kane said solemnly. "Didn't know her very well, but she was awesome even from a distance."

"That she was," Jackson agreed, his smile sad. "I was just talking to Director Fury—"

"Of?"

"SHIELD," Jackson said. Kane nodded, as if he had heard of the agency. For all Fury knew, he had. "He found out about us fairly recently and I was giving him the rundown as much as I could without blowing his brains."

"Fairly hard to do, that," Kane admitted.

Jackson quirked a smile. "Yeah, I know. I was trying to explain your situation with your gods."

"And failing miserably?" Kane said, grinning dryly.

"You got it," Jackson said.

Kane turned to him. "Let me first reassure you that we aren't actually possessed," he started, amusement lining his features. "Yes, we are sharing a body, and yes, if they really want to, they can take over the magician's body. But until that point, it isn't possession. The magicians become the host of the god and they can essentially funnel the god's power through them to create some truly awesome displays."

"They destroyed Elvis's mansion in Graceland and repaired it again in an hour," Jackson said. He looked mightily impressed. "I sure as Hades can't do that. Well, I might be able to destroy it, but I can't put it back together."

Kane elbowed him. "Percy, shut up. My case was a little unusual. My father released five gods from their prison and two of them latched onto Sadie and I, who were there, hiding. We wanted to help…and well, gods can be helpful."

"Not often, but they can be," Jackson muttered.

Kane ignored him. "So they came to us. It was like asking for a sponge to wash dishes with and you get a dishwasher instead. A little overkill, but still useful, once someone actually told us that hey, we're godlings."

"So, Jackson was actually right. Basically an 'ask and ye shall receive' situation combined with being in the wrong place at the right time," Fury said skeptically.

Kane glanced at Jackson. "Do remember that my experience—and Sadie's, I suppose—is most definitely not normal. Most times, people will come across an amulet. They'll host pieces of the gods, and the gods inside will introduce them to the Egyptian mythology and magic and then direct them to the nearest safe place, which is called a Nome—N-O-M-E, not the garden variety. Brooklyn is the Twenty-First Nome. Egypt is the First, and Antarctica is like the Three-Hundred-and-Sixtieth, or something. I can't remember."

"That's kind of your job."

"Yeah, well, I've only been in this job for three months, and only known about the gods for a year. Deal with it."

Jackson mock-cringed. "Ouch."

"Who is Sadie?" Fury asked, steering them back on course.

"Sadie is my sister," Kane said. "She's over there, trading wit with Leo. The white girl with the leather jacket and combat boots."

"The blonde with green streaks in her hair?"

"Yep, that's her. Walt is somewhere around here if you want to meet a god," Kane said absentmindedly, watching his sister and Leo banter back and forth. Fury was a little amused as another girl's face flushed—the two were obviously delving into more risqué wit. "I better go rescue Hazel. Excuse me."

As he turned to walk towards them, another young man sneaked up behind the Latino boy. He had an Asian cast to his skin and features, but he was tall and burly. Fury almost jumped as he turned into a black bear and roared loudly right behind the Latino's head.

The celebration went silent for a full second, and then laughter rang through the air as the elfish teen said nervously, "N-nice bear?"

The bear was making weird snuffling noises that took Fury a minute to realize as bear laughter.

"Okay," Fury muttered.

"Yeah…" Jackson said sheepishly. "I warn all the neighbors before the party. We're demigods and magicians and legends in and of ourselves. We get really noisy."

"I never would have guessed."

"Although," Jackson said, and hesitated, like he wasn't sure of himself, let alone Fury. He stopped, and started again, "Although, even with the Mist blocking most's view of the world they unfortunately live in, mortals are pretty perceptive. I got asked once if we all served in the military and got put on tours, because that's what we sound like sometimes, I guess."

"Sounds like a Stephen King novel."

Jackson did a double take. "Wow, okay. No one's ever said that about the Mist, and frankly I'm surprised I got the reference. No, there aren't any bugs that are going to eat you." He paused. "Well, they probably aren't going to eat you, but I can't promise about the rest of us. There are these huge ants—"

"Mist, Jackson."

"Right, the Mist. It's like the ultimate cover-up conspiracy. If you look at my file, summer before my freshman year, it'll tell you that I blew up a gymnasium. I didn't. I tried killing a monster that had a getaway in the form of exploding into fire like a bomb," Jackson explained. "But most mortals, they don't want to see a vampire with flaming hair and mismatched legs blowing to smithereens and a poor schmuck like me trying to save their lives—no, they'd rather believe that I tried to blow up the gymnasium. No vampires or heroes. The Mist alters perception. Oftentimes, it fails for artists or people who have equally weird stuff going on."

"And this has been going on for centuries?"

"Millennia," Jackson corrected. "At least three thousand years." He glanced in the Kanes' direction. "Possibly five."

Fury shook his head slowly, thinking rapidly. Jackson quietly excused himself while he stood in the shadows, turning the information over in his mind. After a while, he sat in the dining room with an untouched cup of coke in his hand, a steady stream of people introducing themselves. He asked questions—some of the answers were most definitely more interesting than others. The celebration wore on and he watched the participants.

He could understand why regular people thought they were in the military and had served tours.

At ten o'clock, Jackson stood on a chair. His apartment quieted. "I know I'm not one to talk much about death, funerals, and the Underworld, considering how many near brushes with death, how many times I've crashed my own funeral, and the occasional raid in the Underworld—"

Raucous, teary laughter rose from the crowd.

He continued when it died down. "But she was my wife, my partner in crime, my challenger, and my keeping-me-on-the-straight-and-narrow person." Fury was extremely amused to see a lot of nodding heads at the last piece. "She was the one who I would easily give my life for. Fatal flaw, and all that. We fought titans and giants and faced down Tartarus himself together, and I'm sorry we couldn't see Thantos together too—and a long way off from now. She played a pivotal role in most of the lives gathered here, and here we are, celebrating her." He smirked a little. "And considering that she's almost as bad as me when it comes to funerals: to Annabeth! May this be your second-to-last funeral!"

The response was thunderous (to the extent that Thor's response was drowned out), and Fury actually flinched: "TO ANNABETH!"

Red cups tilted to the air as people drained their respective sodas and juices.

Jackson hopped off the chair, and a girl with short, spiky, black hair hopped up. "You guys didn't hear me talk at Annie's last celebration—I didn't even know that she was supposed to be dead until she was having her brains checked out by Kelp Head's tongue over there." There were suddenly a lot of red faces, green faces, spluttering, and laughter at the girl's graphic imagery. "My name is Thalia Grace. I'm a daughter of Zeus, and I'm twenty-four years old. I met Annabeth when I was twelve and she was seven. I had been on the run with another demigod, called Luke Castellan, when we heard this weird banging noise in this abandoned factory in Virginia…"

Fury settled in for a very long night of stories, questions, and faces.

So, next installment of Fury's Stresses is addressing the question of: how on Midgard does Thor know Percy?

Also, my previous (and precious) reviewers: you people are amazing. Thank you for the insane support (Kira), and, occasionally, a little help with ironing out the kinks that I didn't catch (Guest). I was really disappointed that I didn't get to reply to you guys and say thanks personally, but I hope you enjoy!

(I meant to post this yesterday, but I forgot. Sorry! Look out for Loyalty, Family, and Deadliness next week.)

Toodles!

Ruby