Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I’m not actually sure if I want to tell this story. It’s the most embarrassing thing that has happened to me in all my immortal life, and that’s including everything that occurred during my six months as Lester Papadopoulos. Are you certain you want and/or need to read this? You can look away now if you’re kind enough to spare me the humiliation. Close the tab. Delete your browser history, just to be safe.

…Okay, I don’t think I appreciate how enthusiastically your eyes just leaped onward, but very well. I’ll relay the sordid tale for you, my not-so-dear reader.

It began with an ambush. All right, perhaps that's a bit overdramatic. But really, what other word is there for when you're walking down the hallway of your own palace on your way to harness your sun horses for a lovely sunrise, and your twin sister jumps out at you from around a corner like one of those horrible little girl demons that enjoy creeping around in horror movies? (Despite what that sister will say, I did not yelp like a frightened puppy or jump a foot in the air. Unfortunately there’s no point in even trying to sue her for defamation regarding her blatant lies about me, because the last time I did the lawsuit got all tied up in the courts for centuries. I ended up forgetting what I’d even set out to prosecute her for. Damn the United States judicial system to Tartarus.)

Anyway, I courageously summoned my bow and confronted the small, possibly demonic entity, before somewhat belatedly recognizing her.

"Artemis?" I relaxed my grip on the bowstring and stared at her, bemused.

"Good morning, Brother," she said calmly. Only a hint of a smirk betrayed the fact that she had clearly enjoyed scaring the everliving Hades out of me.

"Good morning to you, too, Sister. To what do I owe the pleasure of this early morning break-in?"

Artemis rolled her eyes. "If you are not too busy today, my Hunters and I could use your help with a small matter."

My mouth dropped open. "You need my help? With your Hunters?" I looked out one of the hall windows to make sure there weren't a couple of pigs flying past. I was pretty sure that would be the only time my sister would be asking for my help with her personal girl gang. Other than the odd transportation request…

"Wait, this isn't about needing the sun bus, is it? Because after what happened last time with Thalia Grace, I'm not so sure I'm on board with—"

"It's not that," Artemis interrupted. She grimaced. "We received a prophecy, of sorts, from one of your sons, about the beast we've been hunting. Will Solace relayed the message to Thalia, and according to him, the tarot reading was unmistakable. To defeat the Teumessian Fox, my Hunters and I require your aid."

I'll admit, I was glad to hear my sister needed me. Not because I wanted to lord it over her, or anything so immature. Mostly, I still felt I owed her one for the whole “saving me from certain death and even certainer zombification” thing at Camp Jupiter. And of course it also gave me an excuse to catch up with my friends Thalia and Reyna. (Since I'd been back from my sojourn as a mortal, Artemis had yet to relax her ban on me dropping in on her Hunters to say hi on the grounds that I was still quite "distracting" and "extremely obnoxious." Even though I'd totally renounced the useless pastime of flirting with them! Like, come on, sis, it had never been serious to begin with. Half of those girls hadn’t and wouldn’t ever start puberty, for gods' sakes!)

"Sure, I think I can take care of my little sister's monster," I said with a grin.

Artemis raised an eyebrow, ignoring the "little sister" comment. "Are you sure? This is serious, Apollo. I can't tell you how many cities this creature has destroyed since it reformed."

"Don't worry," I assured her, "I heard. Truly tragic what happened to Peoria. And I do remember what it was like in the old days, too."

Artemis didn't look completely convinced, but her eyebrow relaxed back down to her base level of skepticism (approximately DEFCON 3). "Good. I suppose the fox is legendary enough that even you paid attention to it."

"Hey, I pay attention to monsters and stuff!" I cried defensively. "But I'm a busy guy! I don't have time to memorize every evil Greek creature that ever existed. Just because I confused gorgons and dracaenae one time—"

"They could not be more different!"

"They're both snake ladies!"

Artemis tilted her head in acknowledgement. "I suppose you have a point. At any rate, my Hunters and I mean to dispatch the fox today. Is that acceptable given your oh-so-busy schedule?" The glimmer of a teasing smile crossed her face.

"Oh, I really couldn't say. Let me check my calendar. I'll see if I can squeeze you in." I summoned my phone and made a show of scrolling through my calendar app. "Hmm, it'll be tight…I'd hate to have to reschedule that lunch date with Lil Nas X. How many more cities do you think TF will be able to destroy by next Monday? Probably not too many, right?"

"Apollo," Artemis said warningly. That was her patented You've Worn Out The Joke voice. I only heard it, oh, every week or so. As if any of my jokes could be of a low enough quality to "wear out" like some common shoe. But I digress.

"Oh, all right," I sighed. "I suppose for my dearest sister, I can make a few sacrifices. I'll clear today's schedule."

"Thank you," Artemis said grudgingly. "I think."

"You are so welcome. But really, Artemis, I'm glad to help. I enjoy spending time with my little sis."

"Big sister," Artemis interjected. Apparently she'd decided to care about that particular point of contention today after all.

"I mean, of the two of us, who is currently a twelve-year-old?"

Artemis decided to showcase her maturity by kicking me in the shin. Fortunately, thanks to her weak little prepubescent legs, it felt like no more than a gentle caress. I backed out of kicking range, though, just in case she decided to escalate things by changing into a teenage form like me, or perhaps a giant boar.

"I appreciate you proving my point," I told Artemis, only smirking a little. "But anyway, as I was saying, this should be fun!"

Oh, reader. How foolish I was. How terribly naive. Never, ever tempt the Fates as I did. You'll find out soon enough the consequences of such reckless optimism.

When Artemis and I appeared at the outskirts of the Hunters’ current camp, somewhere in the forests of the Rocky Mountains, I didn’t receive quite the heroic welcome I had been hoping for. Given that I had just been prophesied to help them defeat the monster they’d been chasing across the country unsuccessfully for months now, I would have thought maybe they’d appreciate my presence at least a little. But instead, all I got were a few irritable glares. I was reminded of the last time I’d gotten such a frosty reception from a girl group, after politely suggesting to Fifth Harmony that their song choruses might benefit from a bit more variety in word choice. Needless to say, that didn’t go over very well.

Maybe in this case of these girls, I still hadn’t been forgiven for all the flirting I’d done in the past, even after sending the Hunters the most expensive edible arrangement on the market. I’d even attached what I thought was quite an eloquent and mature apology message: “I am sorry for flirting with all of you all of the time. Even if I never meant it to be serious, you did not appreciate it, and therefore I should have stopped. Please accept this humble token of my apologies. I hope you like pineapple. Sincerely, Apollo.” Perhaps the girls glaring at me now were allergic to pineapple and had found the edible arrangement insulting. Oh gods, how had I forgotten about the possibility of food allergies? I needed my medicine god card revoked.

Thankfully, I did still have a few friends in my sister’s Hunters, despite my recent fruit art faux pas. Thalia and Reyna, who had been talking outside of one of the silvery tents set up around the camp, actually greeted me with smiles. They both looked a little banged up, presumably from foxhunting. Thalia’s black leather jacket had a few tears in it that I was mostly sure weren’t there for fashion purposes, and Reyna’s armor was splattered with what I think was mud. At least they both appeared to be in good spirits, and not totally irritated by my existence.

“Long time no see!” I said cheerfully as I approached. Artemis seemed to have already vanished somewhere deeper into the camp, but I didn’t mind. Surely she would let me know when and how I was needed. Besides, I actually appreciated the chance to catch up with Thalia and Reyna without my sister breathing down my neck.

“Hi, Apollo,” Reyna said.

“Good to see you,” Thalia added. Then her eyes narrowed, and she scrutinized me. “Wait a sec, did you make yourself hotter?”

“Gross, Thalia, he’s your brother,” Reyna teased, elbowing her in the side.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Thalia protested, jabbing her own elbow back at Reyna. “I’m just saying there’s no way Lester had that jawline when we saw you at the Waystation last time.”

“I think your vision might be impaired again, Thalia,” I told her sagely. “Lester has always looked like this. Maybe you should get your eyes checked! I believe Asclepius is the primary care physician for the insurance plan Artemis has you all on, but I can give you a quick eye exam pro bono.”

Thalia rolled her possibly deteriorating eyes. “I’m good.”

“If you’re sure,” I said, shaking my head in mock medicinal disappointment.

“Oh, I’m sure,” Thalia said resolutely.

(Okay, fine, so maybe I had aged my Lester form up a few years and given him a makeover. Was that such a crime? Discrimination against us attractive people is just so rampant these days.)

I sighed in defeat. “Well, then, I suppose you could fill me in on the foxhunt and this prophecy I’m apparently part of instead. Artemis was a bit light on the details.”

“All right,” Thalia began, “from what I understand, after we stopped at the Waystation last, Leo mentioned our TF-related troubles to Nico, who told Will, and apparently the word got around your cabin at camp and Jerry decided to do a tarot reading to try to figure out how we could defeat the little bastard. I’m kind of rusty on my tarot cards, but I think Jerry said the first one was the Sun, and then the Moon, and then, uh…”

“The Three of Pentacles, I'm pretty sure,” Reyna supplied. “I’m guessing you’re familiar, but Jerry said that one meant teamwork and collaboration. And of course, the Sun is you and the Moon is Artemis.” Not exactly the traditional meanings of those cards, but within the context of the question Jerry had asked, it made more sense than anything else.

“Yep,” Thalia agreed. “So I guess in a way, the tarot reading was also kinda light on the details, other than you needing to be here and work together with Artemis. Which, thanks for being here, by the way. TF has been kicking our behinds lately, as you can see.” She gestured across her ripped leather jacket and towards Reyna’s muddy armor with a wry smile.

“I’m happy to help,” I said. “Although, does this mean I’m meant to be helping Artemis come up with an attack plan? I’m not sure where she disappeared off to.” I craned my neck towards the center of the Hunters’ camp, but couldn’t spot my sister in the sea of other twelve-year-old girls in silver and gray hunting attire. They really committed to the aesthetic, these Hunters. I could see why Thalia was always wearing her “I’m not like other girls” leather jacket to stand out.

“I, uh, think she already has a plan,” Reyna said, with a peculiar hitch in her voice like she was attempting to hold back laughter. Well, that wasn’t at all ominous.

“...What is this plan, exactly?” I asked, trying not to sound too suspicious, in case it was simply some kind of misunderstanding.

“Oh, I think it’s better if Artemis tells you herself,” Thalia advised, now also looking like she was millimeters from dissolving into uncharacteristic giggles.

Clearly something was going on with that plan, but despite further cajoling, Reyna and Thalia refused to tell me anything more.

“With friends like these, who needs enemies?” I said at last, perhaps slightly more dramatic than strictly necessary.

The two young women collapsed onto each other, laughing like howler monkeys, and rudely ignored the question.

“Awful. You two are just awful,” I reiterated. “I could be chatting with Lil Nas X right now, and instead I’m stuck here with you two eternally teenage hooligans.”

“Love—you too—Apollo,” Thalia managed to get out.

Behind me, someone cleared their throat firmly.

Thalia and Reyna straightened up, schooling their faces back to neutrality with what was clearly a Herculean level of effort. (As someone who was around when Hercules was going through all those labors of his, I can personally attest to the fact that my two friends were absolutely putting an equivalent level of exertion into not laughing.)

“Lady Artemis,” Thalia said with a respectful dip of her head. “We were just, uh, filling Apollo in on the tarot prophecy and such. We thought you might want to inform him of the plan to capture the fox yourself, though.”

I turned around just in time to see Artemis raise her eyebrows much more haughtily than any preteen had a right to. “Oh, you did, did you?”

“Yep,” Thalia said, smiling beautifically.

“Very well,” Artemis said, her eyebrows falling and her eyes twinkling mischievously as she met Thalia’s gaze. “I suppose it does make sense for me to explain my own idea.” Wait a second, why were my sister’s eyes twinking? That was never, ever a good sign. The last time I’d seen that particular expression on her face, I’d gotten cozy in my sleeping bag in our shared tent only to experience the extremely disconcerting sensation of something small and furry squirming against my legs. Needless to say, I now made a habit of carefully inspecting my bedding for squirrels and other miscellaneous woodland creatures before settling in for the night, especially when I was camping with Artemis.

So, already I had a bad feeling about this plan of hers, which was not at all assuaged as my sister gave her spiel. Oh, it started off innocent enough, as if in an attempt to get my guard lowered. Artemis explained that the Teumessian Fox was currently hiding out somewhere in these woods. She and her Hunters were going to try a new trapping technique involving a large pit they’d dug about a quarter mile from here, camouflaged by a covering of leaves and branches. Once the fox fell into the pit, the Hunters would surround the edges of it to make sure the beast couldn’t escape, and Artemis would dispatch it with her bow.

Simple, right? Except for one problem: how would the fox actually get into the pit?

“Unfortunately, he is far too wise to be drawn in by food placed at the bottom,” Artemis said. “But if we are able to distract him enough, with perhaps his favorite kind of prey, we may have a chance to catch him off guard. That is where you come in, Brother.”

“Oh, joy,” I said, already dreading whatever the next words out of her mouth would be. Between my knowledge that my sister was up to no good, and my prophecy Spidey-sense flooding me with the absolute worst vibes imaginable, it was taking all my willpower not to flee. Only the fact that I still owed Artemis for saving my life at Camp Jupiter and the knowledge that I would be disappointing my friends kept me tethered here, like my situationally appropriate hiking boots had been encased in blocks of cement.

“You will be the distraction. All you must do is find the fox and lead it on a merry chase straight to the pit. But as I said, the beast will not be so tempted by a human form. You’ll need to transform into its favorite food: a chicken.”

Chapter Text

“A chicken?” I squawked—I mean, cried incredulously. If there was any good in this cruel, uncaring universe, I’d been loud enough to scare the fox off and put this horrible plan out of its misery before the monster put me out of my misery. “Also, why me? This is your hunt, Sister, not mine!”

“I need my concentration to direct my Hunters,” Artemis said calmly, not quite smirking, but I knew her well enough to tell that a wicked smile was hiding just under the surface. “This fox is dangerous and wily. It has evaded us for many months. We cannot afford to let it continue wreaking any further destruction.”

I wished my dear friend Meg McCaffrey were here so I could have at least one person in my corner. Then I remembered what had happened the last time Meg, Artemis, and I had been in the same place at the same time. (It had been during last month’s grand opening of Hephaestus’s Olympus lazer tag arena. Those two had teamed up to snipe the Hades out of me, utterly destroying my dreams of making it on the lazer tag leaderboard with all the cool deities.) I quickly retracted that wish. Meg would probably give herself a stomach ache laughing about the idea of me as feathered fox bait. She was supportive like that.

“Can’t we find some magical chicken for the job?” I pleaded. “Surely Triple G Ranch, or some other magical farm that I’m certain must exist, has a whole coop just dying to spread their proverbial wings with an adventure like this! Being chased by an enormous bloodthirsty beast is quite good exercise for them, I’m sure.”

“A magical chicken wouldn’t have the intelligence necessary for this task,” Artemis said, cruelly matter-of-fact in the face of my desperation. “And I do not trust just anyone to be transformed into a chicken, if that was to be your next objection. I believe you have the best chance of being able to perform this crucial aspect of the hunt, so I’m asking you.”

All right, that was just unfair. Relying on my desire to feel competent and needed and helpful in order to manipulate me into taking on her humiliating poultry-related task?

I mean, obviously it was going to work, but I was allowed to be cranky about it.

I heaved a sigh so gusty someone might have mistaken me for a wind god. “Oh, all right, I’ll do it. But you owe me for this one, Artemis.” I thought for a moment. “You have to come with me to that poetry slam I told you about.” The hatred Artemis had in her cold shriveled heart for poetry events was both tragic and fascinating, and more importantly, extremely enjoyable to exploit.

Artemis looked up at the sky for strength. As if our father would ever be so helpful. “Must I?”

“It does sound fair, my lady,” Thalia mused. She was enjoying this much far too much, but now that she was on my side, I wasn’t about to call her out.

“I don’t recall asking for your opinion,” Artemis grumbled.

“Oh, would you look at that—two against one!” I gave my sister a beatific smile, then turned my other possible ally. “Reyna, would you say it’s fair?”

Reyna put her hands up in surrender. “I’m staying out of this one. I know better than to get on a god’s bad side.”

Very valid point, although obviously neither Artemis nor I would dream of retaliating for something like this. The rest of the pantheon, though… Well, for example, if Aphrodite ever asks you how her outfit looks, I would highly advise you to say “amazing” no matter what, lying your behind off if necessary. Any other response is liable to result in all your potential romantic partners laughing in your face and walking out for the next several weeks. (So I heard. This warning is not at all based on personal experience, and my ego was totally not bruised.)

Artemis made a vague, disgruntled sound like a bear recently woken from hibernation and shook her head. “I suppose it’s fair. I accept your deal.” She stuck out her hand, and I gave it a brisk shake.

“Splendid!” I cheered. Then I remembered precisely what I’d just signed up for and sobered a bit. “Well, when do we begin?”

“Whenever you’re ready, Brother,” Artemis told me.

I gulped. I wasn’t exactly sure I was ready, but I needed to get this show on the road now before I chickened out. (Yeah, you can go ahead and groan. I’m as disappointed in that joke as you are.)

“Oh, I’m ready. Never been readier,” I lied. I attempted a smile, but I’m fairly sure it looked more like I’d just been stabbed and was holding back agonized screams.

“Good,” said Artemis. She reached up to give me an unnecessarily vigorous pat on the shoulder. “Then let’s begin.”

After instructing Thalia to ready the rest of the Hunters and have them assemble hidden around the pit trap, Artemis grabbed my hand and teleported us both to its location. I needed to know where it was before I could actually lead the fox here, after all. It wouldn’t do to have me sprinting aimlessly all through the forest and simply praying I’d run into (well, ideally over) the pit.

“You should be light enough as a chicken to run across the top without falling in,” Artemis remarked, as if reading the tail end of my thoughts. “The fox, on the other hand, will not be so lucky.”

She studied the ground, eyes narrowed. The mouth of the pit was so well disguised with leaves, branches, and assorted undergrowth that I could barely tell where the forest floor ended and the hole began. Apparently it didn’t meet my sister’s exacting standards, though. She made a small gesture with her hand and a couple clumps of the undergrowth shifted a few millimeters to the left.

“Surely the fox won’t notice the difference,” I couldn’t help myself from saying.

“You don’t know the beast like I do,” Artemis shot back with a glare, though it didn’t have much heat.

“I will be knowing it soon, though,” I pointed out. “Up close and personal. Very exciting.”

Artemis regarded me, her eyes narrowed again. “You aren’t…scared, are you, Apollo?”

“No!” I protested, probably far too quickly. “I’m just not so sure about this plan of yours!”

“I’m simply following the prophecy’s guidance.” Artemis’s tone was as innocent as a lamb, but that would never fool me. My sister was the definition of a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

“As far as I heard, the prophecy didn’t say anything about chickens.”

“Well, perhaps I added some personal touches, due to my knowledge of the fox. For the good of the hunt, of course.”

“Of course,” I said. “So, what is this really about? Is it because I keep saying I’m the eldest twin? Because technically, if you think about it, I—”

“No, it’s not that,” Artemis interrupted, shaking her head. “I suppose I can tell you. It is simply a bit of payback, for all the times you embarrassed and harassed my Hunters in the past with your incessant flirting.”

“But…I sent them an edible arrangement,” I said, lamely. “And an apology note. A very heartfelt one!”

“I didn’t care for it,” Artemis said. “Far too much pineapple. But my plan, my Hunters and I agree, will act as retribution in full. As long as you truly have learned your lesson about the proper way to interact with women who are clearly not interested in your affections, you may visit with the Hunters whenever they are off-duty, if you so choose.”

My heart leapt. “You’re lifting the ban?”

Artemis nodded. “I am lifting the ban. If you follow my plan and we capture the fox successfully.”

I gave Artemis a dazzling smile (thankfully I was in my Lester form, because otherwise I might have accidentally blinded her—I’ve been told by Meg, quite rudely, I might add, that the teeth of my adult “goddy” visage are something of a vision hazard) and started cracking my knuckles. “I’ve got this.”

“Hm,” she said mildly.

I quit cracking my knuckles. “What? It’s not actually that bad for your joints, you know.”

Artemis scoffed. “Not that. I’m simply surprised by your enthusiasm. You looked as if I were forcing you to walk the plank a minute ago. You must care deeply for your new friends.”

“I think I do,” I said softly, with a much more genuine smile. Letters and IMs were fine and all, and I’d exchanged a few with Thalia and Reyna in the months since I’d regained my godhood. But spending real, quality time with the people you care about can’t be beat. I was willing to walk Artemis’s metaphorical plank for that. (Also because of that deal I’d extracted from Artemis about the poetry slam. But that was totally secondary! Obviously a mostly blank check to hang out with my friends was my main motivation. Like, at least 60% of my motivation.)

Artemis nodded approvingly. “Then let us hope that you’ve indeed got this.”

“No hope needed,” I said loftily. “I’ll be the most beautiful, swift, skillful chicken this world has ever seen. This fox won’t stand a chance.”

How arrogant I was, reader. How self-assured. If there is one thing I learned from this day, it is that self-confidence is a scam and you should put yourself down as much as possible. Perhaps if I’d kept my self esteem low like the universe intended I wouldn’t have ended up lost in the woods with a fox the size of a luxury tour bus bathing my tail feathers with its hot, rancid breath.

Ah, but I’m getting ahead of myself. It had been fine at first. I’d wandered around in the general area Artemis had thought the fox to be. I’d done a little strutting and some vigorous flapping. I’d paused to admire my reflection in a small puddle. (I really did make a gorgeous chicken, if I do say so myself. A lesser god could never have pulled off solid gold plumage the way I did.)

I kept my ears open (chickens do have ears, just very small and well hidden among their feathers—you can now truthfully inform your friends and family that the literature you’re reading on your smartphone or other miscellaneous electronic device is quite educational) for the sounds of an enormous fox monster rampaging through the undergrowth, but I could hear nothing but a few birds calling in the distance. Honestly, it was getting a little boring, being a chicken. They can’t even fly. Why couldn’t the fox’s favorite food have been a hummingbird, or a peregrine falcon, perhaps?

I scratched irritably at the ground with one set of claws, lamenting the fact that if not for Artemis and her prophecy, I could have been on that lunch date with Lil Nas X right now. (And reader, before you say, Apollo, you’ve now mentioned Lil Nas X three times in this one story. Do you have, like, a crush on him? no, I do not. He is simply a very talented and effortlessly charismatic young man who I admire greatly for his musical prowess, as well as his ability to rock a neon pink cowboy outfit. “Lunch date” is just an expression!)

I was so distracted daydreaming about how well I might be able to rock a pink cowboy outfit that I missed the warning signs. Not that there were many. That fox might have been bus-sized, but man, could it be sneaky! Undoubtedly, it would have made it onto the leaderboard at the Olympus lazer tag arena, if it only had the opposable thumbs necessary to hold the lazer gun.

By the time I registered that a large and threatening shadow had fallen over me, it was nearly too late. I looked up. And up. And up some more. The Teumessian Fox towered among the trees like a furry, man-eating skyscraper. Fangs the length of a man’s arm gleamed a sickly yellow in the sunlight. The expanse of white hair bristling beneath its muzzle was stained faintly red, perhaps with the remains of an unlucky chicken such as myself. The worst part was its eyes: their amber depths shone with a cruel, almost human-like intelligence. And they were staring straight at me.

If not for the noble chicken’s wonderful, lifesaving instinct to flee, I might well have had the dubious honor of being the first god ever swallowed by a giant fox. (At least, I’m pretty sure no other gods have managed that one yet. There was a whole lot of getting swallowed going on back in Titan times, but that was all in the family. No giant animals involved, as far as I’ve been told. Disappointing, I know.)

As it was, my scaly little legs started moving at a speed heretofore unknown to chickenkind. If a Guinness World Records official had been on hand with a stopwatch, I guarantee you I would have shattered their previous 100 meter chicken dash time. The fox lunged at me from behind, but its jaws snapped shut on empty air as I sped forward. In the moment, with a beast a thousand times my size on my tail (literally), I will admit my rational brain flew a bit out the window. I forgot about the whole point of the chicken ploy—leading the fox to the trap—and the only thoughts going through my brain went a little something like AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH BIG MONSTER RUN AWAY FAST! Not exactly my proudest moment. As I told you at the beginning of this story (and by the way, so rude of you to still be reading these words after I asked you so nicely to close the tab—you’re on thin ice, dear reader), it was highly embarrassing. And I haven’t even gotten to the worst part yet.

At any rate, I ran. The fox gave chase. While that had technically been the desired course of action, I was sincerely regretting it. (That may be generous of me to say, as there is only so much of a complex emotion like regret that one can feel when the lion’s share of one’s mind is busy with much more basic things, such as running and panicking.)

I dashed wildly through patches of ferns, scrabbled over boulders slippery with moss, and splashed across rocky streams, soaking my poor golden feathers. The fox, its silent grace apparently abandoned now that its quarry was on the run, thundered after me like one of those all-terrain Jeep Wranglers, now with a bonus insatiable lust for blood. I was keeping ahead of the beast, but not by much. And then, disastrously, I began flagging.

One of the (many) downsides of being a chicken is that they aren’t exactly the endurance champions of the animal kingdom. In this body, though my divine nature might have made me the pronghorn antelope of chickens (the pronghorn, of course, being one of the aforementioned endurance champions), that was only saying so much. My tiny chicken lungs were heaving from the strain and my legs felt as if they’d been doused in Greek fire. Slowly but surely, the fox gained ground until it was once again within biting range.

At this point, you may be scratching your head and wondering, Hey, isn’t this guy supposed to be a god? Can’t he blast this fox with his cool and fearsome powers instead of running away like, well, a chicken?

Very good question. In theory, yes. In practice, also yes. However, the main obstacle to such a strategy was that, according to the prophecy, both Artemis and I needed to work together to dispatch this beast. I couldn’t hope to defeat the fox on my own. I would either succeed in scaring it off, or making it angry, neither of which would be helpful in the long run. (And yes, this is indeed the reasoned and highly logical course my thoughts took at the time. I could have given Athena a run for her money in the wisdom department. Pay no mind to things I may have divulged a few paragraphs previously.)

So there I was, completely lost in the woods, bedraggled and exhausted and deeply, deeply regretting uttering the words “this should be fun” earlier this morning (after more than four thousand years of existence, you would think I’d have learned how that generally ends, but alas). Come on, Apollo, I told myself sharply, you’ve got this. Just consider how mercilessly and endlessly Artemis will tease you about today’s events if you don’t.

The thought of Artemis gaining powerful new ammunition with which to mock me when I had nothing good on her at the moment was enough to snap my mind back into clarity. First priority: find a way to rest without getting eaten or losing the fox’s interest entirely. Second priority: figure out where on Earth I was and how to get to the pit trap. Third priority: never, ever let Artemis learn the details of what had transpired between now and when I’d seen her last back at the pit. (As of the time I’m writing this, she still doesn’t know. I’m trusting you not to blab to her, unless you want to experience some delightfully eventful adventures as a chicken yourself. Yes, that is a promise.)

I almost ran face-first into the solution to my first priority. The tree trunk materialized before me with no warning. I reacted on instinct: my wings snapped open and flapped several times, propelling me up a few measly feet into the air. Thankfully, despite the chicken’s pathetic lack of aptitude for flight, I managed to land in the low, needle-tipped branches of the massive pine. By the time the Teumessian Fox skidded to a stop above the roots, I’d made it up a dozen feet further. Which, of course, put me squarely within range of both its sword-like fangs and razor-sharp claws.

The fox seemed vaguely puzzled that not only had I decided to stop running, but I’d also made myself quite accessible to it for eating purposes. Its massive head swung curiously towards me, and I managed to flutter up another few branches. But that wasn’t nearly enough to deter the beast. Its gaze tracked me upwards easily, and it opened its cavernous jaws wide.

Instead of freaking out, I concentrated. (A refreshing change of pace, I know.)

The sunlight filtering through the trees around us flared, blindingly bright, and the fox stumbled back. It gave a horrible whine, blinking and shaking its head rapidly in an attempt to clear its vision. If I’d had lips at the time, I would have smirked. (You mess with the sun god, you get the…temporary blindness. I’m fairly sure that’s how that expression goes.) Instead, I took advantage of the monster’s momentary distraction, and made my way quickly and carefully up through the branches of the pine tree. Well, as quickly and carefully as a chicken can climb a pine tree, which is really not much in the way of either.

By the time the fox had recovered, a minute or two later, I’d made it nearly to the top. It had been a bit of a risk to attack the fox like that—if I’d been at all overzealous, I could have ruined its vision permanently and derailed Artemis’s plan entirely—but I had enough faith in my precision of control when it came to sun-related abilities that I’d gone for it. (If this had been a few months earlier, when I was still adjusting back to being a god, it might have been a different story. I won’t get into it, but there were a few…incidents. Let us just say that it’s a good thing one of my domains is healing.)

From my new vantage point, the beast looked almost like a normal sized fox, which was a pleasant fantasy to indulge in. It prowled around the tree’s trunk, occasionally raising its head, as if to make sure I was still there, and then immediately lowering it. Evidently, the beast had learned how dangerous it could be to look towards the sun. Good. Everyone should have a healthy appreciation for the dangers of sunlight, even giant immortal fox monsters. (I would insert my treatise on the sun and skin cancer here, but I feel that might make this tale drag a bit. If you’re curious, ask Meg—I’ve already recited it to her several times. Actually, on second thought, don’t ask her. She definitely wasn’t listening.)

As I reached the tippy-top of the tree, an idea struck me like one of Zeus’s lightning bolts, brilliant and electrifying. I knew how I could satisfy priority numero dos—figuring out where in the Fates’ names I was, and which direction I needed to go.

Distracting the fox with the sun had reminded me that, of course, a sliver of my essence was not currently living the la dolce vita of a chicken on the run. Other Apollo was having a grand old time navigating my sweet ride across the sky, a scenic view of the whole country spread wide beneath him. The whole country, including this godsforsaken forest. (I try not to hold it against them, because according to Artemis they’re an important part of the global ecosystem, blah blah blah, but honestly, does anything good ever happen in a forest? Because I have the worst track record with this particular biome.)

Really, all I needed to find the Hunters and their fox trap was a little sun’s-eye view.

Chapter Text

It’s a little difficult to explain how controlling multiple versions of myself at the same time actually works. Normally I would just say something about divine mysteries and leave it at that, but for you, dear reader, I’ll give it a go. You know when you’re in your sun car, driving the route you’ve driven a million times? And you zone out a little bit and realize you just flew over six states without even registering it and somehow managed not to crash into any airplanes or aggressive flocks of Canadian geese? (Those birds are the real monsters of this world, let me tell you. Whenever I encounter them with the top down in convertible mode, they always aim straight for the eyes—thank the gods for sunglasses). Okay, perhaps you’ve never driven the sun specifically, but I’m sure you and your Toyota Camry can still relate to this “autopilot” phenomenon. Unless you’re too young to have ever driven a car, in which case, just consider it a divine mystery. You’ll understand when you’re older.

Anyway, the smaller slivers of my essence that I normally use for routine things, such as driving the divine representation of an 865,370 miles-wide ball of superheated plasma, are essentially on autopilot. Which meant that was the case for the Apollo currently a few hundred thousand feet above my feathery little head.

I took sun convertible Apollo off autopilot and craned my neck over the driver’s side door. I was met with a gorgeous vista of the Colorado Rockies, bursting with craggy peaks and bristly pine forests. Sadly, I didn’t have time to admire the view. I flexed my godly eyesight. Thankfully, unlike Thalia Grace, I’d never had vision problems. Within a few seconds, I managed to pick out a flash of bright gold among the treetops of a clump of pine. Another win for my impeccable taste in color.

It took a bit of quick math and three dimensional visualization, but in another few moments, I traced a path from chicken me’s location to where I remembered Artemis showing me the pit trap. Bingo. I had this in the bag.

Well, I still had to get myself down from the top of this tree without falling or getting instantly snapped up and digested by the Teumessian Fox, but at least now I had a direction to move in. I let my attention fade from the piece of me in the sun car and refocused on my fashionably feathered poultry self.

As I’ve mentioned before, chickens are not so great at the whole “flying” thing. However, what they can do, for short periods of time, is glide. It was touch and go for a minute there (I nearly glided face first into a cluster of pine cones, more than once), but I made it to the ground.

And immediately lost several tail feathers as the fox, who’d evidently cottoned on to what I was doing, lunged for me, its fangs glistening wetly in its massive mouth.

I screamed—all right, I’ll admit it, I squawked—and booked it. Despite the (short) rest I’d had, my chicken body was still feeling like I’d finished a couple consecutive marathons. I pushed past it. I had a route this time, and more importantly, a finish line. The thought of getting to the trap and getting the Hades out of chicken form for the rest of my eternal life spurred me onwards. Adrenaline surged through my veins as if I had just chugged a whole six-pack of Mountain Dew (which is, of course, the most potent beverage known to god-kind).

Again, I navigated the Colorado Rockies Pine Forest Gauntlet™. To keep myself focused and avoid succumbing to the chicken instinct for abject, mindless terror, I mentally composed a scathing diss track about the monster chasing me and various components of the forest as I ran past them. Admittedly the lyrics mostly consisted of cursing at them in several different languages, but I think I managed to fit it all into a rhyming scheme quite admirably considering the circumstances.

Finally, finally, I reached the clearing that was home to the object of my salvation—the trap. I couldn’t spot Artemis or any of her Hunters as I shot like a feathery bullet out of the trees towards the undergrowth I knew hid the mouth of the pit. I could only pray they were simply hidden close by and ready to jump out as soon as the fox was contained. Otherwise the monster and I were about to have the world’s scariest cage match at the bottom of that hole.

The beast bounded after me, hot on my tail as always. Just a few more feet and I was home free. I glanced backward to make sure I was far enough ahead that I wouldn’t be dragged in with the fox as it fell through the plant matter disguising the top of the trap.

Big. Mistake.

If anything, let this be a lesson to always look in the direction you’re moving, lest you get caught and devoured by the horrifying mythological monster that’s chasing you. The second I took my eyes off the ground in front of me, I tripped.

I blame Artemis. If she’d done a better job weaving the plant covering on top of the pit, I could have sped right over. (Trust me, if Athena had been here, her criticism would have been scathing.) But no. My small, scaly foot plunged straight through a small opening between two branches, and I jerked painfully to a stop.

Immediately, I flapped my wings, attempting to lift myself up and over. But the branches had shifted when they absorbed the force of my rapid deceleration. My foot was stuck.

The Teumessian Fox noticed my plight instantly and skidded to a halt. How a creature so large could manage to stop so fast, I didn’t understand. I would have tried to work out the physics of it, but I was relatively sure the fox didn’t abide by such paltry laws. Also, I would be halfway down its gullet by the time I finished the math.

I can’t believe I’m going to die thinking about physics, I thought helpfully. Then, slightly belatedly, I realized I was stuck over the pit. There was no reason I had to commit to chickenhood anymore as long as I could get the fox down there another way.

As the beast’s hungry jaws once again descended toward me, I surged upward. My chicken form fell away, and with my newly restored fingers and opposable thumbs, I grabbed for the white fur at the base of the fox’s throat and twisted sideways.

With a horrible splintering crash, we broke through the ferns and branches covering the pit and landed hard against the dirt floor. Thanks to my recent experience wrestling with horrible giant monsters (RIP Python, my late, great archnemesis), I’d managed to position myself on top as we fell and not gotten crushed under gods knew how many thousand pounds of fox flesh.

For a moment, we both lay there, slightly stunned by the force of the impact.

“Apollo!” someone yelled from above. I thought it might have been Reyna. I appreciated the concern, but I didn’t dare take my eyes off the fox.

Since I had fallen onto the equivalent of a slightly muscle-y plush pillow, I recovered faster. Tragically, not fast enough. The fall must have knocked some sense out of my brain, because instead of simply teleporting safely out, I started scaling the dirt walls of the pit like I was Lester the teenage monkey. And I’d only made it a third of the way up before I heard the sound of movement behind me. I let myself drop back down and rolled to the side as the fox’s head whistled past at lightning speed above me and its fangs sank deep into the soil I’d been hanging onto half a second ago.

Okay. There are only so many times you can be snapped at by a humongous bloodthirsty beast in one day without getting a bit miffed. I like to think I’m a fairly easygoing guy, but I was getting kind of sick of this monster trying to eat me.

My temper flared, and power swelled up within me like a tsunami. Fortunately, I still had enough of my wits about me that I remembered I had a potential audience—Artemis’s Hunters, who were now ringing the edge of the pit and staring down at me with expressions ranging from vaguely curious to actively distressed.

I stood up, planting my feet firmly in the dirt. “Close your eyes,” I shouted.

The Hunters, who were employed by a goddess and knew a little something about what that warning meant, scrambled to comply.

The fox freed its fangs with a massive yank, scattering clumps of dirt across the pit in a wide arc. It turned to face me, rage burning like fiery coals in its eyes.

And I exploded into pure light.

All right, maybe I went a tad overboard with the godly supernova thing. But come on, that fox deserved it! …Mostly.

After I condensed my molecules back into human form, I surveyed the damage. The dirt sides of the pit had lightened to a lovely mocha shade. The covering of branches and undergrowth that had fallen in with us was gone, probably burned to ash. And the fox was…not doing so hot.

It had been blasted backwards by my explosion, and it lay slumped in a small crater in the wall created by the impact. As for the condition of its body…have you ever seen a third degree sunburn? Well, you probably haven’t because they don’t actually exist—under normal circumstances, the sun’s radiation simply isn’t strong enough to burn you so badly. (You can fact check me on this one, but I wouldn’t recommend it. That Google Images page isn’t pretty.) Of course, unfortunately for the fox, I wasn’t normal circumstances.

I almost thought I had managed to kill it on my own, contrary to the prophecy, but then I saw some of its few remaining patches of fur slowly rise and fall. It let out a pitiful, half-conscious whimper that made me feel a little bad. Oh, come on. It had been trying to eat me! It had obliterated Peoria, Illinois! This was justice for the Peorians!

My rationalizations were interrupted by my sister, who leaned over the mouth of the pit in all her 12-year-old girl glory to grumble at me. “This was not according to plan, Brother.”

“Yes, well, I had to improvise a bit,” I told her with an apologetic smile.

Artemis was not amused. “I will put the beast out of its misery,” she said solemnly.

Before I could even protest that perhaps I could heal the fox up and we could keep him as a pet on Olympus—Zeus definitely wouldn’t approve, but what our father didn’t know couldn’t hurt him—she drew her bow, nocked a silver arrow, and fired in one smooth motion.

The arrow embedded itself in one of the fox’s still-closed eyes. With a sound almost like a sigh, the Teumessian Fox dissolved, showering me and the rest of the pit in a rain of faintly golden dust.

Artemis inclined her head towards the remains of the fox, a gesture of respect for her fallen foe. I wiped a few tears of sympathy away under the guise of removing dust from my eyes. I don’t think Artemis was fooled, but she kindly didn’t comment.

I willed myself out of the trap and back up to the forest floor where the Hunters had gathered. Mercifully, a quick inspection of the group made it clear that they had all been wise enough to back away from the mouth of the pit in addition to closing their eyes. No mythical third degree sunburns or flash blindness required my expert medical attention.

A few seconds after I had finished my onceover, Thalia and Reyna pushed through the crowd to my side.

“Not gonna lie, that was impressive,” Thalia said, giving me a congratulatory clap on the shoulder. “You always look so Lester-y these days, it’s sometimes hard to remember you’re actually kinda badass.”

“And I only got a short glimpse, but you did make a very handsome chicken,” Reyna added.

“I did, didn’t I?” I agreed, preening a bit. (In the metaphorical sense. I was firmly unchickenified, and no matter how well I pulled off gold feathers, I was planning on staying that way for the foreseeable future. Perhaps I could add a gold feather boa to my wardrobe. Before you say anything, my fashion taste is legendary and the word “tacky” has no power over me.)

Thalia rolled her eyes fondly. “So, does this mean we’ll be seeing you around more often? Lady Artemis told me about the whole ‘relaxing your lifetime ban on interacting with us’ thing.”

“I hope so,” I said. “I did deviate from the agreed upon plan by a small, miniscule amount, but I think I can convince her to let it slide.”

“Ah, yes, I don’t really remember the nuclear explosion being in the details we all discussed,” Reyna said, as dry as the thoroughly sun-blasted dirt of the pit.

“Hey, it all worked out, right? No casualties! Well, other than the fox, obviously.”

“Obviously.” Reyna shook her head in capitulation to my ironclad reasoning. Then, her eyes caught on something over my shoulder. “Looks like your sister wants to talk to you. Good luck, Apollo. We’ll see you around.”

“Thanks, I’ll probably need it!” I said cheerfully, giving my two friends a heartfelt wave goodbye. Not that I thought Artemis would actually renege on her end of the bargain just because I’d been forced to go nuclear, but she hadn’t exactly seemed thrilled by it.

Artemis motioned me over to the side of the clearing, far enough away from the gaggle of Hunters for a little privacy.

“You did well,” was my sister’s opener, which was not a phrase I’d been expecting to hear from her. “Despite the…improvisation.” Ah, there we go. Artemis and improv tended not to get along. (I tried to have her participate in a workshop hosted by some of the Muses once, but the concept of “yes, and” never really seemed to click. I would say something like, “Oh my, the giraffe riding in this subway car is so well behaved!” And Artemis would respond, “No, that is a very improper habitat for the creature. I must have my Hunters transport it to a wildlife sanctuary at once.”)

“Thank you,” I said, graciously ignoring the less-complimentary second half of her sentence. “You, too. Perfect shot, as always.”

In another surprising turn of events, Artemis gave me a wry smile. “I appreciate you humoring me today, Apollo.”

“Anything for my favorite twin sister,” I said lightly, with a returning grin.

This was where Artemis was supposed to roll her eyes and say, “I’m your only twin sister.”

Instead, as earnestly as I’d ever heard her, she said, “Truly, Brother, I mean it. As I promised you, the ban is lifted. As long as you are not interrupting their work, and not flirting with them, you may visit my Hunters as you please.”

“You’re my favorite sister for real,” I said. And I stepped forward to wrap my arms around her.

Artemis must have been feeling quite sentimental today, because she didn’t do any of her customary worm-like squirming away—in fact, she actually hugged me back! Yes, I might have missed out on Lil Nas X and almost gotten swallowed by a giant fox several times, but for a bona fide Artemis hug? Totally worth it.

“All right, okay, that’s enough of that,” she said after about ten seconds, which had to have been something of a world record for her.

I released her from my horrible hug prison quickly, just in case she was struck with the urge to kick me in the shins again. (Once a day of that was plenty.)

Artemis cleared her throat and brushed some nonexistent dust from her silver jacket, somewhat like an embarrassed cat licking its chest fur after accidentally doing something super crazy like openly showing affection. “I should go organize my Hunters. They deserve a rest after the many months we spent on this hunt.”

“Of course. I can provide refreshments,” I offered. “Edible arrangements for everyone! With extra pineapple, of course.”

Artemis glared at me. “Please don’t make me regret this.”

I blinked at her innocently. “Do I ever? Actually, wait, don’t answer that.”

Artemis shook her head and turned back towards her Hunters, dutifully not answering that.

“Wait!” I cried, remembering something important. “You’re still going to come to the poetry slam with me, right?”

“Oh, I’m not sure,” Artemis said over her shoulder, clear amusement glimmering in her silver eyes. “Do you not think the lifting of your visitation ban was reward enough? Surely the promise of time spent with friends means more to you than any hour of bad poetry ever could.”

“Those things aren’t mutually exclusive!” I protested. “Also, it’s more like two and a half hours.”

“...I’ll think about it,” Artemis said generously, which honestly was about the best I could ask for. My sister simply didn’t appreciate the finer things in life, like sitting down to listen to several hours of masterful auditory performances from an expansive lineup of amateur poets. I’d get through to her eventually.

So, dear reader, you’ve made it to the end of my tail—sorry, tale. (Apologies, I think being a chicken may have permanently affected my brain.) I’m trusting you not to go spreading the information you’ve gained here too widely. If I see any memes of me as a chicken, I’ll be cursing you with one of those super annoying, persistent colds that lasts for months. (The rubber dodgeball of prophecy memes, on the other hand? I’m a fan. Carry on.)

And if you happened to have heard through the grapevine that your local fox sanctuary got a large, anonymous donation the other day, I can assure you: totally unrelated.